A Different Birthday
Copyright on this story text belongs at all times to the original author only, whether stated explicitly in the text or not. The original date of posting to the MMSA was: 03 Nov 2017
I was assiduously scrupulous to obey the rules, and do whatever Mike and Greta told me after that weekend of three, severe lickings, and 10 days of being grounded. It was true, and I gained a lot of trustworthy credit from them for it.
It was true up until two weekends before bar exam results were to be released. That Saturday, after work, I showered and cleaned up, dressing in my best jeans and a sweater, along with a light-weight hoodie.
I’d been invited to a big,
on-the-eve party with a bonfire and music out in a nearby, wooded park. A little past 3 p.m., I kissed Greta and hugged Mike, telling them I was off for my last fling before I entered the hard work of lawyering.
I felt more like their younger son, as they smiled and chuckled at me, telling me to have fun, but be safe and smart, and, Mike added,
be home by 1 a.m.
Turning, I stared at Mike, astonished that, without my requesting it, he had granted me leeway and leniency, an extension of the deadline of my regular curfew.
Thuh-anks, Mike! I gushed, feeling like a mainsail suddenly filled with a gusting wind. Certain that would be more than enough, I fled from the house, rushing like a much younger, young man, happy and enthusiastic.
I drove to where we were all supposed to meet, parked my car, and joined the growing group of party-goers. Finally, three horse-drawn wagons arrived, filled with hay, for us all to climb onto and be transported to where ever the party was to take place.
This is going to be a neat, unforgettable, fun time, I thought to myself. I knew a number of the people there, but there were some I did not know, or had only seen on campus during law school days.
The wagons pulled away, and for over an hour we rode, talking and laughing, and becoming acquainted with those who were unknown. Beers were freely supplied during the ride, and by the time we finally arrived at the party site, I had to relieve myself urgently.
To my surprise, there was a portolet at the site, and I got in line right away to empty out the three beers I’d drunk on the way there. When I finally obtained relief, I joined up with the guys who were grilling over coals.
There were hamburgers, hotdogs, and chicken legs all cooking with delicious flavour over the grill outside. We stood around talking and laughing, recalling various incidents during our schooling, and also the shock of the bar exam questions.
I laughed at most of what we all were amused with. The talk about the bar exam’s second-day, tough questions unnerved me not a little, however.
I began feeling that same old, gnawing insecurity and apprehension about those sections of the exam that had bugged me right up to the examination days. Nevertheless, we continued drinking and partying.
A large bon fire was ignited, and most of us gathered around it to sit, and warm ourselves against the chilly, cooling night air. There was music too.
Several of the group were members of a band, although I never knew that until now. They played several times, for long sessions, furnishing music we knew and enjoyed listening to, occasionally breaking out singing, and acting out in silly ways to.
Darkness was falling as the food was all ready and available for us. I got a plate I filled amply, along with another beer, and returned to the fire. Everything was delicious!
I was having a lot of fun, and even met a girl I enjoyed talking and being with, Chrissy Nelson. Most of my buddies were as readily painless as I had become, and we teased each other and joked all evening long.
We were told the wagons would load up around midnight, to take us back to where the cars were parked. That concerned me at once, because I knew we would not get back to the cars until after 1 a.m., well after the extension Mike had unilaterally granted me; and I still had to drive back home.
Casually and surreptitiously, I began talking with the wagon drivers, inquiring about the route they had taken to bring us all here. They told me it was a trail through the woods that snaked around, before bisecting like a Y
Which one of the forks do you take? I asked. They looked at me suspiciously, but answered me anyway.
The left one. Take the left fork, isn’t that right, Kenny? the one driver asked another.
Right, Kenny replied. I’d decided I would leave shortly after 11 and hike my way back, so I could get to my car and get home by 1 a.m. Of course, I wasn’t going to tell anybody that, because that would only engender questions I earnestly wanted to avoid.
Shortly after 11 p.m., I announced I needed to visit the head. When I got to the portolet, however, there was a line waiting to enter.
I knew I had to get hightailing it out of there, if I was going to make my goal and get back to my car in time to get home on time. So, I walked behind the portolet, into the woods, and along to where the trail was the had brought us there.
In the dark, in the woods, it was easy to step behind a tree and empty my bladder. It was a lot harder to navigate ones way, though, as there was only a slice of moon, in the clear starry sky to afford light.
I hurried, stumbling along, as best and fast as I could. Despite being slowed by the
terrain hidden in the darkness, I reached the junction of the trail which was barely visible in the dark and thick sylvan surroundings.
Which way? I thought hastily back to the conversation I’d had with the wagon drivers. Right, I recalled hearing two of them say, so I choose and set off on the right arm of the slingshot.
I decided to try to speed up, so I wouldn’t be embarrassed by the wagons, filled with my friends and fellow party-goers, overtaking me. I accelerated along, seemingly speeding toward my destination when suddenly the path before me sloped sharply under me.
Totally caught by surprise, I found myself hurtling forward, my feet racing too keep up with the pull of gravity, until not surprisingly, I lost my footing and balance, falling, rolling, toppling downward. It seemed almost like a long free fall, my tumbling downward was so overpowering and out of reach of any control.
In blind darkness, I reached out in desperation to try to halt my dropping motion. Owwww! I hit something with my left hand hard enough to alter the course of my falling.
That sent me sideways where my head scraped something rough, and then my body collided with something else, knocking the wind out of me. I was more than shaken up by the totally unseen, rude encounter cast upon me.
Lying there in the utter darkness for a few minutes, I was aware of sharp pain from my hand, my head hurting somewhat, and another, solid area of pain on my left hip. I could not see where I was, what I’d hit, in what condition I was.
The pain was joined by fright and desperation. It dawned on me I must have taken the wrong fork in the road. There was no way a wagon, pulled by a horse, could go down the steep drop I had stumbled into.
Now what? I had no idea where I was. How could I get hold of anybody? My phone. I reached for my cell phone in my left pocket, but the pain in my left hand would not allow me to delve it into my pocket and retrieve my phone.
I tried twisting my body so my right hand might reach into my left pocket to grab my phone. My body, especially my left hip, was hurting, but I managed to get my fingers on the end of my phone.
Pulling it out, it flew out of my insecure grasp, landing somewhere in the woods and weeds, and whatever, that I could not see in the dark. Damn it! Why is everything going wrong? I wondered.
I could not move very much for the denseness of my dark surroundings, and the aching of my head, hip, and especially my left hand. Lying there, reality sunk in that there was really nothing I could do until daybreak.
So, I tried to compose myself in the chilly, damp woods, resigned to waiting until sunrise. Some hours later, I awoke hearing a hollering owl. I’d fallen asleep.
Awake, I knew immediately it was way past 1 a.m., and I was late again! If only I could call Mike and Greta, let them know what had happened, how I was.
There was nothing I could do until daylight. I must have laid there for a couple of hours, fearing every strange sound, before I fell back to sleep. When I awoke again, it was daylight.
I was cold, stiffy, achy and hurting, and had to urinate badly. I tried to sit up, but found my hip hurt so badly, I couldn’t hold a sitting position. I stared around, trying to find my phone, but I could not see it.
Pulling my knees up together, I rolled over onto my knees to try to pull myself up. Of course, my left hand screamed pain and was not useable to support me. My left hip was aching as well.
I saw a large rock I must have hit my hip against, and several tall trees next to me. Bracing myself with my right hand and arm, I pushed myself up off my knees to stand on my feet.
My bladder was about to explode and I tried to move to a place where I could lean against a tree, unzip my jeans and pull out my todger with my right hand, to let the urine flow.
Instead, I managed to lose my balance and fall on my face, even a bit farther, lower than the spot I’d been halted at last night.
Damn it! I muttered, but my sphincter gave way.
I felt the warm, widening saturation flowing into my jeans, down my legs, until at last there was relief. I was mortified, even in the solititude of the woods, at lying there soaking my own urine.
Instead of attempting another, perilous rise and stand, from which I could fall again, further down and worse; I decided to crawl snake-like, proceeding upward toward where I had hit, fallen, and spent the night.
It took a long while, but eventually I made slow headway. As I slithered around, my eyes were thrilled to spot my phone lying about 6 feet away, but on unobscured ground.
Worming my painfully slow way toward it, I finally was able to slide around so my right hand could grab it. Pulling it to me, I activated it and punched the button for
The phone rang and Great answered.
Greta! I called out way to frantically.
Clay?! Where are you?! Are you okay?!
I don’t think so, I responded.
I fell in the woods, in the dark, last night, and couldn’t find my way out. It’s really thick here, and I think I’ve hurt something, my left hand probably.
Hold on, Clay. I’m locating you on my phone, and Mike and I will come find you. Don’t leave. Stay there! We’ll find you. Keep your phone on and handy.
Okay, thanks, Greta, I replied and hung up.
It was on towards late morning when Mike and Greta came tromping through the woods, and then down the steep drop until they found me. Of course, I was a mess: wet with urine, grimy and dirty, bloody on my forehead, hurting on my left hip, unable to move or touch my left hand without crying out with pain.
Mike didn’t care. He picked me up in his strong, Marine-mechanic’s arms, and began carrying me along up the steep incline. Eventually, we got to his truck, and he placed me in the back seat.
I told him what had happened, and where my car was. He drove me to my car, which was the only one still parked there. Greta asked for my key, got out, and drove my car home.
Meanwhile, Mike was venting.
Why didn’t I call them and let them know how far away I was? Why didn’t I let them know I might not be able to make the deadline he’d given me because I had no transportation?
If you’d called and said you were going to go off down the wooded trail in the dark, Clay, I’d have told you to stay there, ride back, keep me posted, and you’d have been fine, and not in any trouble, he lectured me.
That worried me.
Trouble? Am I in trouble, Mike? I asked.
I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, and I was really trying to comply with the 1 a.m. deadline, to obey, Mike, I urged my defense.
I know that, Clay, but you went about it so damned an immature way! That’s what’s got you in the shape you’re in now, and burns me up. I told you to be careful and safe. Wasn’t that one of the last things I told you? he interrogated.
Ye-es, but I, ah, didn’t think it was, ah, being unsafe or, um, careless, I replied.
That’s exactly right, Clay Walker! You did not think! Well, now we’ve got to deal with the broken pieces, young man!
I felt horrible, like a failure and a huge burden on him and Greta. When he called Greta and told her he was going to take straight to the emergency department of the hospital, I felt even worse.
Can’t we just go home, and let me take a bath and clean up first? I asked.
Forget that, young man. We’ve got to get your hip, and hand, and head checked out, right away! He was emphatic. I laid in the back silently.
At the hospital, emergency personnel met us, pulled me out of the back of Mike’s truck, put me on a gurney, and hauled me inside. They cut off my soaked, stinking clothes (my newest, best jeans!), wiped me down, and put a paper gown on me, before wheeling me into x-ray.
The x-rays revealed a hard contusion of my hip, which would over time heal up and be fine. Some lacerations on my forehead and scalp needed bacterial cleansing and two, small, dissolvable sutures.
My left hand was the problem. I had fractured of the metacarpels, and it would require casting to set them for healing, and vigourous, extensive physical therapy to regain their post-fracture use.
By the time we left the emergency room, I had the two stitches in my head, and my left hand was fixed in a cast. My hip was hurting, could not currently bear weight, but would heal.
I had none of my clothes, so Mike just picked me up in his arms, with me scarcely covered by the thin, paper gown, and carried me out of the hospital back to his truck. I kept my face down, looking away from everyone, I was so embarrassed.
Back home, Greta and Mike fussed over me. He put me in the tub and bathed me. Boy, was I ever embarrassed to have him scouring my anus and butt, between the toes on my feet, and even my scrotum and penis, that betrayed me by becoming excited as he scrubbed it.
He picked me up and sat me on the toilet seat, drying me with a towel. That only aroused my woody more as he rubbed it dry. He carried me into room and laid me on my back on my bed.
He opened my dresser drawers, found a t-shirt and old boxers and put them on me, stuffing my bulging boner into my boxers where they tented boldly the front. He found an old, loose pair of jeans, and pulled them onto my feet and legs, then lifted my butt up high while he pulled them down over my buttocks and my hips, before letting me lie flat again.
Zipping up my old jeans, he had to grab my stiff loaf, twisting and pushing it downward while he trapped it in the zippered jeans. I was gasping deep breaths with every alien touch to my young, male member.
He carried me into the kitchen, sat me on a chair, and left me sitting to watch Greta prepare Sunday afternoon dinner. He carted me to the bathroom to urinate and wash my right hand, before we sat down and ate dinner together.
So, for a while I was almost completely, then less, but still partly, an invalid, dependent on the care and help (and good will) of Mike and Greta. That disability did not spare me from his displeasure, however.
After Sunday dinner, he hauled me back to my bedroom, stripped off all my clothes, put me over his lap, and applied the dreaded brush to my bottom with ferocity and flair.
I screamed and cried, begged and pleaded, apologized, and promised to be smarter, and contact him and Greta right away, before going off on my own decisions.
When I’d very quickly surrendered to his right to spank me, and the very licking I was getting at that moment, Mike stopped. After letting me hang and heave over his legs, he pulled me up, sat me on his lap, and dressed me back in just my boxers to go to bed.
You need a good rest now, anyway, son, he used that word
son again, and I felt myself melting like hot wax inside.
In the morning, we’ll see how you’re doing, and whether you can be of any help in the shop, he added.
Uh-uh-Muh-ike-uh-I-thuh-ink-uh-I-uh-can-uh-uh-do-uh-some things wuth-ith-uh-only-uh-my-eye-ruh-ight-uh-uh-hand, I reported through gulping tears.
Well, we’ll explore that. But for now, Clay, you’re in bed to rest and began recovering as fast and as completely as you can. Understand?
Huh-uh-ye-es-uh-Muh-uh-ike, I answered. To my shock, he leaned over and kissed me on my forehead,
just near where the second of my sutures was located. I just started gushing tears I was so moved.
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