D.A.D. SENDS A BABYSITTER - Part 2

Author: Writer8322@aol.com

A Story Set in the Brave New World of D.A.D.


Chapter Two:  How to Skin a Boy

D.A.D. had done its work properly, and the Cullum home had been scanned so that Steven Cutler would not be a stranger once he arrived.  This allowed the Babysitter to be in charge right away.

He strode down the hallway with Alistair almost running to keep up with the big Man's long-legged paces. 

"Let go of my hand, Mister!" Alistair said, as Steven Cutler came to a stairway and started up it, two steps-at-a-time.

"Son, you talk much-too-much," Steven Cutler said, pausing on the stairs and turning to look at Alistair, "and you don't have a nice way of expressing yourself.  Now you need to say, 'Mr. Cutler, sir, please would you mind releasing my hand.  I'll come along with you anyway.'  Now, why don't you try that, boy?"

Alistair looked at the Man as if he had spoken in a tongue that the boy only remotely 'recognized.'  Steven Cutler shook his head in a resigned way, "No," he said, mostly to himself, "I didn't think that would get in.  Come on, son."

The Man didn't let go of his hand, in fact if anything he seemed to take even more charge of it.  As Alistair raced up the stairs, panting, he looked at Steven Cutler's hand around his own.  He could only make out the tips of his fingers sticking out from the Man's grasp.

Alistair decided, and not for the first time, that he hated longevity therapy.  He was a man in his mind  if he was a man in his body he wouldn't have to put up with being treated like a little kid.  However, longevity therapy had insured that Alistair Cullum would continue to be a little boy for a long, long time.

At the top of the stairs, Steven Cutler took a left and brought Alistair up to a familiar door  it was one of the guest rooms in the Cullum's big house.   The entire house had been decorated by Mrs. Cullum's friend Grace Crenshaw, and each room had -as Ms. Crenshaw described it - "It's own distinctive personality and at-mosphere." 

This room's atmosphere was distinctly masculine.  Everything was brown and black.  Heavy wooden furniture made the room functional: a four-poster bed, an amoir and dresser, a desk and chair - all made of dark mahogany.

A leather recliner sat in one corner beside a small reading table and lamp.  There was a glass ashtray on the reading table, in case the room's occupant was a smoker, and there was a bookcase with glass doors and indistinguishable volumes in it.  It was possible that no one knew what the books were and that they had been ordered to compliment the bookcase.

The walls were decorated with hunting prints done by an old English artist with a small following.   The prints, like everything else in the room, had a dark and sombre tone.

Steven Cutler swept Alistair into the room and closed the door.  He pointed to the bed and said to Alistair, "Sit down, boy, and we'll have a talk after I unpack."

Alistair looked at the door of the room and considered 'bolting.'  Steven Cutler, whose eyes missed little if anything, caught the look.  The edges of his mouth curled up a drop and he said, "Don't think about it, son.  I'd catch you up in a second, and I'd be angry when I did.  Do you want me to be angry?"  He  waited for an answer.

Alistair frowned.  He didn't want to answer.  If he answered, it would mean that he cared, or worse 'worried,' about this Man's moods.  Steven Cutler's eyes narrowed and Alistair felt a cold fear grip his bowels.

"No," he answered sulkily.

The Man relaxed.  "Good," he said, "now go over there and sit down.  I want to show you some things."

Steven Cutler took off his suit jacket and Alistair now saw, clearly, how big the Man was.  His white shirt strained over the sculpted torso underneath it.  It pulled over large shoulders and was pushed out by prominat pectorals and large chest nipples.  The belted pants enclosed a trim waist with a washboard stomach.

Steven Cutler opened a closet and took out a hanger.  Before putting his jacket on it,  he reached into an inside pocket and took out a brown leather pouch and put it on the reading table next to the ashtray.  Alistair looked at the pouch and wondered what it was  he'd never seen one like it before. 

Steven Cutler hung his jacket on the hanger and put it in the closet.  Then he put his suitcase on the bed beside the seated boy and opened the clasps.  On the very top of his clothing was a zippered clothes bag that the Man took out.

"I brought this for you," Steven Cutler said.  He unzipped he bag and Alistair saw several outfits on individual hangers.  The guy was certainly a type A when it came to keeping his belongings neat.  "It must be that dopey D.A.D. training," Alistair thought.

"By the way," Steven Cutler said, before taking the clothes out for viewing, "your mom wanted to know what to call me, and here's what you call me....Sir! When you aren't calling me 'Sir,' you call me either Mr. Cutler or Uncle Steve.  Those are the options."

Alistair was speechless  he was almost never speechless.  But Steven Cutler's assertive manner seemed to leave him with nothing to say. 

"I want you to put this on, son," the Man said, and he took the first outfit out of the clothes bag.  Alistair stared at it in horror as Steven Cutler (aka Sir, aka Mr. Cutler, aka Uncle Steve) took the first outfit off its hanger.  There was a simple white polo shirt, shortsleeved with a wide collar and gathered cuffs where the sleeves ended.  It came with short white trousers that looked as though they would be very short indeed.

>From the bottom of the clothes bag, Steven Cutler took out a pair of white ankle socks and brown leather strap sandals.

Cutler looked at the outfit and the corners of his moustache flickered with pleasure.  "Nice," his voice resonated.  "You'll look good in this."  He put it on the bed next to the boy.  "Put it on!"

Alistair sat like a stone statue for a moment.  Then the statue came to life.

"I'm not wearing that!" the boy said emphatically.  His contempt for the outfit seemed to break him out of his silence.  He jumped up from the bed.  "No way am I putting that crap on!"

Steven Cutler's expression didn't change, but his eyes did.  They flashed.  They actually flashed, and - what's more - Alistair saw them flash, before he was grabbed by two hands.

The world shifted and Alistair was off his feet and hanging in the air from Steven Cutler's massive hands.

Cutler didn't say a word at first.  He sat down on the bed, and laid Alistair, face up, across his knees.

"Didja ever watch a butcher pluck a chicken?" Steven Cutler asked the boy.  "He sits down and holds the thing right in his lap.  Then he shucks off those feathers until he's got a nice naked little bird!  Yessir!!"

As he said this, Steven Cutler effortlessly held Alistair in his lap and with one of his huge hands, skinned the boy's t-shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.  Steven Cutler wasn't always compulsively neat....especially when he was annoyed!

Alistair was in a very awkward position to defend  himself.  First because Steven Cutler was a big man and his open legs made a fairly substantial  'bed' for  young Alistair to be placed in.  One of Cutler's broad thighs supported Alistair's head, neck and upper chest.  One of Alistair's arms was pinned against Steven Cutler's body and the other stuck straight out.  It was hard to bend eiher arm and only the one poking out could be flexed at all.  The other thigh held the boy's bottom and his upper legs.   Alistair could kick his small feet, but the position rendered him more controllable than a baby on a changing table. 

Steven Cutler's right hand lay across Alistair's thin little chest gently but firmy, holding him in place while the left hand was busy with the boy's pants.  First the little belt was unbuckled and then yanked out of its loops and dropped to the floor next to Alistair's shirt. 

"I think it's a tad easier skinning a chicken, then undressing you, son," Steven Cutler said as he had a momentary  struggle with the snap at the top of Alistair's jeans.

"There we go," Cutler said as the snap popped opened.  Steven Cutler put his fingers into the boy 's open waistband and gave it a loosening tug.  Alistair gasped as his mid section rose into the air for a minute, but then Steve put him down again and his other hand was taking hold of the boy's zipper.

"Don't think chickens have zippers.  What do you think, junior?"   Steven Cutler unzipped Alistairs pants and slipped his fingers into the opening.  He got a handful of jean in preparation for stripping them down.

"Get off me!" Alistair said again, there was a catch in his voice this time.

Steven Cutler clicked his teeth.  "You always say the same tired thing, don't you kid.  Get this straight!"  Steven Cutler said, bending his face so that it loomed over the boy lying across his knees.  "I am not only  not going to 'get off' you, but I am going to be all over you.  You are my boy now.  You understand that?  MY BOY!  Your mom may think you're her kid, though I doubt it, but you are mine!  Not just because I say so, but because it's legally true. 

'Those papers that your mom has are court approved.  I'm not just your Babysitter, sonny, I'm your goddamn legal Guardian, and will be until you are eighteen longevity years old.  Whew!  That's a long time from now.  So you better get used to the idea. 

'I'll take off your clothes when I want to, and I'll put 'em on when I want to.   Hell, I'll walk you down mainstreet jaybird naked if I think it'll do you some good.  (Steven Cutler pause and then he chuckled.)  Come to think of it, it might!"

Alistair tried to swing his left arm at Steven, but Steve bounced his left leg and Alistair gasped for fear that he would fall.  He lay still.
"You're heading into a brave new world, baby boy, and daddy's gonna take you by the hand and be your guide!"

Steven Cutler's left hand pulled Alistair's jeans down to his ankles.  Then he popped off the boy's trainers and socks and let the jeans slide off onto the floor. 

Alistair was both mortified and furious.  He felt preposterously baby-like lying across this bald, moustached giant's lap in just his tight white briefs.  What was worse, was that he noticed that somehow, he had put on idiotic 'kiddy' underpants with pictures of Batman and Robin on them.   His mother sometimes had Gloria or the housekeeper, Mrs. Buckley, buy him fresh underwear.  One of those dumbbells must have gotten these and he had put them on without noticing.

"Well, look at this," Steven Cutler said with genuine delight.  He took his right hand off of Alistair's chest and played with the boy's hair fondly.  "Batman!  One of my favorites.  You know the Robin was his ward too."  Steven Cutler picked up the white polo shirt he had brought for Alistair and held it on the boy's chest as he spoke. 

"Robin was a good boy, but I remember that Batman sometimes had to discipline him.  Uh huh," Cutler went on.  "Couple of times, in some of those early issues, when Robin was just a few longevity years older than you, old Batman had to put the boy wonder right across his knee and paddle those little yellow tights of Robin's.  Always thought he would have seen more results if he'd just taken 'em off!  But I guess you couldn't do the real thing in those comics.   Now in real life, I don't approve of briefs for boys.  I don't even think that boys your age should wear pants in the house.  Anyway I'll reflect on that.  But no shorts under your pants, that's for damn sure!  Too bad they have Batman on them.  Say you want to just wear these and forget about the pants?!"

Alistair uttered a cry of horror and Steve shook his head, "Guess that means 'No,' so off they come."

Steven Cutler  put his fingers into Alistair's underpants and in one fluid movement pulled them all the way down and dropped them to the floor.

Alistair Cullum had been stripped of his feathers!!

Now Steve took hold of Alistair's neck with one hand and propped the struggling boy up while the white shirt was pulled over his head and tugged into place.  Then Alistair was laid back down and the short pants were taken up. 

Steve Cutler slid them up Alistair's legs and they went quite a ways up.  They had been cut so that the pants formed a tight V . For the first time, Alistair saw that the shorts came with a big front and straps that went over his shoulders and fastened in the back.

"What is this thing?" Alistair groaned, as Steve Cutler propped him up again so he could fasten the straps.

"It's a sun suit, son!" the big Man said.  It's appropriate wear for a boy your age.

"I'm not a boy!"  Alistair yelled.  "I'm twenty, fucking years old!"

Steven Cutler's eyes narrowed dangeroulsy, and Alistair knew that he had gone too far.  "Twenty longevity years old," Cutler said between gritted teeth, "and that means that you are still a child!  And children......(Steven Cutler pulled on the white ankle socks and fastened the straps of the leather sandals.).....children who use bad language.....(Steven Cutler took the boy off his lap and held him between his knees)....get Squeaky Clean.  Come on, son, it's time your started learning!"

(to be continued)