Like Son, Like Father
Part Twelve
When Timothy awoke, the lights were out. As he rolled over on his cot, he heard a low voice from the cell next to his.
"Hey, lad," said the faceless voice. "What are you in for?"
"I'm here for training," replied Timothy, somewhat uneasily.
"Of course you are," said the voice. "We all are. But I mean what did you do to get here? I know it's none of my business, but on what charges were you convicted?"
"None," said Timothy. "I've done nothing - nothing at all."
A voice from another cell said, "Didn't she call you 'Timmy Horsewick'? Aren't you the son of that degenerate preacher?"
"My father's not a degenerate," said Timothy. "He's a man of God."
Timothy heard suppressed laughter from a couple of cells.
The voice from the cell next to his said in an irritated tone, "Don't pick on him." Then to Timothy, the voice kindly said, "Don't mind them, lad. They're just green with envy because you humped Jennifer this afternoon. Any of us would have given the world for that privilege!"
Timothy said, "May I ask what your name is? After all, you already know mine."
The voice replied, "Sure, Tim. Why not? There was a time I would never have let it be known that I'm a disgraced convict. But now that my reputation is ruined, what have I to lose? My name is Longwood - Wilbur Longwood."
"May I ask what you're in for?" queried Timothy.
"Sure, Tim," said Wilbur. "They tell me I exposed myself in public. I have no recollection of how it actually happened. But I'll tell you what led up to it and what I can recall.
A few months ago, I was a respected accountant at a major financial firm. I had an adoring wife and family. All that is gone now. When I get out of here, I'll be starting all over.
A few months back, I had gotten out of work late one night. But I didn't feel like going straight home. I was bored. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was looking for excitement. I wandered into a couple of dismal strip joints. Neither of them had anything that interested me, and I found myself back out on the sidewalk - just strolling and looking around. Just as I was becoming anxious to get home to my wife, I wandered into a third joint, a newsstand-magazine store with a large back room full of pornography. All the usual stuff was there, but I barely glanced at it. I felt drawn to a small section of vintage porn way in the very back where I saw a rack of unusual magazines.
One thing you have to understand, Tim, is that all my life, I've had this thing for women wearing gloves - especially leather gloves. I could never explain it to myself. It made no sense, and I had always thought that I was the only person on earth who was affected that way. Imagine my surprise then - and my excitement - when I saw a whole rack of porno magazines featuring women dressed in leather - and many of those women were wearing skintight leather gloves! What thrilled me more than anything were the women who wore leather gloves and almost nothing else - because that told me something I would never otherwise have believed: that gloves had an erotic appeal for at least some people other than just myself!
I remember trembling with excitement as I picked up an issue titled 'Satana'. Then I grabbed two other magazines - 'Exotique' and 'High Heels'. I was almost too nervous with excitement to turn the pages. An older gentleman on his way out remarked to me, 'Those are the good ones if you can find them!'
I felt as if I had happened upon a treasure trove. But what happened next seemed almost like something in a dream. I heard a woman's voice call to me, 'We'll be closing in just a few minutes, sir. May I ring those up for you over here?'
I turned and saw a cute brunette standing behind the porno section register. When I initially walked in, I didn't notice anyone at that register, and I guess I had my back to her all the while I had been picking out my magazines.
Tim, I don't know if you can, but try to imagine how stunned I was to see this woman dressed like the women in the magazines! My knees almost gave out from under me when I saw that she wore a hip-hugging black leather skirt, sleeveless white blouse open nearly to her waist to reveal her cleavage, and skintight black leather gloves that caressed her arms almost to her shoulders! I think I must have been at least partly in a trance as I approached her. She smiled politely at me as she reached out with a leather-gloved hand to take my magazines and ring them up. I had an erection so big that it must have pushed my business trousers out like a tent pole. I don't know how to explain it, but the bigger my pecker grew, the more insignificant I felt. As I stood before her, I felt so diminished in stature that I could barely bring myself to speak. When I finally did say something, my voice came out in a cracked, nervous squeak! As I cleared my throat and tried to compose myself, she smiled knowingly at me. It was almost as if she knew how I felt and was accustomed to seeing men in a state of speechless enthrallment!
When she handed my magazines back to me in a brown paper bag and gave me my change, her gloved fingertips brushed against the palm of my hand. I felt faint and dizzy. Smiling knowingly at me, she said, 'Have an enjoyable evening with those, sir.'
I replied somewhat stupidly, 'Huh?'
She said, 'With your magazines, sir. Enjoy yourself with your magazines.'
I wanted to complement her on how attractive her gloves were. But I couldn't. I had a lump in my throat, and I struggled just to keep from swooning in her presence. When I walked back onto the street, a sharp breeze slapped my face. It occurred to me then that never before had the mere appearance of a woman so overpowered me. I was filled with aching desire and lust. I turned back to say something - anything - to her, but the store had closed for the night.
You know, Tim, every now and then events are so juxtapositioned that it almost seems that we are experiencing something like a Zen revelation when what is really happening is nothing more than a string of chance occurrences. So it may have been that night, but I was too horny with desire to step outside myself and see the bigger picture. I tried to extinguish the fire flaming my brain, but I couldn't. I considered the possibility that the woman in the magazine store was wearing those full-length black kidskin gloves at least partly because of how they affected men. If that were the case, she was surely aware of her power over me. The more I pondered that, the more it fried my brain. Like a missile on the launch pad, I was ready for ignition.
I wandered down to an underground train platform and stood waiting for the metro with my brown paper bag of porno mags under my arm. After a few moments, a young woman joined me on the platform. I thought she might have been one of the strippers who had just gotten out of work. She wore hip-hugging black leather pants, high-heeled black leather fashion boots with spurs, and a rose-colored suede blouse with a pale blue scarf. She must have been at least in her twenties, but she looked so young to me that I thought she should be home doing homework. I sat down on one of the platform benches to wait for the train, but I was really more interested in watching her. She reached into her handbag and took something out. My heart leapt to my throat when I saw that she had extracted a pair of nearly elbow-length black leather gloves and started the delightful task of working them onto her hands and up her arms. Her gloves were skintight and, from the way the light played off the tiny ripples in the leather, appeared very soft and supple. Along the seams that went the sides of her arms, her gloves were fringed with thin whip-like leather cords about three or four inches long. I almost died when she reached back into her handbag with her gloves on, took out a cigarette and lit it. How tenuously we cling to sanity at moments like that!
Suddenly, she glanced my way and appeared to notice that I was watching her. My erection must have been all too evident under my business trousers because she gave me a look of disdain and, with her heels clicking, moved about twenty feet farther away. That little bitch, I thought. Just who does she think she is to eye me with such contempt? When the train pulled in and stopped, we both got on the same car; but she went to the back while I sat in a forward-facing seat toward the front.
Why is it that sexual attraction is so one-sided? Where is the fairness in it all? I ached and almost trembled with longing. As the train remained stopped at the platform with the car doors open, I recalled that, late at night, trains routinely held over at this stop for about fifteen to twenty minutes. No one else was up in the front of the car with me. To pass the time, I took my copy of 'Satana' out of the bag and began to glance through it.
I saw photos of Tana Louise wearing wicked black leather gloves with her gloved fingers curled around the handle of a vicious-looking bullwhip. I saw photos of Bettie Page suggestively smoothing on a pair of black kidskin opera gloves. Who did those unspeakably beautiful women think they were to seduce and torment men's souls by wearing gloves? I could almost smell the rich aroma of kidskin rising off the magazine page. Turning a couple of more pages, I came to a story written and illustrated by Bill Ward. By the time I had read the first page and a half, I knew for certain that I was not the only male on earth who was overpowered by the sight of a woman in skintight leather gloves. As I continued reading Ward's story, a woman stepped into the train car and sat down on a sideway-facing seat up at the front of the car. She was diagonally seated across the aisle from me. I instantly lowered my magazine behind the back of the seat in front of me so that she could not see what I was reading.
The woman, a platinum blonde beauty in her early forties, was dressed in fur and rich, elegant black leather. She was wearing high-heeled pumps and a black leather dress under a silver-white fur coat. Her hands were sheathed in skintight black leather gloves buttoned snugly at her wrists. Her gloves appeared to continue up under the sleeves of her fur. She set her handbag at her hip and took out a high fashion magazine. As she sat reading her magazine with her legs crossed, I noticed the magazine cover, which was partly covered by her black leather-gloved fingers. The picture was that of a high fashion model who was also wearing black leather gloves! I glanced back down at the porno mag in my lap. It struck me that the only difference between what I was reading and what she was reading was nothing more than a matter of emphasis.
Interesting, isn't it, Tim? We go to buy a man's magazine, and it's full of photos of beautiful women. Women go to buy a woman's magazine, and it's full of photos of beautiful women! Does anyone seriously doubt that the world really revolves entirely around women? It's almost as though we men were nothing more than an afterthought! No wonder we almost have to crawl to them on our bellies if we want a date! And they know they are everything we desire. Believe me, they know it!
Strange - we grow up believing that we're the superior sex, and then one day we discover the truth: we're really less than dog poop!
Well, I must have been staring at that woman without even realizing it. All of a sudden, I was aware that she was staring directly back at me! I averted my eyes for a moment or two and then glanced back in her direction. She was still staring at me! I smiled politely at her, and she slowly licked the tip of her tongue around her scarlet-red lips. Then she set her magazine on her lap and wrapped her leather-sheathed fingers around an aluminum post where she was sitting. As I watched with my heart pounding, she started to slide her hand, gloved so intimately in the embrace of softly gleaming black kidskin, up and down the post!
I had two choices. Either I could continue sitting there, watching her fingers in their gleaming skintight sheaths of black leather sliding up and down the metal post, or I could get up and say something to her. I put my magazine back in the bag, stood up on shaky legs and walked up the aisle to her. What happened next is pretty much a blur.
The woman looked at my crotch and started screaming. Suddenly I heard the sound of boot heels racing up the aisle from the back of the car. Before I knew what was happening, a gloved right arm was so tight against my throat that I could hardly breath. A gun was pressed against my left temple. Then I noticed a police badge in my captor's black leather-gloved right hand. Her glove was fringed. It was the young lady I had seen on the train platform!
Pushing her knee into the small of my back, she said, 'All right! On your hands and knees, scumbag! NOW!'
As I bent down onto the floor of the train car, I almost thought she would break my back with her knee. Suddenly, she pulled both my hands out from under me and cuffed them behind my back. Then she ordered me to stand up. I did so.
'W-W-What's wrong, officer?" I asked. "I wasn't doing anything. Honest!' '
You're under arrest for indecent exposure,' said the young lady.
I protested, 'What are you talking about? I'm not exposed!'
'I'm talking about this!' said the plainclothes (or not so-plainclothes!) policewoman. 'Or doesn't this thing belong to you!'
Suddenly I felt her leather-gloved hand gripping my naked penis. The whole episode was like some strange, erotic nightmare unfolding. Looking down, I saw my pants unzipped and my pecker out in plain view with her leather-sheathed fingers wrapped around it! What was even worse was that my erection grew completely out of my control in the soft grip of her black leather glove! I began to ooze pre-cum. With great difficulty, she roughly stuffed my swollen pecker back into my pants and pulled my zipper up.
'Oh, my God, officer!' I said. 'I swear I don't know how that happened! Please don't arrest me! I have a family! I'll lose my wife, my job and my family if you arrest me! Honest to God, I don't know how this happened! Please! Dear God! Give me a break! I promise it won't happen again! Please - I'll lose my reputation!'
The policewoman reached down and picked up my brown paper bag where it had fallen on the floor. With gleaming black leather-sheathed fingers, she pulled out my porno magazines and asked, 'Were you playing with yourself while reading these?'
Tim, I guess I must have been! I must have gotten up out of my seat almost in a trance and not even have realized that my pants were open! It's the only explanation of how the whole thing could have happened. I pleaded in vain with the policewoman. She wouldn't listen to me. I knew my life was completely ruined! I kept hoping it was all a nightmare I would wake from!
But I didn't wake from it, and here I am. I was convicted, served part of my sentence in jail and now I'm doing probation time here. So, Tim lad, I understand how things are with your Dad."
Timothy pondered Wilbur Longwood's explanation of how he came to be at Chadwick Manor and considered his own situation. With his body stinging from the terrific whipping Jennifer and the other girls had given him earlier, he fell back into a deep sleep on his cot in the pitch dark of the dungeon.
Click here for Part Thirteen