Attitude Adjustments

131 Pages·2016·0.94 MB·English

by  McGinley Syd

Attitude Adjustments

Chapter One

I have a boy.

It should be perfect. But, it’s not.

Ben claims I’m clinging to Rob, and twink says nothing is ever good enough for Dr. Fell, and
Dave just looks sad that he’s not making me happy.

And I’m pissed with myself, too. It should be right. I have a boy, a dog, a cabin, a bike, and a
part-time job.

Damn.

I can’t even say what’s wrong. Yeah, gaining a step-mom was a shake up, and having a live-in
boy of my own is downright unsettling, but those, on balance, are good things.

I throw Ghia a stick. She snorts and bounds away after it. I sigh and give myself a mental shake.
I’m being an idiot. I look at my watch. Dave’ll be home soon. I’m almost lonely without him.
Pathetic.

His job starts at dawn, but it gets him home mid-afternoon, so it works out well enough. He’s
taken to his apprenticeship out at the airport as if it were designed for him, and I tolerate the fact
that it has him working Saturdays. We get Wednesdays in exchange. He’s all but promised a job
if he passes his FAA test at the end of his apprenticeship. He leaves study guides for his
Airframe and Powerplant license all over the cabin. We’ve had some sharp words about tidiness.
I help him study, but it’s not like tutoring Rob for his GED. I can’t understand most of what
Dave is reading.

Ghia head butts my feet. I’ve ignored her stick.

“Aw, come on girl. Let’s go for a run until your Dave gets back.”

She leaps around while I change out of my boots, and then we lope off together into the woods.

Dave and I had awkward words earlier in the week. He wants to be just mine even if I fuck the
other boys as I train them, but I feel awkward not letting the guys have him in exchange. Fair’s
fair. And Dave’s a young kid. He doesn’t know what monogamy means yet, and his previous
lovers have been inept. He deserves some fun. I pause while Ghia catches up from investigating
an exciting scent, and I amend my objections.

I’d love Dave to be just mine, and the guys would be cool with it; I’m just being a bit of a dick
about Dave asking for what he wants.
Ghia snorts.

“You’re right, girl. I’m not being fair. I yelled at him for not telling me stuff, and now I’m being
an ass about him saying what he wants.”

Hell, is it worse to talk to yourself or to a dog?

“Being overheard is worse, sir.”

“Shit! Dave, you’re a sneaky little bastard. How much did you hear?”

Dave stays out of reach. “I’m quiet, not sneaky. Everything you said to Ghia, sir. You’re not an
ass, sir, but it is hard to know when I’m allowed to say what I want.”

I beckon him over. “Always allowed, boy. Just no sulking if you don’t get what you want.”

Dave laughs, and comes into his welcome home hug. “Yes, sir, but sometimes what you want is
the hard part.”

“Of course it is. No point otherwise is there?” I squeeze him tight, but Ghia is going crazy
needing Dave’s attention. I release him so he can rub her ears.

Dave drapes his arm round my waist as we go back to the cabin. It’s not, he points out, PDA if
it’s in the middle of private woods, so I tolerate our hips bumping as we walk.

Dave doesn’t re-open the conversation about being shared and I’m glad to let it drop. We’re
going to revise our contract in a few weeks so perhaps I’ll have my head sorted by then. He
seems cheerful enough as he works on his truck and maintains my Fat Boy. I set up my new
project on the porch so we’re companionable even though we don’t talk. He’s absorbed in
tinkering with some greasy part, and I’m hand-cutting dovetail joints for the box I’m making.
I’m not a cabinetmaker -- I’m a framing carpenter by trade -- but I can do fine work when
required. I don’t enjoy fiddly work, but it’s important that I make this myself.

Dave takes a break and brings me iced tea. He sits by my feet for awhile while he drinks a glass.
He watches my hands as I work and just smiles when I catch his gaze. He doesn’t ask what I’m
doing, but he kisses my knee before he goes back to his truck.

It’s a good afternoon -- both of us busy and peaceful. I let him get away with just a blowjob that
evening and he goes to bed early.

While Dave is at work, I finish my box construction and start the lid inlay. It’s tricky work and I
get pissy, but, by the time it’s finished, I’m pleased. Rob’s box is small and dark as he was. It
doesn’t need to be big to hold his drawing of me and his obituary. I’ve set mom’s eternity ring
into the lid. I put it on the mantle next to Chris’ drawing of Rob. Dave has put my crumpled
carnation from Mrs. P and dad’s wedding there. What a smush he is. I catch myself and laugh:
I’m the one making a memory box.
I notice Dave eyeing the box later, but he doesn’t say anything. I see a glimmer of hurt in Dave’s
face, but damn it, he’s here and Rob isn’t, so he has no call to be jealous.

I guess he calls twink because I get an earful from Ben when he and twink visit that Friday
evening. I make a note to deal with Dave’s habit of spilling his troubles to twink. He’s better
about not listening to Colby, but confiding in twink is hardly an improvement.

Ben reminds me Dave is new to being a boy, and tells me Dave hoped I was making the box for
him. Fuck. But then Ben missteps by trying to persuade me Rob wasn’t perfect. I know he
wasn’t, but I don’t need to hear it.

“Yes, you do,” yells Ben.

“Shut up,” I snarl. I jab my thumb at the open back door. “If those two hear this--”

We stare out the door at Dave trying to get twink to focus on a hotdog grilling tutorial. Twink is
being obscene with the raw wieners, and Ghia is watching every move.

“No, you shut up and listen if you don’t want them hearing.”

We have a stare off until Ben breaks it by opening a cabinet, and grabbing two jars from the
alphabetized herbs and spices. He waves them at me.

“Fuck off,” I say.

“Admit it John. Rob couldn’t please you about this.” He bangs the paprika, then the parsley onto
the table.

I get what he’s trying to do. Really. But Rob had a reason for struggling with the alphabetical
order. When we started our kitchen training, he’d have all the Ps: pepper, poppy seeds, pizza
blend, paprika, and parsley all muddled in together. Getting as far as Pa Pa was good going
really.

I mumble that out to Ben.

Ben drops his voice. “Come on, man. I know Rob had a hard time reading, but there’s a fucking
picture on the jar and you can see which is which through the glass. All he had to do was
remember paprika came first. Right? And since he knew that’s how you preferred it, he should
have done it. Face it, John -- Rob was messing with you.”

“Teasing me.”

“John, I saw that argument. You were pissed. It wasn’t one of your jokes.”

“A joke he got wrong. He didn’t know it would really annoy me.”
“He did it again the next week,” says Ben relentlessly.

I take the jars and put them away. Paprika, then parsley. I can’t help myself.

“Just tell me one fucking thing about Rob that wasn’t perfect, and I’ll stop. John -- you have to
get past it or Dave is going to be crushed by Rob.”

I stare blindly at the kitchen cabinets. Ben’s right, but I’ve taken too long to answer.

His voice is quiet and deliberate. “Get over yourself, John. We’ve all had shit. Charlie’s rehab
was no fucking fun and he has a long road with his folks yet, Greg lost his mum, I lost my dad,
Tommy lost his sister -- we all have grief. You need to adjust your fucking attitude!”

He walks down the back porch steps making some silly remark to the boys, and I just keep
staring at the door.

I know Rob wasn’t perfect. He drove me bugshit sometimes. But he was perfectly mine. And
what drove me crazy were the things I loved about him, too. He was such a domestic boy, and I
reveled in that, but sometimes his serious examination of draperies and place settings in
magazines gave me hives. Lord knows he loved his custom cars too, but I worried when he
folded even paper napkins into swans and shit.

I sit down at the kitchen table, and face a few things about me and Rob. I dismiss his little bad
habits -- his nail biting for example -- and our bickering about music. He loved country rock, and
he caught hell one day when I came home early and found him lying around listening to the
Eagles instead of working on his assigned tasks. He had the radio full blast and I watched him
lying on his belly in just his jeans, waggling his bare feet joyfully. He leaped up with a shriek
when he realized I’d busted him. Damn, he was cute.

Okay, so he goofed off to music and bit his nails. Big whoop, you can do better than that, John. I
push the salt and pepper jars around on the table, and dredge up that sometimes his cheerful lack
of interest in the world annoyed me. He’d learn things to please me, but he didn’t really have any
sense of curiosity. He knew what he liked, and that was enough for him.

Fuck, I’ve knocked the salt over.

His lack of curiosity was part and parcel of his trusting nature, too. He never imagined anyone
would hurt him. He remained constantly surprised by his parents’ rebuffs and silences. He ended
up in that damned alley. He never fucking learned that the world was cruel.

I can taste blood. I’ve bitten my lip.

I scoop the spilled salt up. I check that no one can see before I toss the salt over my left shoulder.
I rub the salt stuck to my finger on my cut lip, and wince. Keep going, John. Remember what
made you mad with him.
He wouldn’t relate to my friends except to serve them. It was more than just bickering about
shyness that led me to let him stay apart from my college friends. He’d stay downstairs if he
could serve, but he wouldn’t be my public partner. Fuck. His willingness to serve -- I loved it,
but it made me jealous. He’d make Ben a brown bag lunch, too, when we lived together.
Sometimes I think Rob just liked serving, and it wasn’t me at all.

Shit. I scrub my eyes. I won’t cry over him. I know he loved me. I know this is just debriding a
wound, not picking a scab. Goddamn, my eyes sting -- I must have had some salt still on me. I
splash my face at the sink. As I dry myself, I take a hard look at Dave. He’s turning food on the
grill and over-studiously ignoring Ben getting a blowjob from twink. It occurs to me that Dave
means it when he said he doesn’t want to be shared at all. I frown. We’ll talk again, and I’ll try to
do a better job of listening to him.

“Man up, John,” I say aloud, and head out.

I turn a blind eye to Ghia’s hotdog, and surprise Dave by patting his butt and leaving my hand
there. He shouldn’t look so happy to have his sir leave an arm across his waist, and I rebuke
myself. I’m pissing on a good thing here.

Ben must have finished his blowjob because twink’s chatter starts up again. I swear, if there’s
not a gag or a prick in that boy’s mouth…

Dave giggles. “That was still out loud, sir. You have lived alone too long, you old hermit.”

Ben and twink don’t stay late -- Dave has to be up in the morning, and twink has some Saturday
project he’s working on, too. Ben just grins when I ask. “Dude, he’s hatching some plan with
Owen. We’ll find out.”

I give Ben the stink eye, but it’s up to him what twink gets to do, and I don’t want to spoil our
shaky accord before he leaves.

As we see them off, Dave munches on a leftover sausage -- he’s always hungry -- and when he
sees me looking he swirls his tongue around it.

“Dirty boy!”

“Yes,” he says proudly, and pulls all the meat into his mouth without using his hands. I laugh
when he has trouble chewing it, but watch to make sure he doesn’t choke.

“Very talented, boy.”

“I’m learning,” he says. “I was watching Charlie a bit to see how he gets his head back.”
I brush his curls from his forehead. “Dave, don’t take this wrong, but that’s partly why we share
-- we all learn from the others. And it’s fun, too. You’re too young and horny to settle for just
me.”

Dave shrugs. “Yeah, I guess, but I don’t want another sir touching me.”

I already feel as if I’ve compromised when I made the earlier agreement that no one gets to fuck
him, but then I replay what he said.

“Just another sir?”

Dave blushes. “That’s what matters, sir,” he manages. “If you want me to screw around some I
guess I get what you mean. I could handle Charlie maybe. But it’s you who owns me, not other
sirs.”

I smother a grin. “So being a no strings slut with twink would be okay, but not having Ben
correct an error or be pleasured by you?”

Dave shuffles. “God, sir, it sounds so wrong when you put it like that.”

I didn’t think he could blush more. He’s twelve kinds of lovely. He puts his palm flat on my
chest and droops his head.

“Sir, the discipline is us, please, that’s what I’d feel was cheating, and I guess I could give the
guys a blowjob if you ordered me to, but don’t let them, uh, don’t let them hurt me, please, that
has to be just you.”

I kiss his mouth to stop his run on babble. “Boy, it’s a deal: the guys won’t discipline you, and
you get to play with the boys.”

Dave gives a stunned laugh. “What’s the catch?”

I let my grin loose. “Being just mine is the catch, boy. Oh, and I might want to watch you play.”

He nods slowly. “I’ll try, sir. I really do want just you. I know you fuck the others, and that’s
okay. I just want to please you.”

“You know what would please me?”

Dave answers with his hands on my belt buckle.

“Bedroom. I want your ass.”

Dave calls Ghia in and settles her down, and then scrambles into the bedroom getting naked as
he goes. The bedroom’s almost totally filled with a bigger bed now. There’s just a foot on either
side. I’m going to have to figure out a solution to that.
“Not now!” wails Dave. “Sir! Don’t think about furniture!”

I stand at the foot of the bed, and torment Dave by taking eyeball measurements of the room and
muttering numbers. I know already how big the room is because I built the bed inside it, but I’m
enjoying seeing Dave’s naked rump waiting. He’s still unsure about fucking, and his offering it
gladly is a victory.

I yelp. Dave has rolled over, grabbed me, and tumbled me down onto the bed.

“You’re a tease, sir.”

Dave is kissing me hard, and I let him. I’m amused by his boldness, and curious to see what kind
of relationship we’ll settle in to. He’s busily undressing me while we kiss, and then running his
fingertips down my ribs. I hide an un-dom-like giggle -- I’m so dead if the boys ever learn I’m
ticklish -- and grab his wrists. Dave’s got that light in his eyes -- he’s ready for some fun, and I
decide to take him a little further tonight. He’s still so brand spanking new to the whole scene.
Some light bondage, a bit of obedience training, and, yeah, a few spankings are all we’ve done.

“Trust me, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me your safe word.”

“Comma splice,” mumbles Dave.

“And you use it when?”

“I’m too scared, too hurt, feeling ill, or going numb.”

“Good. And hurt includes?”

“Emotions, too,” he says sounding downright petulant.

“And what happens if you don’t use it?”

“I get the disappointed lecture.”

I flip his cockhead with my fingernail.

“No movies, music, or desserts for a week,” he amends.

He likes being spanked far too much for it to be a deterrent, and what really hits home is a little
kid punishment. I want to trust him to use his safe word, but I’m still not over him thinking he’d
be in trouble for using it during our first fuck.
I set about getting that light back in his eyes. I grab the leather thongs I’d stashed under the
pillow, and tie his thumbs together. He’s disconcerted at how free and simultaneously hampered
it leaves him. He tugs experimentally, and then gives me puppy eyes. His cock is rigid, and I
stroke it with the back of my fingers and then drag another leather thong across his crotch.

He stays very still while I wrap the base of his shaft, and then loop down to circle and separate
his balls. I tie a knot, and Dave moans. I look in his eyes -- he’s happy. I put my ER scissors in
his view so he knows he can be freed in a second.

He’s my boy, so I bend forward and take his prick in my mouth. Dave yelps in surprise as he
knows from the boys how rare that is, but he’s begging and moaning in just a few seconds. I feel
his fingers tangling in my hair. He’s settling into my motion, and cries out as if he were bereft
when I move away. He’s got a lovely cock, and I’ll take him the whole way one day, but not
tonight.

“Oh, sir,” he says, full of reproach.

I lick my lips, and smile. I cup his leather-bound balls in my hand and weigh them. “I think I
want you to wait a bit longer.”

He breaks role. “Jeeze, I have work in the morning.”

He’s still not got that full-time thing through his head. I slap his prick hard. “Cheeky brat. I could
make you wait until your day off and then really work you over.”

Dave gulps. “But it’s only Friday, and I don’t wanna wait until Wednesday.”

“You don’t wanna?” I repeat. I feel a genuine irritation under my tease, but he’s a good lad, and
catches my tone. I see contrition and pride war it out on his face.

“Sorry, sir,” he says softly. “I want to please you. I’m not used to long fucks. It’s all been a bit
wham-bam with my exes.”

“But you do have work in the morning.”

Dave squirms. The kid has to get up at five to make a six a.m. shift. But he has a drooling prick. I
tug on the end of the thong around his balls, and rub my palm callus on his cock head. He
whimpers, but leans in to accept the caress.

“So perhaps I should just stop.”

I am only teasing. My balls are aching as much as I imagine his are. I want to get off and sleep
with my boy next to me in my decadently large new bed. Dave is staying perfectly still, and just
pleading with his eyes.
“Just a fuck now, and a scene on Wednesday, boy. You’ll be on the St. Andrew’s Cross for the
first time.”

His cock twitches in my grasps and belies his gasp of “oh no.”

He’s moving to his hands and knees, but I stop him with a twitch to the thong.

“Face to face, boy. Get your knees up by your ears!” I snap that out as a command, and damn,
he’s in position.

He can obey well when it suits him. I’ve just got to figure out what sort of sub my boy is. I’m
sure he’s a natural under his minor rebellions and ‘don’t wanna’ moments. Dave is eager, and I
both revel in his innocence and feel guilty about enjoying his inexperience.

I remind myself he is already my boy -- we’ll convert our temporary contract to something
longer term in a few weeks. And he’s not vulnerable. He has family, a happy pursuit of a career
as a mechanic, and his thriving circle of friends beyond the boys. He’s got a confident core of
self that won’t lead him astray. It’s safe to love him. He’s not a boy who needs rescuing.

Although right now, he looks plenty defenseless with his ass cracked for me, and his bound
thumbs tucked under his chin to stop himself from interfering.

He lifts his hips a little as I enter him, and he moans. He’s got the hang of this stage now. Our
first few times together he’d tense up and make it hard for us. He shifts a little to improve my
angle, opens his eyes, and smiles at me.

“You know, sir, I really do like your dick in me now.”

He proves his point with a wicked little wriggle, and we’re away with the fuck. I’m glad I built
the king-sized bed frame even if it uses the whole room. I did plan on making it a quickie for my
poor boy, but he’s the one holding it back -- he’s brought me to the edge and held off twice. We
may have started face to face, but we’ve worked through several positions and covered most of
the bed by the time he lets me ride him to orgasm.

He holds me close afterward, and smugly says, “In fact, I love your dick in me now, sir.”

He’s still all tangled up with me as he falls asleep -- his thongs were removed during the fucking
so I’ve no excuse to extract myself. I let him stay snuggled up and I lie there wondering: who’s
got who? He wasn’t topping from below as such, but I’m not sure I was in charge there.