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I grew up in Greenfield, Indiana, which is part of Indianapolis. I went to pretty large schools, and I knew there had to be other gay guys, but I had no way to know who, or the guts to try to find out. I was alone and had few friends. I spent most of my time at home alone. I tried to hide what I was, but in ninth grade, it all came out.
In gym class showers one day, Paul S. pushed me around and called me a fag, and I was just so fucking sick of it. I was, and I had to hide it for so long. I'd known since I was a little boy. I loved hugs from my uncles and older cousins. None of them ever touched me that way or molested me, so don't blame them for my being gay. I knew already by then, anyway, like I said.
When I went into middle school, and had to change and shower, it was hell and heaven, both, at the same time. Before the first month was over, I was popping wood all the time in there. I couldn't help it. The weirdest thing was that when I did, almost everyone else did, too. I started to think that maybe it was normal. But on days when I didn't, it seemed like nobody else did. I noticed that. One day I wasn't all hard, but I thought about the bodies and dicks around me and made it hard, and by the end of showers, there were so many hard dicks again, it was like a plague.
One day in my first year in high school, in the gym showers, Paul S. pushed me, and the floor was wet, and I ended up slipping and falling on my ass. It hurt like hell. Worse was that I was on the floor and he was standing in front of me all naked and wet from the showers. I stared at his dick in front of me like a complete moron and I got hard before I even got back on my feet.
"You're a fucking faggot!" he yelled at me.
Like I said, I knew, and I was sick of pretending and hiding it.
"So the fuck what?" I yelled back.
"You're not even going to deny it?" he asked, all surprised and shit.
I stood up, carefully, with a sore ass.
"NO! I'm not. I am. I'm gay!"
I screamed it.
I turned and walked away, hoping that he wouldn't jump me from behind. He didn't, and I got to my locker safely. I dressed. No one talked to me.
I didn't have many friends anyway. Hell, I didn't have any. I knew I was gay, so I kept to myself.
I wasn't talked to all day, which wasn't a big surprise. I wasn't talked to all through high school. No one had talked to me all four years of high school, and I had to sit somewhere for lunch, so I sat alone at the end of the table where these four guys sat at the other end. I was pushed around a lot, and beaten up a lot. I stayed to myself as much as I could.
On the last day, at the end of the day, I was walking home. The four guys from the other end of my lunch table came up to me.
It felt wrong.
They were nice, talking to me and smiling at me. They wanted to know how much guts it took to admit to being gay. Especially in the showers, naked, on the floor, big, tall, powerful Paul S. standing over me with a rager. That story followed me all the years through school.
I told them it wasn't anything big. It just happened. They kept asking me questions. How long did I know I was gay? Did I have sex with anyone yet? Did I know anyone else who was gay? Did I like anyone? They smiled and seemed nice. It felt wrong.
They said they had wanted to talk to me before, but were too shy to before then. Now, with high school over, they wanted to talk to me before we all went to colleges or moved away and they never had the chance to.
It just felt wrong.
We got to the alley by the liquor store, and they grabbed me. One of them held my mouth closed so I couldn't open it to yell for help.
I was skinny, always was. I was wimpy, too. And I was swishy. You know, effeminate. Even one of them could have done what he wanted to me. All four of them had no problem.
They took me through a steel door into a dark building. Light came in one window, a shaft cutting through the dust suspended in the air which was being disturbed by our violent, noisy entrance. It shone down on the floor, littered with junk and trash. Old machines, covered in dust and cobwebs and a few counters and tables were all the things that remained from some time long past. I noticed all that as if it mattered and I wasn't being hauled in there to be raped. I was thrown on a table or bench, something, and held down. The light from the window was slanted across the floor nearly in front of me, and I was face down, and it was sort of photogenic. I sort of felt apart. It was weird. I stopped fighting and gave up.
Someone shoved their dick in my mouth and said if I bit on it he would break my neck. He told me to suck it like the faggot I was, and if I did a good job to all of them, they might let me live.
I didn't give a fuck.
It was the first dick I had ever experienced, so I experienced it. He shoved it in too far and too often, but I did the best I could. I even sort of liked it. I liked how he smelled. That sort of drove me on.
The others were holding my legs and arms, saying gross things and urging him on. He started telling me I was a great cock sucker. I got into it. I didn't care if I lived or not. I just didn't care. I wasn't afraid any more.
I found out I could sort of stretch my head out on my neck and it let his cock go in my throat in a way that didn't make me gag so badly.
He wasn't all that big or long, it was just my first. I started being able to think, and I was sure he was about six inches or so, not much smaller than mine. He started ramming it hard and fast. He told me to suck harder and use more tongue. I did. He groaned and moaned, and told me I was giving him the best head he'd ever had. He started cumming. It filled my mouth up and ran out before I could swallow it. He kept pumping like crazy, just as deep as he could. It was sort of neat, sort of fun, and I liked it. It tasted bitter and sour, I didn't like the taste. He grunted and said I did good, and told me to clean him up. I did, actually liking it. It was so smooth and velvety. He pulled it out, put it back in through his boxer's fly, and pulled up his pants.
He took my right arm from the guy there and that guy came in front of me and unzipped. He reached in and pulled out one that was bigger, probably around seven inches, about the same as mine. His was thinner, though. It was curved up, quite a lot, and lose foreskin covered the head. He shoved it in really rough, all the way, and it went right into my throat. He smelled strong, like he didn't shower after gym. I didn't like that at all. I sucked and used my tongue. He told me I was doing good, that it felt like a million bucks. I was pretty sure he had never gotten head before from the things he said and that he didn't last half as long as the first guy. He came a lot more, too. His cock was long, and the curve in it made it rub the roof of my mouth. He groaned and stopped moving when he started cumming, and I could feel his dick jumping in my mouth. It was really pretty neat a feeling. His cum tasted better than the first guy. It wasn't nearly as bitter or sour. It was almost kind of yummy. He said I did really good as he pulled it out. He traded with the guy on my left arm.
This guy stood in front of me and whipped it out. Small, maybe five whole inches, and kind of thick. The head was really mushroomy, all wide and with big edges. He pushed it in and then shoved it in all the way until his pubes were up my nose. He smelled a little nice, way better than the guy before him. His was nice and short and I liked it going in and out. He fucked my mouth hard and fast, and I wondered if he was going to break my nose. He didn't last two minutes. I was let down. He didn't say a word, and when he came it was like a fire hose. Tons of pressure, and a lot of it. He held real still as he came, and it was so cool to feel his cock working like that, as if it was alive in my mouth. It tasted sort of bitter, but not as bad as the first guy. There was just so much of it. He still didn't say anything as he pushed it back inside his pants and traded with the guy holding my legs.
This guy unfastened his button and his jeans fell to his ankles. He was huge! Easy eight inches, at least. Thickest one, too. Smoothest, too. Soft edges on his head, rounded tip, straight and smooth. He was the gentlest, too. He didn't shove it in. He put it in slowly. He went slow, too. He smelled really good, like a fresh shower, and his personal scent was mild and almost spicy. I really liked his smell. He pushed it slow and easy, and took his time. He said I was doing real well. His hands kind of rubbed my back and neck. He moaned and said I was doing really well. I was really glad that he wasn't trying to hurt me. I don't know why I cared, but I did.
I tried to make it the best for him, because he wasn't trying to be so rough and mean. He seemed to get smaller and softer.
He actually asked. I moaned yes around his dick.
He pumped a couple more times, then froze, grunting. He sounded like he was cumming, but his dick was soft, and I didn't feel anything coming out of it.
He waited while I kept sucking and licking, waiting for him to cum. He said I had done really well and he pulled it out, pulled up his jeans, tucked it away, and buttoned up.
I was almost sad it was over.
The first guy twisted my arm up behind me, and I screamed in pain. It fucking hurt!
He told me if I said anything to anybody, he'd find me, and he'd hurt me. Bad. He pushed my arm up more, my shoulder popped really loudly and painfully, and I screamed again. I started crying.
The other guys let go of me and he pushed me off the table or counter or whatever it was. I fell on the floor and I stayed there, crying, holding my hurt shoulder.
I curled up and tried to hide, or die, or just not matter at all.
I heard them leave. I didn't want to leave. I didn't care if I ever left that dusty room.
At least I didn't have to go back to school and face any of them. Or anyone.
I decided I wouldn't face anyone in that town ever again.
My parents didn't care what I did, because they didn't care at all. I told them I was gay after I told Paul S. in the showers that day. Dad cursed me and hit me. He told me to get out. Mom told me to go to my room and stay there. They yelled and screamed all night. I didn't know where to go or what to do. Mom came in and told me that I wasn't kicked out, that I wasn't hated, that they didn't think I was normal anyway. Dad came in and called me a sissy. He told me he wasn't his, that mom was a whore and had cheated on him. Mom hit him and he hit her back. They yelled some more. In the end, I was told to stay by mom, and dad said to stay out of his way.
So why should I go home, I figured as I sat on that dirty floor. I would just go back to get my clothes, what few I had, and some other things, and never go back. They had never even got me a television. Or a computer. Not even a cell phone.
I stayed there for a long time, crying most of the time. Finally I got up and walked home. They were in the living room, drinking, like normal. They never even knew I was late, probably. They didn't notice that I was there. I put what I wanted to take with me in the old backpack, looked around, turned off the bedroom light for the last time, and left.
I didn't know where I was going to go. I had nowhere to go. I had no money. I knew I wasn't bad looking, so I figured I could make some money selling myself. I was still a virgin, sort of. I hoped that if I could get out of that town, I'd be okay. There was only one way out without money.
I walked to the highway and started walking south. There was next to nothing north. South I hoped to get to the city and find a way to live with myself. Or maybe not.
I had my thumb out. No one stopped for a long time. When a car pulled up and stopped, I ran up to it. I was so glad!
I opened the door and tossed my bag in the back seat and started to get in.
It was guy number four. I didn't know what to do other than to run as fast as I could. I left my bag in the back seat, but I wasn't going to go ask for it back. He yelled my name a few times, then told me to at least come get my bag. He said he would leave it on the shoulder.
That made me stop and turn. There was more than clothes and toiletries in there. There was the one thing I really didn't want to lose.
I watched him leave it on the shoulder in his headlights, about fifty feet in front of his car. He was about half way to me. He said he wouldn't hurt me. He said he was sorry about what happened, and if I wanted to tell the police, he wouldn't lie, he would back me up, and he would tell them the whole truth. He said if he did that, he might get a lighter sentence. He swore he would name names.
I sort of believed him. Maybe it was that he had been gentle and nicer than the others. I started walking toward him. I had noticed he was sort of talking funny. By the time I was where he left my bag, I was sure he was crying. He was leaning against the hood of his car, between the headlights, so I couldn't see his face.
He kept saying that he was sorry. He said he thought they were kidding when they said what they were going to do. He thought they would all chicken out once he saw they were going to. He didn't think it was really going to happen until it started really happening.
He literally begged me to forgive him.
I asked why I should. He said because he was sorry. He said he never wanted to hurt me. He said he was gay. He even said he had liked me for a while. I almost believed him.
We talked for a long time, traffic going by at sixty miles an hour sometimes. It got windy and hard to talk, and little drops of rain started falling from time to time. Lightning in the distance lit the sky, and the thunder interrupted our talking.
He said he couldn't do it when it was his turn. That was why he couldn't get it hard. He didn't want to do that to me.
I started to believe him.
He never moved from the hood of his car. It was running the whole time. When it started raining for real, he asked if I would sit in his car. He said I could hold the keys if I wanted. I said no, just that I wanted to have the door open. He agreed. He shut off the engine and the radio, and the lights. I kept the inside lights on because I kept the door open, one foot on the pavement, my pack on my lap, one hand on the door, ready to leap out and run.
We talked for time. I had seen him plenty in school. He was cute, but I thought almost all guys were cute. I had no real definite taste or such, and just wasn't picky at all, but I did like guys bigger than me more than smaller ones. He was about six feet tall, about four inches taller than me. He was broader than me, than most, strong and powerful. He was a good football player, and I heard he was going to State on partial scholarship. Deep brown hair, deep brown eyes, always tanned.
The rain started pouring down, and I closed the door. He scooted further away from me. I put my pack in the back seat.
He said he was sorry again, and asked if I wanted to go home, to the police station in town, or if I wanted him to take me to the city.
I didn't know. I tried to figure out which I wanted. He offered one more choice. It was the scariest one of all. I asked if he was serious. He said he was, very serious. He said he was sorry again, and that he had liked me for a while again, and that he was sure he was gay, too.
"I have the apartment over the garage. Let me take you home. And prove it. Please."
I let him.
It was fantastic!
The next day, he sat down and wrote the whole thing down, naming names. We went to the bank, where he put the paper in his deposit box, and he withdrew five hundred dollars. I didn't know he was so rich, but I should have guessed, considering what kind of car he drove. He said I needed more clothes than I had with me. He asked if I had left any at home. I said no, that I had all I owned. He gave me two hundred and told me to buy clothes. He was serious. We had lunch at the only restaurant in town that had linen tablecloths. We went back to his house. He told his parents that there was something in his bank box if something ever happened to him. They asked what he was talking about, and he said that now he was out of high school, they should know he was gay. They weren't surprised. He had never dated a girl, they said, and they said they weren't stupid. He was really relieved, cried, and that made me cry. I wished I had such parents. They made me hug up with the three of them. They asked if I was his boyfriend. He shrugged and asked me if I was. I shrugged. Nobody knew the answer. That was fine. He kissed me. It was more than fine!
We went up to his apartment and had sex. Lots of it. All kinds of ways. Over and over. I didn't want to, and really couldn't, fuck him. It seemed ridiculous to even think it. It took a lot of trying, but he finally got his inside me. That was right, and wonderful!
We were still naked and in each other's arms in his bed when his three friends came over that evening to party. He had told me hours earlier that they were coming. He had a plan. He let them in, naked. They saw me, on his bed, naked. They laughed. They thought he had got me there so they could have another turn, that I was the fucking party favor. He sat down next to me on the bed and put his arm around me. They came over, laughing and making rude jokes and playing with their crotches. He reached in his bedside table and pulled out a gun. He pointed it at them and they figured it out. They didn't believe it. He told them he loved me. He told them he was gay. He told them he hated them for what they did to me. He told them if they ever looked at me in any way, and I felt scared or worried, at all, that he would give the police what he had written about what had happened, naming names. They said he would go to jail, too. He said he would get a lighter sentence for admitting it, telling everything he knew, and backing me up. He told them his parents knew he was gay, he had told them, and had kissed me in front of them. He told them to leave, and he didn't want to see or hear from them, ever again. He kissed me in front of them.
They left, and I never saw them again. Mostly because I left to go to college with him two months later. Really, I went to college with him. To be completely accurate, I stayed in the apartment he got near the campus while he went to college. I got a job and made money, got a beater of a car. We stayed together until he graduated. By then we had grown apart. It just didn't last forever. But it was a great four years.
When we were moving out, he to Atlanta, me to a smaller apartment there by the school so I could keep my job, which by then was worth keeping, I told him he had saved my life that night. He said he kind of suspected that. He asked if I had ever suspected that I had saved his. I hadn't. Over time, I had gone from assuming he had accidentally found me while heading somewhere, then had come to assume that he had come looking for me, that was how he had found me on the highway north of town. He explained.
Turns out, he wasn't dealing well at all with knowing that he was gay, and after what had happened with his friends and me, it was too much for him to live with. He was driving up that highway that night on his way to the forst preserves. He was going to get drunk, and blow his brains out.
This story is based on Steve's Tale, and if enough respond at the feedback page here, it will become an ongoing story. Steve is willing to share the continuing story.
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