Date: Wed, 22 Feb 2023 09:35:46 -0500 From: Waldo de la Vista Subject: A Weakness For Bad Boys, Part 1 This story is fictional but laced with a healthy dose of facts based on my life. It's what I call a cumming-of-age story tracing a closeted teen's growth through 7 chapters where he comes to terms with his sexuality and a slight streak of masochism. I hope you enjoy it, feel free to let me know either way. A WEAKNESS FOR BAD BOYS, PART 1 LANDING IN AN ALL-MALE SCHOOL The plane was approaching Maracaibo Airport when a loud bang shook us up. One engine had failed. Our momentary panic was subdued by the crew's reassurance that everything was under control. But my mother and I, as well as dozens of other passengers, held hands and prayed God was on the same page as the pilot. We landed safely. I was still shaking as we walked toward customs. Mom tried to calm me by telling me that my dad, who died when I was two years old, was always looking after us from above and that he wouldn't let anything happen to us. It was comforting to know I had a personal guardian angel. That also meant my father had witnessed a very dull show for 14 years, only lately sparked by lots of masturbation. My father had probably been there and done that, but he must've been shocked when I began sticking a finger up my butt while I jerked off. Weeks later, I was beginning 9th grade in an all-male school, exactly the opposite of what my self-abused virgin body needed. I immediately noticed Alejandro, our section's alpha male. Taller and older than the rest of us due to being held back a year, he was an ace at all sports, especially soccer where his bulldozing toward the goal net had earned him the nickname "Tank". He was well-liked by everyone except the few he bullied. One of them was me. Tank picked on me from day one because of my small stature, calling me "albino pigmy" because of my blonde hair, uncommon in Venezuela. He would soon shorten it to just "pigmy", and I was thus christened for the rest of high school. But what bothered me most was that I lusted for Tank as much as I hated him. His ears and nose were proportionally too big for his face, but it all came together on a ruggedly handsome face. I was discovering sexy didn't necessarily mean beautiful or conventionally handsome. His athletic body was enough to produce unwelcome erections at the most inappropriate times. Not that there was a good time to spring a stiffy. During that first year in school, I quickly made friends with another expatriate kid and the only other bilingual in the class. I loved spending time with him and we got along great. But Lenny was just a bit too gentle and delicate. From the way he sometimes looked at me I was certain he was queer like me. At the time I was too scared to let anyone know I was gay, so I tried my best not to be seen with him too frequently so suspicion wouldn't be thrown my way. DOES EVERYBODY KNOW? In tenth grade, I saw Tank's cock for the first time as we all dressed after swimming class. I was in awe by its uncut 6 inches in dormant state. It seems the lucky son-of-a-bitch had been blessed in every area, not just sports and looks. Unfortunately, I took a longer glimpse than discretion allows. He smirked at me - I'd been found out. Later on, he approached me when I was alone and started taunting me: I could suck on it if I wanted, and he'd be glad to fuck my ass, all the while making it sound like he was doing me a favour. It was tempting, but a bully was the last person in the world I wanted to give proof of my homosexuality. I told him to fuck off. He laughed, shrugged, and told me it was my loss. Tank imagined there was something between Lenny and me and began harassing both of us, asking us things like who was the girl or if we took turns fucking each other. Lenny did his best to ignore him. But one recess there was turmoil coming from the soccer field: Tank and Lenny were in the grass fighting. I'd never pictured Lenny in a physical altercation, but he dared to fight for himself, even though he didn't have the strength or skill to do it. The scuffle ended before I got there, with Lenny coming out on the losing end pretty bruised up. At least Tank stopped bothering us after that. I asked Lenny what happened and he replied "nothing". But that evening we had a sleepover and Lenny told me that Tank claimed I'd given him a blowjob behind the main office building. Naturally I denied it. Lenny trembled a bit before continuing: "Tank is quite the hunk. If he wasn't such an asshole I'd be in love with him too." Instead of trusting Lenny, I panicked. "What are you talking about? I'm not queer!" My voice increased in pitch till I was practically shrieking that I was no fag, and demanded to know why he could think that of me. We were both shocked at my hysterical outburst. Lenny told me to quiet down and forget the matter. I had missed the opportunity of having a confidant, someone I could trust with my secrets and feelings. OLD FAGAZINES About a month later, in a sleazy dusty used-book store, I found a stash of gay porn mags from which I quickly picked two up and took them to the storekeeper. It took him one brief look to determine I was nervous and embarrassed enough that I wouldn't protest if he charged me three times the scribbled cover price. One magazine displayed handsome, rugged men with hard dicks and hairstyles straight out of an 80s music video. The other was a hardcore pictorial with a couple doing everything I could imagine to each other and more. One spread showed a frontal view of the couple doing it doggy style. You couldn't see the actual penetration in this shot, but the bottom's ecstatic face and his raging hard-on made me imagine the full pleasure I could receive if a schlong was shoved up my bunghole. Those particular pages got stuck together more than once. Unfortunately, I thought a great hiding place for the magazines was under my mattress. One afternoon I returned home to my Mom confronting me with them at full display over my bed. "I have no idea how they got there. They're not mine!" I had the temerity to exclaim. "Just get that filth out and don't bring any more of it into my house." She said. I lost my composure once more: I yelled that someone was framing me, and even went as far as accusing her of putting the mags under the mattress. Mom said, "I don't mind having a fag in my house but I won't tolerate a liar!". "I'm a liar?" I screeched. "How about all those guys you've brought home. How do you know if they're not liars? Do you have a lie detector up your cunt?" Her hand swept across my face so fast it was just a stinging blur. In hindsight, I deserved a lot more than a slap. The following morning neither of us talked about what happened. She went about business as usual and the matter was never brought up again. It was a stalemate between us from then on. I even kept my ever-growing gay magazine collection neatly stacked on an open shelf in the closet. Mom either respected my way of life or chose to ignore it. At this point, with me not interested in Lenny sexually but Tank scaring the crap out of me, I was wondering if I'd ever have sexual satisfaction beyond masturbation. However, there are so many horny guys walking around in the world that it's impossible for a willing enough teen to enjoy a hard throbbing cock in one way or the other.