Homeschool (Sketch)

Rudy shut the door of his truck, and heaved a sigh. Another day at the site, and he was exhausted. He kicked his boots off on the steps next to the garage and walked inside the house. “Garth? You home?” he shouted for his son.

Enough lights were on that Rudy assumed he was, but with his son, he never really knew. Things had…spiraled a bit out of control, over the last couple of years, since Garth’s mom had passed. Rudy was having a difficult time with it himself, and before he’d even really realized it, his son had started having issues. They would have screaming fights, he would skip school, some nights he wouldn’t even come home, spending it who knew where. Rudy did his best to talk to him about it, but Garth wouldn’t open up to him about anything. He got no reply from his son, so he was either sulking in his room or gone–in either case, Rudy was too tired to cook anything, and so he headed into the kitchen to phone for some pizza, stripping off his shirt and pants as he did–but as he entered the den, he stopped short.

Someone was sitting there, on the couch, reading a book. Similar in age to Rudy, but quite chubby, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. He looked up and smiled. “Ah! Rudy, I presume. Garth told me to expect you home around now.”

“I’m sorry…who are you?” Rudy said, “And what are you doing in my house?”

“Oh goodness, I suppose Garth probably hasn’t mentioned me. I’m Mr. Emory, the school psychologist. Garth was exhibiting some…rather distressing behavior at school, and he was referred to me for counseling, after his mother’s sudden passing. He’d been showing such good progress…but I’m afraid I just can’t allow him to attend school, not in his current emotional state.”

“Are…are you telling me my son got expelled?”

“Oh no–I’ve merely recommended him for a homeschooling program. I will be your liason, and provide all the lesson plans and things of that sort, but I think he will respond best to an…authority figure he’s familiar with.”

“I…I can’t homeschool him,” Rudy said. “I don’t have time. I work six days a week as it is, and my mortgage–”

“Hush now. Everything will be taken care of. This program comes with a sizable grant attached, which will provide you plenty of income for the duration of the program. Now come on over here and have a seat, Rudy. We should…chat about some of the things Garth has told me about you.”

Rudy didn’t know what to do, but he was feeling…rather strange, and lightheaded. He stepped forward and sat down on the couch beside Mr. Emory, who slid over closer, and wrapped an arm around Rudy’s shoulders, pulling him closer, watching the older man’s eyes do a bit distant. Mr. Emory had that effect on people, you see, and they began their conversation.

Rudy had never really opened up with anyone about his wife’s death to anyone, not even his close friends at work–certainly never to a therapist, but to his own surprise, he started…pouring everything out to Mr. Emory. How he felt like he’d lost control of his life. How…angry he was, at himself, at the world, for letting it happen.

“Yes, that’s good, Rudy, you should be angry,” Mr. Emory said.

“I…don’t wanna be angry…tho…” he muttered.

“Yes, but you are angry. You can’t help it. You have more anger in you than you know, but it won’t go away until we…channel it. Until we show you how you can direct it where it belongs,” he leaned in closer, lips almost pressed to Rudy’s ear, “Garth, your boy, he…craves control. He feels so adrift, now, and you–you’ve been abandoning him, Rudy.”

“What?”

“Your boy needs a firm hand, someone to control him, someone to shape him, help him channel his grief. You’ve been so focused on your anger, on yourself–but he can help you Rudy. Your boy is upstairs, right now, and he wants to help his daddy deal with his anger.”

Mr. Emory stood up, and Rudy stood as well, and followed him upstairs, like a zombie. In his son’s room, they found Garth, wearing an assless rubber singlet, on his elbows and knees on his bed, eyes vacant, mouth drooling…just waiting. “Time for your first lesson, Rudy. Your boy’s hole is very tight, but he needs to loosen up and learn to relax,” he said, as he pulled down Rudy’s underwear, and slid a rubber glove over his hand, “You can help, can’t you? Think about how good it’ll feel, taking out your anger on your boy’s hole. Think how good he’ll feel, under your control. It’s what you both need, Rudy–now let’s get started.”

Rudy knew this was wrong, and he fought…but Mr. Emory was right. He was trying to think too hard, but he wasn’t really someone who should be doing much thinking, was he? No–he was just a stupid, high school dropout–what did he even know about anything? Mr. Emory knew lots of things–it was important that Rudy listen to him, and obey him without question. After a couple of hours, he understood what Mr. Emory meant–how good it felt to have his whole fist buried in his son’s hole, listening to him moan, his own cock drooling, thinking about when he gets to fuck his boy for the first time, Mr. Emory naked now too, sitting in his seat, and edging his own cock while he directs the action, recording everything for review, later.

The next day, Rudy called in and told his foreman he would be quitting, effective immediately, His son, you see, was having disciplinary issues–very bad ones–and Rudy was going to be homeschooling him for the foreseeable future. Mr. Emory praised him, when he hung up, and rewarded Rudy by allowing him to suck his cock like the dumb brute he was, Garth riding a thick toy for the camera, watching it all with his dazed look, so happy to be learning so much, from his daddy, and his master.