David Patten: The Paperboy
I really liked David. I saw him almost every Sunday, when he helped his Dad deliver papers to our store. I wasn’t supposed to get there until 6am, which was usually right as they’d dropped the papers and were leaving. I usually tried to be a little before that, so I could have a pot of coffee on for Mr. Patten, and so they could carry the papers in, rather than putting by the front door for me to bring inside. Since the weather had been getting colder, I’d started heating some water , so David could have some hot cocoa.
I know David was 14, had thick, rather unruly brown hair, bushy eyebrows, and very nice, deep, dark brown eyes. He had a pleasant, but not unusually good looking face, with full, but not round cheeks, lips that were neither full nor thin, a nose that was just a touch small for his face, and a round, but strong chin. Overall, I wasn’t dying to look at his face, but certainly wouldn’t complain about having to eat dinner across from him, either. He was almost my height - maybe 5’10", but lean. I’d guess he was probably about 140, and I’m only going that high because he was a bit broad across the hips.
David had a couple of classes with my brother Mike. The two of them weren’t friends, but it gave us something in common. He and I would greet each other when he came by Sunday mornings, and I’d sometimes see him at other shifts, when he stopped on the way home from school or came to get something for his mom. We enjoyed talking and he was a nice guy.
I remember one particular day when he was late and came in carrying a bundle of papers by himself. Usually his dad carried them in, while he stayed outside and inserted the ads and stuff. When he came in, I said hello, and he just grunted. He was looking pretty cute, in jeans and work books, a dark green thermal top under a heavy, lined, jean jacket, and one of those heavy caps with ear flaps. Looking out the door, I realized his dad wasn’t there. I grabbed my coat and went out to help him. I carried the bundles as he handled the inserts. As we did that, I saw someone sitting in the driver’s seat of the truck. The windows were a bit foggy, so I couldn’t tell who it was.
"Who’s driving?", I asked.
"Robert," David told me, which was all I needed to know to explain his bad mood. If you could have heard the tone of voice, you would probably have understood it, too.
Where David was dark, with average looks, Robert looked like an especially handsome 60s surfer. Where David was about average height and not quite average build, Robert was tall and athletic. Where David was nice, polite, and fun to talk to, Robert seemed to be an overbearing, egotistical jerk. Where David was a good student who helped his dad on weekends for pocket money, Robert seemed spoiled. Yet, from talking to Mr. Patten, I could tell that he doted on his oldest son. Go figure.
"Dad wasn’t feeling very good when we delivered the early Sunday yesterday," Dave continued to explain, though I hadn’t asked. He obviously wanted to get something off his chest. "And," he continued, "he got really sick last night. He told Robert he might have to drive today, but Robert still went out with his buddies. This morning, Dad tried to wake him up and he argued with Dad, and tried to go back to sleep, and took too long getting ready. Dad finally got mad and said that, if we don’t finish the route on time, he’s going to whip us both when we get home."
"That’s no fair," I blurted in shook. Dave ignored my statement of the blaringly obvious and continued.
"Yeah, but Dad doesn’t want me slacking just to get Robert in trouble. Like it matters, we were 20 minutes late getting the papers and we’re nearly 40 minutes late now, because he won’t help me put them out."
"He’s not worried about getting whipped?"
"I don’t even know how long it’s been since the last time Dad whipped him. He doesn’t think he’ll really do it."
"How long since the last time you got it?"
David glanced up at me, maybe a bit embarrassed. "Halloween, ‘cause I stayed out after curfew. Hell, the last time I can remember Dad whipping that jerk, it was on his pants anyway."
"He doesn’t let you keep your pants on?"
"He doesn’t even let me keep my jockeys on."
We’d almost finished with the papers by that point, so I told David to bring in the last stack. While he did that, I ran in, fixed him a hot chocolate, and grabbed one of the pastries that he liked. As he was signing the delivery form, I dropped them down in front of him. He complained that he couldn’t pay for it, but I told him it was gratis. He accepted gratefully and departed.
Sunday mornings were stop and go. I’d start getting busy around 7, and stay that way until just before 9am. Then, all the people that actually got up Sunday morning were in church. I’d be quite until around 11:15, when they were starting to get out. After that, it just depended if it was football season or not.
During my slow times, I thought about David. I couldn’t imagine him getting strapped for something that was his brother’s fault, and his brother certainly didn’t seem to be worrying about it. After convincing myself that my young friend was safe, and his father had just been making an idle threat, I began to think about the other things he’d told me, and began to imagine various ways that he might get ready to feel his dad’s belt on his bare bottom, and what position it might be in.
As soon as the pre-church rush was over, I began to straighten and clean. It wasn’t exactly fun, but it helped the time pass. I’d had my normal one or two customers when the door chimed again, a few minutes after 10. I looked up to see David walking in. I was happy to see him, and was already betting myself whether he was going to bitch about his brother or try to convince me he’d been kidding when he’d admitted to getting his bare butt whipped at his age. He’d traded the boots for sneakers the heavy coat for a light jacket and had ditched the cap, but was otherwise dressed the same. As I came around the aisle to say hello, I realized that I could see dried tear tracks down his cheeks. Suddenly, I wasn’t so excited about him being there.
"Guess you didn’t finish the route on time. Huh?"
"Nope. Guess not," he replied.
As I got a good look at him, I could tell he was moving pretty stiffly.
"It wasn’t all bad, though."
"You got a whooping for something that wasn’t your fault, and should have been just your brothers, and you say it wasn’t all bad? How you figure that?"
"Simple," David told me. I got it pretty hard, but Robert got the hell torn out of him, and I got to watch part of it."
"Okay, I guess that’s something, even if it’s not as good as not getting whooped. You’ve never seen him get it before?"
"Nah. Even when we both used to get it, Dad’d whip me first, then make me go to my room while he whipped Robert."
"Where does he whip ya’ll?"
"If it’s just one of us, Dad whoops us in our rooms, but if we’re both in trouble, he takes us to the garage. He has it set up with all his tools and woodworking stuff and whenever we’re gonna get it, he takes us out there and we have to take off our clothes and lay down on the workbench."
"Y’know, David; you’re so sore you’re having trouble walking. I don’t get whippings anymore, but sometimes my dad gets my little bros too hard or when they don’t really deserve it…"
"You mean like I got today?"
"Exactly. I don’t do it very often, because they usually deserve it; but, I know a way to make it… Not stop hurting, but at least not hurt so bad."
He looked at me a bit suspiciously.
"How?" he asked.
"Sun burn lotion. And maybe some medicine, if it’s bad enough. I’d need to look at it first to be sure. Do you want me to try?"
"Are you serious? Hell, yeah!"
"You’ll have to get bare."
He just shrugged. I checked the clock and we should have plenty of time before anyone started coming in. I led him to the storage room. Looking around, I figured the stack of empty milk crates would be best.
"Ditch the jacket over there," I said, as I indicated the counter, "then drop ‘em and you can bend over there."
"So, what happened today?" I asked, as he started to comply.
"Well, like I said, Dad makes us both strip down, but he usually starts with me, then I have to get dressed and go in while Rob gets his turn, so I might see him get a couple of pops. This time, I started to lay down on the bench, ‘cause I just wanted to get it over with; but, Dad stopped me and told me to let him start on Robert, first. And that’s exactly what he meant to. He whooped Rob ‘til he started crying, then told him to get up. I wasn’t too worried, ‘cause he really didn’t whip Rob that hard, but then he wailed the crud outta me. I was screaming and crying, and hating Dad, ‘cause it was Rob’s fault, so why was he whipping me so hard. Then, he finally let me up, and he told me to get dressed, and I realized Rob was still standing there, buck naked. Dad told me to start getting dressed, and he had Rob get back over the table and started whipping him again. Man! That wasn’t worth getting a whooping I didn’t deserve, but it was close. He was crying like a baby before I could get outta there, too. It was great."
While he was telling me all this, David shucked his jacket, then pulled his thermal top up his belly, showing it to be nice, flat, and hairless. He dropped his jeans, exposing a pair of slightly dingy briefs, then turned around. When he was right in front of the milk crates, he pushed the briefs down around his knees, with his jeans, then laid over the crates. He had a pretty nice rear end, as you’d expect from the fact that he was wide through the hips. It was round and full, with barely any dimpling, and not flabby, but nice and firm. His butt was smooth, but you could see a few hairs starting to spread from his lower legs to his upper thighs.
He was looking back over his shoulder as he finished the story, watching me gently explore his butt. It wasn’t the worst I’d ever seen, but he had a few welts, and it looked like some half-moon bruises were forming on the left hip. The end of the story was punctuated by an occasional grunt or ouch as I checked the problem area.
When he was through, I told him I thought we should start with some Bactine, just in case. He didn’t argue, so I told him I’d be back in a minute, and he could either stay there, or check his rear end in the bathroom mirror.
It only took a couple of moments to grab some Bactine and aloe vera lotion from the shelves and get back to him. He’d stood up and was standing in the bathroom doorway, trying to see his butt in the mirror over the sink.
"Can’t see it?"
He looked at me, then back over his shoulder.
"Just a bit. Is this where you talked about those little bruises?"
"That’s the place."
"I can’t see it very good, but I can tell what you mean."
His jeans and briefs were still around his knees. Since he was looking into the bathroom, I had a perfect view of his front. I’d expected him to be shy, since he’d turned around before dropping his briefs, but he didn’t seem bothered standing in front of me like that. As he looked back over his shoulder to check out his backside, I took a moment to check out his front. Soft - and he was hanging straight down, showing no excitement - and I think he was longer than me hard. His balls looked big and heavy, but didn’t drape quite as far as the head of his dick. He had a thick patch of short curlies. The hair hadn’t spread yet to his thighs or belly, but it had grown a bit onto the shaft of his dick and was reaching his scrotum. It was a nice sight, and I thought about trying to get him out of the rest of his clothes - maybe even trying to seduce him - but I was stopped as much by the knowledge that the after church rush would soon start as much as anything.
"People will be getting out of church soon, David; so, let’s get this done."
He turned back to me and waddled back over to the crates, only stopping to throw his jacket over them. Without prompting, he climbed back into the same position I’d already had him.
I opened the Bactine, sprayed some in my hand, then began to gently rub it into the areas that looked to be bruising; then, even more gently, brushed it over the welts. Even though I was warming it in my hand first and trying to be gentle, he was still squirming and I could hear the breath hissing between his teeth as it went on.
"Feel better?" I asked, as I finished the last stripe.
"Yeah. Some. Better than it did," he replied with a sigh.
"We have plenty, so I may as well cover your whole backside. It’ll help a little, but it’s going to go on cold."
Despite the warning, he jumped when I began to spray the medicine directly on his abused cheeks. He yelped a little, but didn’t wiggle too much. I softly massaged the medicine into his buttocks, enjoying it every bit as much as he was. He shivered as my fingertips lightly crossed down the edge of his crack. A bit of the medicine ran off his cheeks, and I rubbed it into the top of his legs, where the belt hadn’t hit so heavily. My fingers ‘accidentally’ slipped between his legs and brushed the back of his scrotum. He jumped and I pulled my hand back a bit as I murmured an apology. He assured me it was no big deal, and spread his legs a bit more. I didn’t go that far again, but did slightly rub that area between the legs that’s not quite scrotum but not quite butt, either.
I had a raging hard-on right then, and new it wouldn’t be a good idea to go any further.
"Stay there and let that dry a minute. I’m going to see if anyone’s trying to get gas."
He assured me he wouldn’t move, and I went into the main part of the store. It was still quiet, and I took a second to think of cold things, before going back to him.
David was still in about the same place. He’d taken the weight from his elbows, and was lightly rubbing his bottom with one hand.
"Feel better?"
He looked back at me and nodded.
"You know, this is really pretty embarrassing."
"It could be worse. You could be there because I was about to whip you."
He agreed with that. David watched me as I opened the lotion, put a glob in my hand, and began to rub my palms together. Then he hefted himself back up, where I could more easily reach his buttocks.
"Why do you rub the stuff in your hands like that?"
"Because it’s cold. It goes on easier if I warm it up a little first."
As I rubbed the lotion onto his buttocks, you could tell how good it felt. He was like a cat, when you scratched a hard-to-get place. His back arched, then he lifted his bottom. That might not have been a good idea, since it exposed his tight little hole, while I was right there with a lotioned finger. I was still a good boy, despite the fact that I could tell my briefs were getting a little damp. Well, a ‘pretty good boy’, as my nephew, Chad, put it. I did the same things I’d done the first time, and I think we both enjoyed them. Because he was shifting around as I rubbed, my fingers ‘accidentally’ roamed a little further than they had the first time, but this time it really was mostly accidental.
After a second coat, I figured he was about as good as he was going to get, and I was about to have an accident, so I stood and told him to as well. He started to do so, then stopped.
"C’mon Dave. I’m going to have customers pretty soon."
"Umm…" he started. "I can’t get up right now."
"Got a hard-on? Don’t worry, it happens," I assured him. "Get up, I have to wash my hands anyway."
And I did have to wash my hands. With my back turned, he stood and started to dress. Of course, I hadn’t mentioned the fact that, while washing my hands, I was going to be looking over my shoulder in the mirror. I’d been right; if I was any judge of the size of my hand, David was a good inch or more longer than me, and chubbier, too. I really wish I’d gone a bit further and wrapped my hand around that, but I was pretty sure it wouldn’t have been a good idea. Instead, I contented myself with storing the image and remembering the feel of his bottom in my hand.
Actually, I’d finished up just in time. After David got his briefs up, I went to the front of the store. He followed a minute or two later (long enough to get comfortable in his jeans). We were talking about a few things, avoiding the little thing (or not so little) that had come up earlier. It wasn’t five minutes before the church rush started, and David headed home.
That was the only time I had a chance like that with David, but I think it made a real impression on him. For the next couple of weeks, I don’t remember seeing him. However, he finally stopped back by. We talked for a bit, and I finally explained to him that erections often occur when something feels good, even if it might not a good time for them. I think he would have preferred we skip the whole conversation, but he did seem to relax afterwards, especially once he decided I wasn’t going to tell everyone he was queer. After we settled that, he and I actually became rather close I guess it was like that old cartoon where the mouse pulled the thorn from the cat’s paw: I showed him more kindness and consideration than his dad or brother seemed to, and he appreciated that. We didn’t really live that far apart, and for the next few years, I became a confidant for him. We never became real close, but I think he really liked having someone older who’d listen to him and take him seriously. As for myself, I never minded having a younger friend around, especially if he was fun to look at, but it was sure hard, remembering the feel of that butt in my hand and the look at his hang, and knew it was a good idea to keep a little distance between us. I still saw him some after I quit the store and started teaching, but once I got my own apartment, I don’t recall ever seeing him again.