Date: Wed, 29 Feb 2012 13:42:46 -0500 (EST)
From: suck4straight@aol.com
Subject: The Genesis of a Masochist

One day in the fall of seventh grade, I was approached on the way home from
school by an eight grader who lured me into an old garage by an abandoned
house on the pretext that he and his friend had something to show me
there. I was flattered that these big tough guys wanted me to be part of
their peer group and so I naively went with the kid.



The minute I entered the garage,I realized that two other guys were were
there waiting for us. They had it all planned out. They grabbed me and held
me down and one of them threatened to burn me with his lit cigarette. One
kid was the leader; although he didn't participate in holding me down, he
was actually in control of the situation. He said that they wouldn't hurt
me if I did what they told me to.


They had me get down on the dirty garage floor and kiss their sneakers for
them, which I did only because I was scared. I guess I was not showing much
enthusiasm about doing this, so they threatened to hurt me if I didn't show
more appreciation.  "Act like you like it!" one of them ordered, and so I
acted as if I loved kissing their shoes all over. My thought at the time
was that if I just did what they wanted they wouldn't hurt me. This feigned
enthusiasm on my part got a real rise out of them, I recall one of them
saying they had a "live one" -- that is, someone scared enough by their
intimidation to make a fool out of himself.

It was at this moment that the masochist in me was born. By my catering to
their sadistic desire to lord it over me instead of resisting them, the
boundaries between what they wanted and what I wanted began to blur for me
-- I was there to be used for their pleasure and amusement and I guess to
them I seemed to enjoy it,

I had a hardon by now and one of them pointed this out to the others and
they all laughed about it. Soon everyone pulled out their dicks and before
long they had me down on my knees blowing them. They were passed me back
and forth amongst them, calling me names, making comments to each other
about how queer I was and I just kept acting as if I enjoyed it in order to
avoid giving them an excuse to really hurt me. They were probably surprised
by my submissiveness, by how hungry I seemed to be for their dicks. It made
me feel dirty and cheap and deeply ashamed of myself for not fighting back
and just letting these guys use me this way. I can't remember how long it
went on, or what exactly happened after that, but when they finally let me
go and I went home, I was too ashamed to tell anyone about it.



They felt like big men, because they had made a younger kid do degrading
things for their amusement. It was as much or more about power than about
sex.

Although it was terrifying to experience all this at the time, I found
myself returning to the incident in my masturbation fantasies over and
over. The feeling of shame for being so compliant during the gang suck
became sexualized; the hot blush of shame came to be associated with sexual
arousal and eventually became for me a delicious and sensuous indulgence.
Later I would set up situations where I could simulate the shame I felt for
real during and shortly after the incident. But this time, I would be in
control of the limits and parameters of the scene. Shame simulated like
this paradoxically restores a sense of power to the masochist by casting
the self as the author of its own shaming behavior (not others). The
dissociation I experienced back then as a coping strategy and my desperate
playing of the role of the eager cocksucker later served as a means to
facilitate sadomasochistic scenes as an adult through throwing myself into
the role of abject suck bitch who loves being used for another guy's base
amusement.