Sometimes I wallow in the mire and root for garbage. This story might be that. The following story is for adults and contains graphic descriptions of sexual contact between tweens, adolescents and adult males. There is, of course, a power imbalance in these varied relationships, and considerations of consent are blurred. If you are a minor, then it is illegal for you to read this story. If you find the subject objectionable, then read no further. All the characters, events and settings are the product of my overactive imagination. I hope you find it cathartic. Feel free to respond. If you would like to comment, contact me at eliot.moore.writer@gmail.com. |
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(First Edition Posted May, 2007)
Your first time was in the boy’s restroom on the second floor beside the auditorium balcony doors. You told me you lost your senses over some SRC-Jock from the Genders & Sexualities Alliance. It was simple to make him notice you. You were very noticeable, I’m sure, very alive in your skin. When you slip into forgetfulness, you are like that still; so alive. So as you said, it was easy to enchant this tall boy with your spells. He met you during class at the second floor boy’s restroom. My High School romance; You say this so bitterly now, because it led to your first time. The giddiness between you, the forever fever of daydreaming your first moment with a willing boy, You had your ecstatic moment when the boy opened his pants to you. You want me to understand this catharsis of self-affirmation You took that boy’s cock into your mouth and affirmed yourself. Then my brother found you there, on your knees with your SRC Jock’s hard cock in your mouth. The other boy was someone in the school and you were nothing. My brother was always hungry and you were easy. He knew you were afraid. Well, that was your first time.
I can’t remember my first time. The first time I can remember, I was seven and it was in the bathroom too. I was also weak and nothing. In our house, it was best to disappear. I moved unwanted to the corners of the family. I was seven urinating carefully on the toilet bowl porcelain, because I was afraid to be noticed in the dark. My brother had just inherited my sister, so I remember I felt safer. I was safe as long as noises came from my sister’s room. The noises stopped and Cain came to pee. You remember fighting with Cain in your boy’s restroom. Your first time was fear, confusion, and pain. Your first time was the taste of blood and the wrong boy’s spunk in your throat. My first memory was the taste of my sister and piss. My brother simply grabbed by hair and urinated in my mouth. He did not laugh or taunt me because in that house he was someone and I was nothing. What could I do? What would be the point of taunting at a toilet? Cain was fourteen. I don’t suppose that was my first time with Cain. Then Cain brought you to our house. I was someone that summer.
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I have written a variety of short stories and novellas. You can follow this safe link to my Body of Work. |