Date: Wed, 06 Mar 2024 02:30:14 +0000 From: erick.e.erick Subject: The Interview, Part I The story below is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between real people is coincidental. If reading such material is offensive, or unlawful, then please do not go any further. The author does not condone anyone harming a child in any way, shape, fashion, or form. Please help keep this site free for all to enjoy, and to do so, Nifty needs our donations. Please help by donating. Comments and feedback welcome: erick.e.erick@proton.me M/b, reluctantly consensual At this time of this interview, "Hal" is in his mid-sixties. We spoke in his flat in London, not far from Hampstead Heath. His home is comfortable, if slightly cramped with a lifetime of memories. His lover had passed away eight months before and he was still coming to terms with the loss. His partner "Bill" was twenty years older, but they had been together for over four decades--better than a lot of straight couples! In his grief, Hal had started reliving his past, thinking back to his childhood in Denmark. He had gone online, looking for memories of his youth, and that was how he contacted me. We got to talking on a certain forum and I became really interested in his story. I eventually asked if he'd be willing to be interviewed by me and, after some thought and some provisos, he agreed. He asked that I not use real names or that I use any sort of recording devices. I have honored those requests. The interview took place over several days. What appears below is verbatim and is I think pretty accurate. *** Me: So you grew up in Copenhagen. What were your parents like? Hal: I actually never knew my father. I don't think he was ever in the picture, but my earliest recollections were not of him. I did ask my mother about him a few times, but either she didn't know or didn't want to remember. Me: So what were your early memories of her? Hal: When I finally started making sense of the world, I remember her as being pretty and nervous. She always carried around a large crocheted shoulder bag wherever she went. Her whole world was in there--and often mine as well. If I was sad or crying, out would come a sucker to quiet me. If she had a man over, there were always booze and crotchless panties in there. It's where she kept her smack, too.Yer, she was a junkie. She shot up in front of me a lot. It also meant that we moved around a lot when I was a boy. (Laughing) I remember most of our worldly possessions were stuffed into that bag. Some of the places we lived in were ours, some were friends, and others belonged to men she was screwing. Me: Wow, that must have been rough. Hal: (Shrugging) I didn't know any better. It wasn't until I was in my early teens that I started to fully realize that this wasn't normal. All that moving and strange people. Strange men. Me: What about them? Hal: I think my mom hooked up with a lot of them because she got with them for a score, you know? And from a pretty early age, I saw her fucking them. A couple of them were shy--and that's when I would be put in another room, a kitchen, closet or somewhere where I wouldn't see. Most didn't care if I was watching or not. My mom didn't. When I asked--I think I must have been maybe 5 or 6 at the time--she said that it was what people did and it was natural. Me: How did that sit with you? Hal: Again, when you don't know any different, you tend to accept things as normal. And then there were some men who liked me watching them. Me: So you were sexualized at a pretty young age? Hal: Definitely. I remember one guy who was with her for a pretty long time--I couldn't tell you what he did or even what he looked like. Let's call him Rolf. I only remember his voice, his beer belly and his shaved cock. (Scoffing) Oh, and he smelled of a pretty cheap aftershave, too. Anyway, he would make sure my mum was strung out and then grabbed me and put me on the bed with them. He'd slowly fuck her and ask me questions. "Do like me doing your mum?" "Doesn't my big cock look hot and shiny with your mum's cunt juices?" "Is your little dickie getting hard?" Things like that. Me: And? Hal: I hated it and I hated him. But it did excite me. Rolf would force me to look at her snatch after he'd finish. "See that cum oozing out of her, røvhul [asshole]?" He'd point. If I didn't look or nod, he'd grab me and push my face between her legs so I couldn't avoid seeing it. I hated the look of pussy (I still do), but the smell of sex would get my little penis hard. Eventually, he started to notice my excitement. After one particularly noisy fuck, I remember him sticking a fat finger into her, scooping out some of his jizz. He waved it in front of my face. "See my sperm?" I looked at thick coat of white stuff covering his digit and nodded. "Lick it clean," he commanded. I glanced over at my mother, hoping for help, but she lay there completely out of it. "Lick it, you little shit!" he commanded and pushed it to my lips. I scrunched my lips tight, put Rolf grabbed be by the hair and forced it in. Slowly, I sucked the mixture of cum and my mother's juices off the dirty index, while he leered. After I had finished, he laughed and told me "I knew you'd love it. You're dirtier than your mum." And he pointed. Looking down, I saw my penis was a hard little nail. Me: So a lot of mixed messages there! How long did this go on? Hal: A while. And it got worse. Eventually, after fucking her, he would present his turgid member to me and sneer, "Clean me off, røvpuler [faggot]." And he forced me to start lick his penis clean. His scrotum was usually slick with sex, so I had to lick those clean as well. While my mum was out of it on a post-coital heroin high, Rolf was getting off a second time by turning me into a cocksucker. I hoped for a while that she'd catch us and that would put an end to it. My hate for Rolf exceeded the increasing pleasure (and skill!) I was getting from sucking an adult. And one night, she did! As my small tongue was licking the inside of his foreskin clean--my favorite thing to do--she woke up and saw my molestation. "What the hell are you doing, Rolf?" she screamed. I have to admit, he was a cool liar. "He bugged for weeks to do this. I finally gave in, because it's what he wanted." He even pointed an accusing finger at her. "You're the one who keeps telling him that it's natural. Look! Look at his hard little pik!" And it was true. I was hard. She looked at both of us incredulously for a moment, and then slumped back down and went back to sleep. At least, I think she did. She certainly didn't stop him and Rolf took real pleasure that night, slapping his thick, slimy cock all over my face. His cum mixed with my tears. Me: How did it that make you feel about your mother? Hal: I hated her. For a long time I did--well into my thirties. I was her son, and she was supposed to love and protect me. It didn't happen. Eventually, I realized that she was a really screwed up woman who couldn't help herself. Her addiction led her down a pretty dark path and me with her. I feel sorry for her. But after that, Rolf was a lot more open about his boy "love". The cock cleanings soon became straight out blowjobs. A lot of times, he'd make me suck him before he fucked my mum. The worst thing about it is that I found myself wanting to taste him. I remember the first time he came down my throat. As he grabbed the back of my small head and unloaded into my mouth, I got a weird rush of self-worth at making an adult I hated (and who probably hated me) orgasm in ecstasy. And the cum I used to hate? I went from loathing it, to getting used to it, to actually liking it. Later experience proved to me that his loads were kind of funky, but even at my age I still get a little hard when I remember his smell and taste. Me: So you became your mother's boyfriend's underaged fluffer? Hal: Ha! I did. And even though I liked the act, I hated Rolf and tried to avoid him. He got so confident, he would even complain to my mum that I wasn't servicing him! She would talk to me in a quiet, almost desperate voice, telling me that I should be a good boy and do what I was told. Sometimes, she'd sweeten the pot with some lolly she had in that bag of hers. And so, not even ten years old, I had become a sexual plaything of a pedophile. Me: How long did that go on? Hal: A while. I couldn't tell you how many times I swallowed that cock and those filthy loads. But like all her men, eventually mum and Rolf got into a fight. I couldn't even tell you what it was over; probably drugs. Whatever it was, we were on our own again. I remember we were staying at one of her girlfriend's apartment in Emdrup--that's a suburb in the north of Copenhagen--and her telling me that she'd never let anything like that happen to me again. That from now on, she would protect me. Me: Did you believe her? Hal: No. (A very long pause) And even though it is embarrassing to say it, something had changed. Part of me wanted to taste a man's cock again. (At this point, we took a break for the day).