Date: Tue, 14 Apr 2020 10:17:42 +0000 (UTC)
From: bidaddy5@aol.com
Subject: Duthie Park 2

Duthie Park; a boy half remembers 2

A strange thing happened three days ago, which has led me to alter this
fantasy about my earliest experience.

I have reached the age where I can't get erections by fantasising, only by
using porn, like Nifty, or by being with the real thing; my 58-year-old
lover for example, not possible under lockdown very sadly.

Gone are the days of the daily wank in the shower, even if I do get a half
erection it usually doesn't follow through.

Three days ago, I suddenly, out of nowhere (?), had the idea of enacting an
attack on myself in which I would be stripped naked, whilst resisting as
much as possible. I have ceiling to floor mirrors in my shower room, so I
could enact this scenario face to face as it were.

It's quite difficult to roleplay your own rape; however, I got into it with
enthusiasm, in my morning dressing gown etc. I found myself struggling
manfully, gasping, repeating no breathlessly, and managing to keep my gown
on despite "his" best efforts.

I was amazed to find that my cock reacted almost immediately and became
hard and heavy in my underpants. "He" obviously noticed this too, because I
was groped hard and told that I was obviously liking this.

Eventually my underpants were pulled partly down, although I resisted, and
he pulled my big knob our and started to wank me. I still had my T shirt on
but, as his hand gathered speed, I found myself gasping in amazement at the
sexual frisson, and then, of course, gave in.

This allowed my completed nakedness and the revelation of a big hard prick
being wanked. There was no precum, which is odd, because I am a heavy
precummer these days.

Then I realised he was cupping my bumcheek, then pulling it apart, then to
my wide-eyed horror, and shouts of no, he plunged a finger right up my
hole. He wanked me for a few strokes more, withdrew it, covered in my shit,
and stopped.

I retreated to the shower and found to my disappointment that my cock
quickly lost rigidity despite my best efforts.

So what was this about? I have never experienced "manhandling" during my
entire sex life, although being a daddy, I have often performed
overpowering other men. So, was this tapping into an early experience?
Perhaps the earliest?

So, to return to my story...........

I am sure many readers have half remembered events which seem significant
in their sexual history. I have very few, but the second, which would have
been when I was about 7 is exciting and mysterious in equal measure.

We lived in Aberdeen at that time, and for some reason I was staying with
my granny in the southern suburbs, close to the River Dee. Her bungalow
stood high and looked over the river valley. A main road ran between it and
the park in question. The walk to the park was quite long, down a narrow
park between wild hedges, under the main road in a narrow tunnel, and then
the gates of the park were in front of you. My memory is that I was allowed
to go there that day on my own.

It was a large Victorian park, and it had a fantasy gothic cottage, as one
would expect.

My memory is that I slipped and fell on dog muck, and having righted
myself, stood crying in distress. A kind old man came and said he would
help to clean me up and took me to the cottage to do so. This is where the
memory begins to merge into fantasy. I can recall vaguely that there was at
least one other man there. I remember my pants becoming wet, possibly as
they were sponged down.

Then I can feel, more than recall, that I was standing at the urinals, and
one of the men was pissing, and that he directed it at me. Perhaps that was
why my shorts were wet.

New passage starts here. I stood there, gasping with surprise and amazed by
the size of the old cocks hanging almost in my face. They grabbed me then,
lifted me up, and despite my struggles, managed to get me naked. They took
me into a stall; one of them held me standing on the toilet, the other
forced my legs apart and plunged his finger up my arse. A hand over my
mouth muffled my screams. He took his finger out and put it in front of my
face, commenting on the copious shit displayed,

First version resumes. The story about falling in the dog muck seems
implausible to me. The possible story was that I went into the cottage
(innocently or not), and that the men got me involved in sex play. The
shit, which undoubtedly featured, may in fact have been acquired during
those games, perhaps because my pants were taken off me and discarded on a
shitty floor, or perhaps they wiped my arse on my pants after they had
played with it. The wetness could have been a mixture of piss and semen and
a clumsy attempt to wipe me up.

Whatever happened, it was exciting, and as I write about it some 70 years
later, it sill brings sex adrenalin rushing through me.

Perhaps I stood there looking at the pricks around me, and even reached out
to touch. An earlier memory involves a neighbour, his two sons, and an air
raid shelter during the war, but is much less vivid. We shared an Anderson
shelter in our basement with the family next door. Their daughter was often
babysitting for me. She had two brothers. I remember my mother lamenting
about one boy, who was effeminate, didn't want to join up, and she said
would have a terrible time if he did. The older brother was a daredevil,
macho and tough. I remember watching him from our house, squatting with his
arse exposed, the exhaust pipe of my father's car lined up with his
arse. (I recently rediscovered a photograph of the girl, but sadly non of
the brothers)

I also have a sexually charged memory of another air raid shelter, by this
time disused, in my school playground after school, and a school porter.

The air raid shelter was brick built, and it seemed huge to me, a warren of
small rooms linked by dark muddy passageways.  I used to play there when
waiting to go home after school. I would have been about 7 I guess. I
remember it was scary and dark, and that I was surprised by the school
porter who was a dark haired, hairy small fit man, who was suddenly there
with me asking me what I was doing. He grabbed me forcefully, and my
fantasy is that he pulled me down onto his groin. His cock was obviously
hard, and I could feel its outline with my lips which he was dragging up
and down and over the squashy outline of his big balls. His other hand was
on my arse, feeling me up and pushing a thumb into my arse crack. I was
moaning and crying, but somehow excited. He stopped quickly, and told me
not to tell anybody, and that I could have more any afternoon at the same
time in the same place. Did I return? (I'm about to embroider this
encounter)

Could I in fact have been initiated into gay sex with men long before I
visited the park? Could I have been a frequent user of parks and cottages?
Certainly, there were two other parks close to my Aberdeen house in the
north centre when the Duthie park incident happened. I have no memory of a
sexual encounter there despite cottages certainly being present and
used. (but see "Watson Street")

When I eventually got home, and I seem to recall that I was late and my
granny was anxious, my mother was there too. I told the dogshit/kind man
story, but somehow, they were angry with me. Did they suspect the real
story? If the wet was piss and cum they would have smelled it?

I wonder if others have similar experiences of half remembered encounters
as a child?



One I vividly recall was when I went up to the boy scouts from the
cubs. Our first canvas cmp was in a field, and it chucked it down the whole
time. We were confined to our tents, amidst wet clothes, congealed fatty
frying pans, dirty underwear, and a patrol leader who liked to play with
us. He would have been about 15 I guess, and we were all elevenish. I
remember his wanking each boy in turns as we watched. We were probably too
young to get erections, and orgasms, but I don't recall how long this all
went on. Perhaps a whole afternoon! The main thing about him was his
smell. It was a strong acidic, fishy smell, probably made up of sweat,
dried semen, and sex hormones.

Some years later, I was in the house playing the piano, when my mother
greeted the plumbers at the door. They were a man and his son, the latter
about 18. As they passed going to the bathroom, I smelled that same smell,
only darker. I looked up and there he was, standing at the door of the
living room, smiling. He was wearing a dirty shirt, turned up to above his
elbows to show the beginnings of obviously developed biceps, and, as I
remember from the camp years before, his shirt tails knotted above his
trouser belt. His dark hair was greased into an impressive quiff. His
father was behind him, a shorter, but also dark-haired man in his 40s with
a shirt open to show his dense black chest hair. He was smiling too.

They went to do their work in the bathroom. My mother came in 10 minutes
later and said she was going out for an hour or so. I ended up in the
bathroom with them both, on my hands and knees, naked, as they took it in
turns to use my slim unathletic body. I always had a beautiful arse though,
which they commented on more than once. I had to have an overall wash after
they went to get not only their spunk off me, but to eradicate the
accumulated smell.

 I wonder if most men who read and write stories involving young boys and
men identify with the boys? I certainly do, despite having been a top for
most of my gay sex life. I am a happily married bisexual