Date: Fri, 23 Nov 2018 09:19:42 +0000
From: Bogan <nifty.bogan@protonmail.com>
Subject: Former Street Rat 02

For the safety of everyone involved (especially me), everything I am going
to say is false, made up, and delusional.

DONATE to NIFTY.  If you can afford it, please donate to nifty.  We all
like this site and we don't want it to go away.

I hadn't meant this to be so autobiographical.  I really just meant to
kinda write a guide to what it was like to be a street rat.  At least from
my perspective.  Maybe give some sort of advice to how it was.

If you want to use any of this stuff to write your own story, go ahead.
Just two things though:

1) If I happen to write a story about this, than you better not try to sue
me.  I won't be tried for plagiarism for my own fucking memories.

2) If you do write a story using anything from here, please let me know.  I
would really like to read it.

Thanks,
Bogan

**********************************

I don't remember any "kind" adult who tried to help us.  But that might
have been our own fault.  We didn't trust ANY adult.  Adults were evil.
They were going to fuck you over every single time.  There was a punk song
that I liked.  I'd listen to it on my walkman and dance and scream out the
lyrics.

The people you're supposed to trust,

Are the ones you have to be afraid of.

And "trust me" means,

I hate you, I hate you.

And "trust me" means,

I'll beat you and rape you.

And "trust me" means,

I'll lie to you and use you.

You trust me, you trust me,

Don't you.

That pretty much describes how we felt.  When an adult approached us,
especially as a group, we'd stop talking, and turn our heads and glare at
them.  And they would usually retreat.

It was different when you were hustling.  But there was no such thing as
falling in love with a trick.  I remember that one of the first things that
Caz told me was, you can never be friends with someone who paid you for
sex.

The first time that I got fucked by a trick, it wasn't very good.  But it
could have been a lot worse.  He was an old guy with grey hair.  Tall and
skinny.  Thrift store clothes.  He pulled my pants and trousers to my hips,
bent me over, and rammed his cock into me.  It hurt.

And I wanted to beat on him.  To hurt him back.  But I had to go through
with it and so I just clenched my teeth and wished for it to be over soon.
It was.  It didn't take long for him to jizz into me.  Then he stuffed his
cock back into his trousers and walked off.  Not a word, not a glance.

I really don't remember all the tricks who fucked me.  I know there was a
lot, but it kinda just blurs together.  But there were some that I never
forgot.

Like the 20 yo ginger.  He was fit and he was cute.  At just 20, he lived
in a fully furnished flat.  I figured that his parents must have set it all
up.  But I realised, after he closed the door, that I had fucked up.  I
could see the insane in his eyes.

And than he told me what he wanted to do to me.  I knew that I was going to
end up in bad shape if I agreed.  But I knew he would lose it if I didn't.
So I didn't tell him no.  Just took off his clothes and mine.  Made out.
Deep throated his cock and rode it as well.  I did everything I knew to
keep him pleasured.  Lost track of how many times he jizzed.  And then he
fell asleep.  I put on my clothes and got the fuck out of there.

That wouldn't be the last time that I let my cock get me into trouble.  I
still fall for gingers.

The tricks that I hated the most, were the ones who would show you pictures
of their sons.  They were always around your age.  And you knew that while
they were fucking you, they were imagining that you were their son.

I don't remember having too many psycho tricks.  Caz had a lot of them.  He
took risks that he told us not to take.  Maybe he had to.  Maybe because he
was older.  Maybe because he had a mohawk.  And he thought he had to take
what he could.  But I don't feel comfortable telling his stories.  It
doesn't feel right.

It's hard to describe the attitude we had about being paid for sex.  I
didn't hate it.  Maybe because I controlled who fucked me.  But it wasn't
that I liked it, either.  Kinda like a job, really.  It wasn't too
unpleasant.  But you wouldn't be doing it if you didn't need the money.  I
don't ever remember feeling any affection toward a trick.  They had paid
you for sex.

Some tricks were rather nice in that they bought you food.  But you NEVER
ate homemade food.  You didn't drink from an open bottle, either.  If you
didn't open the bottle or can, than you left it on the table.  If he made
you food, than you weren't hungry.

I never cared about how the trick looked.  I wasn't doing it for fun.  So
it never really mattered to me how old, how hairy, how fat.  But it sucked
if they smelled or had dick cheese.

Oh yeah, I do remember this one trick.  He fucked me regular.  He had a
boyfriend who usually wasn't there.  Or left after I got there.  But the
guy never seemed to have a problem with his boyfriend fucking me.  I think
I was 14.  Maybe 15.

The trick was older but not old.  Around 45, maybe.  He was thin and was
balding and kept his hair cut short.  Getting fucked by him wasn't bad.  He
was gentle and considerate, and always made sure that I jizzed too.  It was
the closest I ever came to affection.

But one night, when I got to his flat, the lights were dim, and there were
candles on the table, and a fancy meal laid out, and soft music playing.  I
turned around and walked out and never went back to his flat.  I know what
"trust me" means.

But the first time that I ever got paid was before I even hit the streets.
I was 12 and this guy said he'd pay me 20 dollars if I showed him my junk.
That seemed like a lot to me, so I agreed.  I followed him to a janitor's
closet, pulled down my trousers and lifted up my shirt.

My balls had only just dropped.  And there were a few hairs around my
willy, but that was all.  He started to fondle my junk and I said, "hey!"
He gave me another 20, putting it into my shirt pocket.  Then I let him
wank me.

That's it for tonight.

Bogan

nifty.bogan@protonmail.com