Date: Sat, 21 Jul 2001 15:41:02 -0400
From: lesli 99 <lesli99@hotmail.com>
Subject: Gay male - Adult/Youth - Young Times Pt22

Young Times  Pt 22

Harold was, with all truth, just what the doctor ordered for me.  I had
never met anyone, with the possible exception of Tim at conservatory, who
seemed to care for me as a person the way Harold did.

He was all man, to be sure, and he just seemed to bring out something in me
that no other man or boy could.  I fell for him like the proverbial 'ton of
bricks', forgetting even to ask for the money that he had promised me when
he called.  No matter, what I gave him I gave gladly, and he repaid me with
something worth much more than money.  He repaid me by giving me back my
sense of dignity and self worth.

That feeling carried me thru the hellish days of school, where I was taunted
by older and younger kids alike.  I was an easy target and ended up getting
shoved around, pushed into lockers, and worse.   I evaded Phys Ed like the
plague, helped out by the vice principal who really didn't want any more
incidents at school.  I was allowed to take a permanent 'health' class
instead.  Over the next months I would come to grips with the situation at
school, but even as I did, the end of the school day always came as a
welcomed relief.

I was gradually 'ungrounded' over the next few months to the point that I
was actually allowed to get my driver's license shortly after I was
eligible.  I was even allowed to use the family car on weekend nights as
long as I followed my 11 PM curfew.  My parents had strict rules about it,
and I always had to tell them where I was going.  And, of course, I always
lied.

Where I was going, no matter what I told them, was always either to the park
or to the bus station.  It was common knowledge around school, and later
around town, that I would be at one or the other place on weekend nights.
And it was common knowledge what I was there for.  I was wearing the label
of  'town queer' now, and there weren't too many people who didn't know it.
To be truthful,  the label made perfect sense to me as life imitated art.
At least in my mind it did.

I had other callers, traveling salesmen mostly, and found myself slipping
out during the week after my parents were asleep.  In most cases they would
take me to one of the four motels in town.  I knew the motel clerks were
aware of what was going on, I mean I didn't try to hide the fact that I was
going into a man's motel room or anything, but I guess no one really cared
now.  I had already established my reputation and I supposed no one, at
least not the night clerk, was really interested.  Some of my customers were
nervous, but to me it was no big deal to be seen going with them.  I was
making between $25 and $50 each time, depending on what they did to me.

Except for Harold.  When I was with him, and that was almost once weekly
now,  I was a different person.  He was so good to me that I had fallen in
love with him by our third 'date'.  I would, literally, do anything to be
with him.  And I would do anything for him.  I had given my heart, my
emotions, everything to him in an attempt to make him feel the same way
about me as I did about him.  Not that he ever did, but he was so good to me
that it didn't matter.

I saw Donnie, briefly, over the Christmas holidays.  He had just been
expelled from military school and his parents were sending him off to live
with relatives in another state.  They had given up trying to 'change' him,
content now to have him out of sight.  The brief time we spent together is
etched in my mind, as Donnie remains the most kindred of spirits to my own.

My parents had, it seemed, all but given up on changing me as well.  It was
a small town they couldn't escape my being 'out' now.  What had been rumored
before was common knowledge now, and although they didn't like it, there
wasn't much they could really do about it.  I was an embarrassment to their
way of life, and althogh they loved me dearly, my reputation was hard on
them.  Gradually all attempts to 'control' me, including a very embarrassing
session with a therapist, seemed to melt away and they just 'tolerated' me
with a minimum of confrontation.

By spring term my health class turned to Phys Ed and I received another
lecture from the vice principal.  I had been assigned to a freshman class in
the fall, despite my age, in the belief that I would cause less of a problem
there.  In fact the boys in my class were just as mean to me as the
upperclassmen, and Phys Ed was just as much of a problem as it would have
been at my own grade level.   Freshmen are, by definition, the most picked
on by upperclassmen and I suppose they found an easy target in me.  There
was nothing I could do about it except put up with it, which I tried to do.
But the taunts, the name calling, the abuse went on nonetheless and my self
esteem took another plunge.

It had all the makings of another disaster, and I'm surprised at myself that
I held on as long as I did.  It finally came to a head, so to speak, 4 weeks
into the semester.  I had taken another verbal whipping during Phys Ed, and
when class was over and the other boys were in the shower, I sat on the
bench in front of my locker,  changing.  I had given up showering last year
due to the taunts, and took the time to quickly change and make my escape.
Only on this day I was too slow, and they caught me before I could get
dressed.

"Hey faggot"  I heard him before I saw him, and when I looked around, there
he was,  a towel clutched in one hand his cock in the other.  As hard as I
tried I couldn't keep my gaze from being drawn to it.  And he knew it.

"Wanna suck on it?" he whispered as he moved his hand along the length.  It
wasn't hard, but I estimated it would be about 6 inches in length when it
was.  Instinctively my tongue traced along the outline of my lips,
moistening them.  "Of course ya do, doncha?" he pressed.

"Yes" I responded meekly, starring straight at it.  Yes I did.  I don't know
what possessed me to drop my guard like that.  Like this.  Here.  I guess it
was just the thought of having it in my mouth.

"Then whadda ya say?"  he replied.  In this situation I guessed there was
just one thing he wanted me to say.  To ask.  And I would gladly ask.

"Let me suck your dick.  Please"  The words came out low.  Almost a whisper.
  I was breathless at what was going on here.

"Fuck you faggot" he exploded as his fist hit the side of my head.  I reeled
from the punch, losing my balance and falling sideways on the bench, then
off into the floor, landing in a heap in front of him.  My ears rang and my
head nearly exploded in pain.  Not to mention the humiliation.  The
rejection.

"Faggot made a pass at me"  he continued, speaking to the crowd of boys that
had formed in the doorway of the locker room.  I struggled to my feet and
grabbed my book bag as he hit me in the back of the head.  The only thing on
my mind now was escape, and I scrambled over the bench and ran down the row
of lockers toward the door, his taunts and cursing ringing in my ears.

I made my way down the hall to my locker, collapsing against it and trying
to recover from the fear that gripped me.  How could I have been so stupid?
How could I have let him sucker me that way?  I knew the consequences,  the
humiliation that would come down on me for letting down my guard.  But
something about being faced with the opportunity, real or imagined, had made
me drop my guard completely.  Something in me had made me believe that he
would really let me suck him.  Right there in the locker room.  And I had no
fear, no second thoughts about doing it.  That's what made me do it.  I
wanted to.  And I didn't care who knew it.  No, what I had done, or nearly
done, wasn't what upset me at all.  What upset me was his reaction.  His
rejecting me.  Not letting me do what I thought he wanted me to do.  What I
wanted to do.  And I would have done it, no question.

I was called to the vice principle's office in the middle of my next class.
Somehow I knew what it was going to be about.

"Aahemm"  he cleared his throat as I sat across the desk from him.  I had
sat here before, and I knew just how uncomfortable this was going to be.
For both of us.

"Look here"  he continued, his voice taking on an uncharacterisically high
pitch  "you've.........well, you've been warned that this kind of behaviour
will not be tolerated.  Haven't you?"

"What......what kind of........behavior?"  I stammered.

"You know exactly what I..............what you did.  Don't you?"  he was
glarring at me now, his eyes cutting holes in my head.

"I..........I didn't.........."

"Do you deny what you did?  Is that it?"

"I..........no.  I didn't do anything"  I managed to get out.

"Do you deny that you.........you made.......advances?  Toward another boy."

"I.....he.......no.  I didn't"  I couldn't make anything come out clearly
now.

"Did you.........and if you don't tell me the truth I swear you'll be
expelled...........did you propose oral sex?  Did you not offer to perform
oral sex on him?"   Of course I did.  But it was a response to his advance,
not something I did.  How could they twist this around?

"He asked........."  I stammered.

"Did you propose........."  he read from his notes now  "and I quote 'let me
suck your dick, please'"?  His face was as red as a beet now.  I'm sure this
was as difficult as anything he had ever had to do.

"Yes"  I admitted  "but....but, I mean, he..........."  I tried to explain,
but the damage had long been done here.  I admitted what I was accused of,
and with my reputation there was no explanation that could mitigate this.

"Ms Johnson"  he barked into the intercom  "please make arrangements for his
parents to come by.  And you........well, you wait in the office."

"But......I.......he........"  I tried in vain to summon the right words,
finally giving up and walking out of his office to flop on the couch in Ms
Johnson's outer office while she called my parents.  What a setup.  What a
cruel twist of circumstances.  I had tried hard to live up to Mr Kemp's
rules, the rules he had outlined to Donnie and me last year.  And then to
fall for something as stupid as this.  I hated that kid for what he had done
to me.  Taunting me and beating me up was bad enough, but turning me in to
Mr Kemp?  That was inexcusible.

It was just more of the same with my mother.  She spent 10 minutes in Mr
Kemp's office before emerging, her face red with rage.  I sat silent thru
the ride home and went to my room as soon as we got home.  Surprisingly
enough, things weren't as bad as I expected.  I was grounded, of course, but
there was no screaming, or shouting like before.  Just a strange resignation
of sorts on the part of my parents.  I guess they were at the ends of their
rope by now, unable to do anything to change me.

We settled into an uneasy truce, my parents and me, with no mention of what
had happened at school.  I was suspended for a week, grounded day and night,
but other than that life went on.  At the end of my suspension, I was
ungrounded.  I couldn't believe it.

The incident at school made on thing perfectly clear to me.  I had to get
out of here.  I had to get away from that school, those boys who made life a
living hell for me.  I still had over a year to go to graduation, but all
thoughts of holding out that long were out of the question.  I was going to
run away.  Find myself.  Find a better situation.

My mind ran back to the previous summer, of conservatory, of the
unbelievable life I had lived there.  I called Tim.  I wanted to go back
there.  He was polite, if somewhat distant, as he listened to my tale of
woe.  It would be impossible for me to come back there.  School was in
session.  He had a room mate.  A straight room mate.  And the whole
enviroment up there wasn't the premissive one it was during summer break.
Everyone stayed in the closet during semester.  He would love to see me
again.  Maybe this summer.

I hung up the phone completely dejected.  I would always have wonderful
memories of life and love during conservatory, but they would only be
memories.  I could never return to them, except in my mind.

Harold was not too enthusiastic about my suggestion either.  While he said
that he understood how I could feel that way, I think he was too concerned
about my age to offer me shelter.  He counciled patience.  At least until I
was 18.  I had long ago admitted my age to him, but by that time it didn't
matter.  I was sure he had feelings for me at that point.

So, with no other real alternative, I went back to school and tried to
remain as invisible as possible.  The taunts and abuse were the same, but I
was determined not to fall prey to any more trouble.  I kept my head down,
not facing anyone but my teachers.  I had always made good grades, so that
part of school was no challenge for me.  The challenge was getting thru each
and every day without being physically or emotionally hurt.

I saw Harold at least once a week, usually sneaking out after midnight and
meeting him in the park.   Sometimes we did it in his car, but usually we
went to his motel room and made love in bed.  I say 'made love' because what
I did with Harold was unlike what I did with anyone else.  No one since Tim
was as nice, and kind, and skilled as Harold.  He knew how to make love, not
just sex.  I marvelled at the patience with which he approached our
lovemaking.  No hurried fumbling.  No quick getting off like most other
guys.  He took his time and made sure it was good for me as well as for him.
  We spent hours in bed, first me sucking him, then him screwing me, then me
sucking him hard again, etc, etc, etc.  It was, conservatory aside, the most
satisfying sex I've ever had with a man.

The others came less frequently, maybe one every 2 or 3 weeks.  They were
different.  With them it was only relief.  They wanted it.  I gave it.  And
usually it was fast, over in a quick blowjob or an occassional fuck.  Then
the money.  Then they were through with me.  Although they usually picked me
up at the park near my house, once they had cum I was on my own, making my
way home on foot.

In between, on the weekends, I was free for whoever wanted me.  I was known
to both the police and the bus station managers, but no one seemed to want
to hassle me.  They just seemed to look the other way.  To be truthful,   I
did score more often than not during these visits, so there seemed to be a
growing number of men willing to have sex, albiet annonymous, with me.

And so time drug on, and I made the most out of this dissappointing
existence, focusing ahead on reaching maturity and leaving this one horse
town behind.

Harold came less and less as winter turned to spring until, finally in May,
he stopped calling altogether.  I was hurt and lonely without him and
honestly felt as if my life had come to an end.  I would find out much later
that he was married and had been going thru a difficult time with his
wife.  When they finally made up, he rededicated himself to the marriage and
that left no time for me.  I would have followed him anywhere had
he just asked me.

I ran away in June, just after the end of my junior year.  One of the
travelling salesmen I had been seeing offered to take me back to Roanoke
with him and I jumped at the opportunity.  Clarence and I had been together
3 or 4 times and he had always been nice to me, so when he invited
me to stay with him, as his 'wife', it seemed like an excellent chance to
escape the drudgery of small town existence and trade it in for a life in
the
city.  If only I had known.

It all started pleasant enough, I moved into his southeast city house and
did, in fact,  perform the duties normally associated with a wife.  I kept
the slightly run down house clean,  I washed dishes,  did the laundry, and
even learned to cook a bit.  I took care of 'my man' figuratively and
literally.  Sex whenever, and wherever he wanted it.  I felt as though I was
paying my way in the relationship.

I found out how wrong that assumption was after just five days as Clarence's
'guest'.  He made it perfectly clear that he expected me to contribute to
the overall household budget in other ways.  Monetary ways.

"But what can I do?"  I questioned him as he packed his suitcase for his
upcoming week on the road.  "I can't just apply for a job.  I mean, my
age, the fact that I ran away from home, all that."

"Well freebird"  he explained slowly  "you've got a couple of great assets
you can turn into cash."

"Huh?"  was he talking about.............?

"Well, for onething, you give great head.  There are people down here who'll
pay for that.  And you can sell that sweet ass too, sugar butt."
He was talking about prostitution.  Why wasn't I surprised.  I mean, I had
done it, no big deal.  But in a city?

"But...........I mean, where?  Who?"  I didn't know anything about this
city.  I had spent the entire week in Clarence's house, never going out.
No, I couldn't do this on my own.   I would, but I just didn't know how.

"Oh, I think you'll be ok.  I think a friend of mine can help you out.  If
you want to.  Otherwise I guess I'll just have to take you home.  Lord knows
I can't afford to keep you on my salary."  I looked into his eyes and it was
clear to me that this was no joke.  He was serious.  What I would come to
realize later is that he had planned this all along.  Preying on my desire
to run away, he had led me down the path that ended in thecompromising
position I now found myself facing.  I could do as he said, I could
prostitute myself for money, or I he would take me back to the unforgiving
life I had known just a short week ago.  In my mind there was no choice.  I
would do anything, and I would come to know the price tag associated with
that word, to keep from going back.

"OK"  I tried to sound as positive as I could.  It wasn't easy, given the
unease I felt at the unknown.

"That's a baby!" he exclaimed and put his arm around my shoulder.  "I think
you'll like it.  I mean, you did it plenty back home now didn't you?"
He was right, and we both knew it.  I hadn't been in it for the money at
all.  Oh sure,  I accepted the money, but in truth it was the sexual high
that drew me to prostitution.  Being wanted.  Being looked upon as an
object, a toy, to please.  And, of course mostly, the sex.  I simply
couldn't get enough sex.  No matter how I tried, I couldn't get cock off my
mind.  Even after a full night of it with Clarence, or Harold, or any of the
others, I still wanted more.  I wanted it all the time now.  I jerked off
every day, sometimes two and three times, but the drive never dimenished.
Oh yeah, I would do what Clarence wanted and he knew it.  He knew it from
the first time he met me and he played on my insecurities and lack of
maturity to get exactly what he wanted.  His own little sex starved whore.

I met Bill for the first time that night, he responded to Clarence's page
and came by within the hour.  Bill was black, I would say 40ish, slightly
overweight, with one of those retro Afro hair styles that was just becoming
popular again.  He seemed nice enough at first meeting, and it was only
after I got to really know him that I appreciated his mean streak and
inferiority complex toward whites.

Roanoke is a blue collar town, and blacks are at the bottom of the blue
collar culture.  Kept in 'their place' for the last 100 years or so they
were now emerging as a culture.  But it was a slow, almost retarded,
emerging.  Whites were still in control in this town, and both blacks and
whites knew that.  Bill was a product of that culture.

And being a young, white, queer in Bill's care were a definate three strikes
against me.  He was, in his mind, superior to me in every way.  First, he
was older and wiser.  But more important than my skin color was my sexual
orientation.  I was a faggot and he was straight.  He had the moral high
ground and license to use it.   He was a real man.  I was a sissy.

Clarence 'sublet' me to Bill during the week, while he was travelling.  I
stayed in Bill's house, another run down place just off Orange Avenue in
what was solidly a black neighborhood.  Bill let me take a pair of jeans,  a
handful of tee shirts, and tennis shoes.  No underwear.  As soon as we were
at his house he made me take off the jeans and he used pinking shears to cut
the legs off.  He trimmed and measured, measured and trimmed, until the
final result was a pair of indecently proportioned short shorts.  Shorter
than anything I had ever seen before.  The back resembled a thong bikini,
the center seam of the jeans nothing more now than a string.  From the front
they appeared as a super short bathing suit.  But from the rear, well, let's
just say there was more of my ass hanging out than covered.  Bill ran them
thru the washer and dryer so the newly cut seams frayed.  Gazing at myself
in the mirror, I was sorta scared and way impressed at what I saw.  I liked
the way they hugged my hips and the way the center seam was drawn tight
separated my cheeks and made my butt look sexy.

"Damned fine little piece a white ass"  Bill rasped as I turned slowly in
front of him.  "Boy's gonna be stannin in line ta luv up on ya.  I bet dat
thang tight, ain't it?"  he said, referring to my asshole I suppose.

"Uh.....well, yeah.  I guess."   At least I wasn't as loose as I had been
last summer, after conservatory.

"Ummmmmmm............boy's gonna stan in line get in dat thang.  You'll see,
ole Bill have dem faggot lovers stannin in line.  Mercy!"  Funny, the
conversation had started to excite me.  The idea of a man being attracted to
me dressed like this gave me a sexual rush.  And that he would pay for sex
with me...........well, that was a compliment.  Bill would handle the money,
somewhow I knew that would be the case, but I would handle the sex, and my
mind ran wild with images of that.  I was ready.  More than ready.

"When?"

"You ready?  Course you is.  I can see it.  I noad faggots  had dat look
befo."  I guess it showed.

As Bill drove, I checked out the run down houses and buildings, wondering
who could possibly live there.  Most of the houses were empty, abandoned,
but several had lights shining thru bare windows, evidence that someone
found this neighborhood livable.  I marvelled at the lack of activity in
such a large neighborhood.

"Yeah, dem cops done run most of da bidness off da streets down here"  he
explained, answering my unspoken question.  "Evathang inside now,  smack,
blow, hoes.  But it still here, hah, dem cops not so damned smart de tink de
are.  You can fine anythang you wan down here.  Jes gotta know where to
look."  He spoke with the authority of someone who knew.  I would come to
know Bill for the savy, street smart operator he was.  This was his world,
and he was firmly grounded in it.  And he knew what to do with someone like
me to make the most of his opportunities.

We cruised the seemingly endless neighborhood for at least a half an hour as
he looked for the action.  To me it was all the same, run down houses, run
down buildings, a few men loitering on a few of the street corners.
Certainly not a neighborhood I wanted to be in alone.  But I was riding with
'da man', as he put it, and no one fucked with da man.  He acknowledged
everyone that waved, either with a thumbs up or, occassionally with a
'whazzup my brother'.  I tried to sink into the thick leather of the seat
everytime someone looked at me, still not aware that this ride was meant to
show me off.  I didn't have the knack of showing well.  Not yet at least.

We ended up at another of the many run down buildings, this one had what
appeared to be a barbershop in the front.  Parking in the back lot, he told
me to stay with the car til he came back.   As I sat there alone, I wondered
what I had gotten myself into, but I didn't have much time to think before
he was back,  motioning for me to get out of the car and follow him.  I did,
somwhat self concious as the seam of my 'shorts' rode up the crack of my
ass.  Self conciousness turned to an erotic buzz as I realized that I was
parading around in the parking lot half naked.

Bill ushered me into the back door and along a dimly lit corridor toward the
front of the building.  I followed when he turned off sharply to the right,
down a short corridor, and into a room on the left.  As my eyes fought to
adjust to the semi darkness of the room, I could make out what appared to be
some kind of store room.  Floor to ceiling shelves, packed with boxes and
piles of magazines.  I could make out a couch against one wall, and a
mattress in the center, on the floor.

"Jes wait here, keep da door closed.  When somebody knock, let em in.  You
know how ta do da rest, right?  Shit yeah,  ole Clarence done tole me ya
know how ta do da rest."   I just nodded, still in a bit of shock at being
here.  Like this.

Bill left, closing the door behind himself, and I settled on the couch to
wait for........................

To be continued
lesli99@hotmail.com