Date: Fri, 24 Feb 2023 09:13:29 -0500 From: Waldo de la Vista Subject: A Weakness For Bad Boys, Part 3 This is a fiction story laced with a healthy dose of facts based on my life but, most of it is just wishful thinking. It's what I call a cumming-of-age story tracing a closeted teen through 7 chapters as he struggles with his sexuality and a slight streak of masochism. The best sex is when both partners get off! So just as this site helps us cum, lets give them a reach-around by donating to: https://donate.nifty.org/ MY WEAKNESS FOR BAD BOYS, PART 3 SEX THERAPY The following year, without my "boyfriend" around, Tank resumed harassing me with full force. He took advantage of any time he found me alone to tease me about missing Lenny's dick, letting me know he'd allow me to suck his cock, or assuring me he could fuck me better than Lenny did. Once he even flashed his dick at me during physical education. Then halfway through our last year in high school, in the changing room after swimming classes, with all our classmates as witnesses, he pointed at his dick and declared he'd made my Mom squeal so much the other night he was amazed they hadn't woken me up. The room echoed with roaring laughter. Naturally, I shrugged at the idea of my mother getting fucked by yet another guy. Rarely at a loss for words but never thinking of the consequences, I explained I was not in my room that night because I was over at his house getting a blowjob from his father. The place became more silent than an abandoned library. Tank's whole body seemed to inflate as he slowly advanced toward me with his fist ready to smash my face in. I quickly stepped back and slipped. My head hit the floor hard making me shut my eyes in pain. Laughter flooded the place once more and I opened my eyes to see Tank towering over me aiming his cock at me. A golden string of warm urine shot on my chest and then got aimed at my face. I shut my eyes and mouth, I couldn't scream have screamed if I wanted to. I quickly got up and dashed under a shower. Everyone kept laughing until the coach stepped in to see what the commotion was about. Before I could say anything, one of the guys trying to butter up to Tank, said I had insulted the bully first. I tried telling my side of the story but everyone took Tank's side. I screamed out that it was Tank who had started it and that everybody was lying. I called them assholes and told the coach he was also an asshole if he believed them. I got expelled for three days, while lucky Tank got through the incident without as much as a slap on the hand. Mom went to talk to the principal and returned having had enough of my hysterical outbursts: I was going to get professional help. I was sent to the psychologist who took care of most of the employees in the oil company where she worked. When I walked into Dr. Pedro Osorio's office we both panicked: it was the same Pedro who'd popped my cherry at the movies, months before. "What are you doing here?" I asked before putting one and one together. He immediately said he'd refer me to someone else. "I trust you won't tell anyone you know me from... before," he said. I told him I didn't tell anybody about the "naughty stuff" I did. That made him smile. He handed me the calling card of one of his colleagues and then asked me why I had never answered his calls. I told him about my resolve not to have sex anymore. He talked at length about how difficult it was to be gay, especially in South America, but that I shouldn't let that repress my sexuality. I looked at the calling card and told him I felt better talking to him and that he already knew me more intimately than anyone else. He changed the subject saying it was unethical to keep me as a patient. I told him what we'd done was past and that I still felt he was the best person to help me out. He said we could give it a try. On our second session, he began opening up to me: Pedro was married, had a son about my age, and had constant nightmares about his family finding out he was gay. Like me, he'd tried to straighten his course, but warned me: "It never works. You complicate your life, you feel trapped and you lie to people you love. It's the most unhealthy situation." I also told him I didn't find sex satisfying. "I mean, getting my cock sucked, I could do that forever. But I don't get why I would want to suck a guy off or get fucked. I can't get an orgasm either way. Shame and guilt are all I've gotten out of it." "Don't you get a hard-on just thinking about sex?" He asked. I agreed and he continued: "That's because your mind is your biggest sex organ. I remember you coming all over the place while I fucked you. You found it that exciting." I wasn't completely sold on the idea and he continued. "When you're with someone you should want them to have as much fun as you do. I got excited just knowing I was giving you good head and it was very satisfying to make you come. I would have stopped immediately if I knew you weren't enjoying me being inside you." He paused. I tried arranging my hard-on inside my pants: "I think I understand what you say about the mind." We both laughed, followed by a brief moment of silence. I slowly started unbuckling my belt. He just stared at me intently. As soon as my dick was out in the open he knelt in front of me and began sucking. BECOMING A TOP From then on we became lovers, a few times at the office where we'd also share our issues with our families, but mostly on the weekends at his hideaway downtown. He had told his wife the company would regularly send him to the oil field far from the city some weekends when in reality he was renting a small apartment where he could hook up with guys or just masturbate watching porn. In that apartment, he asked me to fuck him. I realized I had been missing out on something fantastic. The sensation of my dick wedging into that warm moist hole and shooting my load inside another guy was amazing. It became a regular thing. Pedro also came up with quite a few different positions and ideas. However, in the end what I enjoyed most was lying with him afterward, kissing and cuddling. I fell in love with Pedro, yet stubbornly refused to let him penetrate me again. But I let him hot-dog me: he would slide his hard-on between my buns without piercing my hole until he left my ass crack or lower back in a mess of gooey cum, which I found sexy in a weird way. Besides, I was getting off on helping him get off. GETTING PAID One day Pedro took me to lunch to introduce me to a friend/patient of his. Rodolfo was Afro-Latino, slim, very sexy charming and soft-spoken. When he excused himself to go to the washroom, Pedro asked me what I thought of him. I said he seemed a nice guy. Pedro asked if I'd like to make the rough equivalent of 20 dollars in Venezuelan currency. I quickly nodded, if a bit puzzled. He leaned near me and told me he was giving Rodolfo a kind of sex therapy and wondered if I wanted to be his assistant. "You're pimping me out!?!" I exclaimed almost hard enough to be heard by the couple sitting near us. "No! Never mind. It's Ok. I just thought it would be a nice way to help someone out and make some extra cash." When Rodolfo returned to the table, he immediately read our faces and smiled. He addressed me directly: "I didn't think you'd accept. You're so out of my league." I blushed. Leaving the restaurant Rodolfo was in the middle of saying his goodbyes when I interrupted: "Come with us to the apartment!" And so I began being a nurse/gigolo. It turned out that Rodolfo had been a priest years ago but had willingly left the church because he was obsessed with young boys. Even though I was 17, my shortness and baby face made me look 14 or 15, so his fantasy was fulfilled. One particular memory of sex with Rodolfo was that e never took off the medium-sized crucifix from around his neck. It was weird to look up while sucking him off and see the small crucified Jesus dangling above me. One day while I was fucking him he came so hard that he left the pendant swimming in jizz. Crucifixes never meant the same to me from then on. I asked him if he thought God or the angels were watching us when we had sex. He said: "I believe the capacity for such immense pleasure is given to us by God. He doesn't frown on it, and probably celebrates it. When we die, I believe we are rid of prejudice and don't feel the same way about sex. We stop thinking it's dirty and sinful." So in the end, sex therapy was helping me out. It was worth every penny my mother unwittingly paying Pedro. The rest of my high school days were a fairly happy time primarily because I was getting laid regularly as a second patient was added to the sex therapies. I also lost interest in Tank and, after the golden shower incident, he kept away from me. But he wasn't out of my life. It wasn't strange in Maracaibo for two classmates to wind up in the same University.