Gay male sex with a BDSM theme is not something I've tried to write about before. But if one can think of something, one can probably write about it too. The dominant man here admits to being bi-sexual while the younger one is developing inclinations in that direction.
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In the summer of 1974, I was a nineteen-year-old virgin just finishing my freshman year at Lehman College in New York. During my high school years, I had no luck in approaching any of the girls at that place. In truth, I hadn't even tried approaching them. I wasn't exactly an assertive person, even though I didn't want to admit that even to myself.
My friends tried to encourage me to just talk to girls and ask them out for casual dates to start with. I hemmed and hawed, but I never actually did it. I claimed that I was looking for the "right" girl, but I was just fooling myself. Underneath, I was simply afraid of rejection.
Objectively I guess I wasn't that bad looking, although neither was I an imposing male specimen. I was about five-eight and quite slender, verging almost on skinny. My eyes and hair were dark, and I had a sort of olive complexion that came from my father's Italian side of the family. As was usual for guys at that time, I was usually way overdue for a haircut. My somewhat curly hair didn't fall straight down, but it was often sticking out from my head in a messy tangle.
Overall, I'm sure that some girl, maybe several, would have gone for me if I had put any effort into it. I could have had some dates and, given the sexual mores of the time, maybe I could have finally gotten my cherry busted with some willing chick.
Not all of them were beauties, but that would have made it all the more likely perhaps. They were young and nubile, and that's what counted. Besides, they were in college with me, so they must have been brighter than average and I would have had something in common with them. But I dithered throughout my entire freshmen term at Lehman, just like I had done in high school.
That first summer break, through a neighbor, I got a job with a construction contractor's office on the East Side of Manhattan. If it worked out, I might be able to continue part-time into the fall. It was better paying than the foot messenger job I had the previous summer.
I did have to buy a few extra clothes, like dress pants and a few ties. For a jacket, I still had a polyester blue sports coat I had owned for several years. It was rather awful, with its fake gold buttons, but I didn't want to invest in more garments to start with. I already had a pair of black loafers, so I didn't have to worry about footgear either at the beginning. I did get my hair cut to a more reasonable length, but it was still on the bushy side.
It was assigned to be the assistant to the assistant bookkeeper, and man was that a boring job. Much of the work involved going through and sorting reams of receipts from various subcontractors.
The company mostly handled office renovations along with some new construction. It did most of the carpentry itself, and thus they had several carpenters on the payroll.
For a lot of my time there I had to work on an adding machine totaling up long lists of figures. All of that would be a snap today, but that was long before spreadsheets had been invented. The irony was, with that level of computerization, I might not have had that job at all.
The bookkeeper and his assistant, an officious young man named Klaus, seemed to be constantly in some crisis or another. Maybe they needed more help than they had, which was why I was hired. Perhaps they were just naturally disorganized. In any case, a constant air of anxiety hung over their little department.
I was sometimes in their small office sorting receipts, sitting at the same table that my two colleagues were using. When I was on the adding machine, I sat at a desk outside their cramped room.
Very quickly I grew to hate the job. I was stupid enough to sometimes complain about it to my two co-workers. Klaus (who didn't have a German accent, by the way) was about five years older than I was. Sometimes he would commiserate with me, at other times he scoffed. If he had an issue with me, he would call me "Tom, baby," which struck me as a bit odd.
That situation went on for the first three weeks. I was constantly making errors on the adding machine, which Klaus would catch and which greatly annoyed him. I grew to envy the carpenters who would always be in and out of the place for various reasons. My grandfather, who had been in the tile setting trade, had warned me that construction work was very physically demanding and often resulted in injuries. Being young and naive, I discounted whatever he had to say about the business.
The two guys who owned my firm, John and Charlie, had been carpenters themselves. By their early forties, they had gotten tired of swinging hammers and tried their hand with their own business. The company was making money even though the two owners had probably been better carpenters than they were managers. They were gruff, and they were always handling some problem, including the ones that Raymond, the bookkeeper, brought to their attention.
One day a secretary came up to me and told me that Charlie Hanley wanted to see me in his office -- at 6:00 PM after the office was technically closed. She told me to just knock on this door at the appointed time. I was certain that he wasn't going to praise my work or offer me a raise.
I didn't know what to do with myself during that last hour, so I went out to a nearby sandwich shop for a light dinner. When I came back ten minutes early, Charlie's door was closed. The office was rapidly emptying out, and I sat in my usual chair by the adding machine.
Exactly on time, I went over and knocked on his door. I heard him say, "Just come on in." I opened the door and said, "You wanted to see me, Mister Hanley?" Back then last names were commonly used for superiors, although I called Raymond by his first name.
"Yes, come in and close the door. In fact, lock it. Then stand over here in front of my desk." When I got in place, I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I folded them in front of me.
Charlie wasn't that tall, but he was quite muscular from his years working construction. On that day he had taken his jacket off, and he was just wearing a dress shirt with a tie.
He leaned back in his chair and assessed me for a moment. Then he moved forward and put his hands on the desktop. "Let me get right to the point. Raymond and Klaus have been complaining about you to me. You've been both sloppy and lazy in your work habits."
I could feel my face warming up. "I'm sorry, Mister Hanley, I'll try to do better."
"You are going to do more than try; you are going to do much, much better assuming we keep you on."
That was the first indication that I might be fired. The only thing I liked about the job was the money I was earning. It would probably be considered a pittance by an adult, but for a young college student, it seemed pretty good indeed. I was already considering how by the next semester I would have the cash to take girls on proper dates, with dinner and movies and so forth. That would be much better than the school cafeterias. I wouldn't look like such a loser to my dates, and maybe I'd finally get laid.
I figured he'd have more to say, and he did, "Tom, I'm going to offer you two options. The first is that I fire you, right here and now. I'm sure we could get another skinny liberal-arts fuck-off in here by the day after tomorrow."
Gee, thanks for letting me know how you really feel about me.
"The second option is that you accept a punishment from me and then I'll give you a second chance."
I assumed that he was expecting a question from me. "May I ask, what kind of punishment would that be?" I didn't have the slightest idea of what he was talking about.
"Sure, it's only fair that you know what each choice entails before you make the decision. It's going to be a corporal punishment. Do you know what that is?"
It sounded familiar, but I wanted him to confirm it for me. "I'm not sure, Mister Hanley. Could you explain it to me?"
"Of course, you should know all the details first. I'm going to raise the arms of my chair and lock the wheels. Then you're going to come over here and lie across my knees. After that, I'll give you a good, sound spanking on your narrow little behind."
I rather stupidly said, "Okay, I see." His comment about the shape of my backside struck me as odd. It took another moment for me to realize he intended to beat me on that very same behind. By the way, I didn't ask for a safe word because I had never heard the term before. I think Charlie would have scoffed at me if I had brought up the topic.
