Date: Thu, 2 Aug 2007 15:13:30 -0500 From: J.J. Subject: Part 1- Getting Kicked Out of the House Right now it really doesn't matter whose fault it was, but at age 14 I was one very screwed up kid. And it looked like it could get a lot worse. And no, I hadn't at that point looked up dissociative amnesia. Which is really sort of surprising, in that from about the fourth grade on I'd been looking up various diseases wondering which might be a best one to catch. Some kids when faced with an intolerable situation hope to be abducted by aliens, I'm wondering if it was still possible to get polio. Or at least every now and then I did. Dissociative amnesia. Yeah, that would have been a good one. The old split personality routine. Well, before dismissing the idea entirely, consider this: At 14 I was hard at work on my first novel. (Delusions of Grandeur. Except I don't suppose meglomania is really uncommon at that age, so we'll overlook that.) One part of my novel was nearing completion. That was the one written by the me who really WASN'T gay, although he did realize some people might get the wrong idea. Or at least at the very START he wasn't gay, only then he really wasn't sure, then possibly he was just going through a phase, then maybe there was at least some hope he might be BIsexual... Then thankfully I deleted most of it. Because at the same time ANOTHER novel was being written. In this case I WAS gay, and proud of it. Only at 14 I made several false starts on that one. And finally; just for the heck of it; a THIRD novel had just been started in which not only was I gay, I'd been that way since age 11. Hopefully I was going to be discreet about it. Not convinced? Well, consider this: My foster-parents were militant Protestant fundamentalists. So with that in mind, you will at least admit that dissociative amnesia was more probable than polio. Although at least the two or three different parts of me were still AWARE of each other, so that would eliminate the amnesiac part. And another hopeful sign was that I was having a great deal of fun, no matter WHO I was. When I writing, I was having fun. I wrote to entertain myself. And I wasn't entertaining myself with tragedies, which is a very hopeful sign indeed. (You really don't want to read a tragedy written by a 14-year-old. Not EVER.) The first story I submitted (The Naked Amazon Headhunter and the Missionary) was from novel #3. Which did seem to be off to a promising start, but as I've just mentioned, I'd barely started it. So OK. This next story is from uncompleted novel #2 in which I was kicked out of my house and had to start selling my body to survive. Not that I really WANTED to become a prostitute, what I WANTED was to be kicked out my house and then be taken in by Aunt Esther up in Minneapolis. Which is where Matthew lived. Who will be introduced eventually. But ANYway, it started like this: Getting Kicked Out Of The House- Part 1 (There's GOT To Be an Easier Way Of Doing This) Travis lived in my neighborhood and the first year after I moved to Atlanta it seemed like his greatest joy in life was making me eat dirt. Or giving me a pink belly. Or sitting on my face. Or sitting on my face and farting. This was very embarrassing, especially since he's a year younger than I am, but the problem was (and still is) he's a lot bigger than I am. Travis is a rather large child. I wouldn't call him fat exactly, but he is large. Even though it really is true that after about a year of taking his abuse I finally fought back, but that was mostly because I didn't have much choice. You see, I was up in this blown-over tree, I mean WAY up there, a good fifty or sixty feet, when he showed up, sat on the trunk of the tree down below and announced that I was going to break my fucking neck if I didn't get down from there. So I just told him if he'd get his fat ass OFF the damn tree, I wouldn't WORRY about breaking my fucking neck at which point he told me I'd better HOPE I broke my mutherfucking neck because if I didn't he was going to kick my little ass all the way home and back again and that was a promise. Then he sat down at the foot of the tree and waited. Said he had all day. Now one particularly interesting fact about all this is those cuss words that came out of my mouth that afternoon just happened to be my very first EVER uttered in public. See, there were several other neighborhood kids hanging around that day. And when I said what I did they all laughed, but they weren't laughing at me, they were laughing at what I said. And at Travis. So I'd gained face. But of course if I stayed up in that tree until either the fire department or my old man had to come get me down, then I would lose all the face I'd just gained. And not only that, if my OLD MAN caught me up in that tree then I was REALLY going to get it. So see, I didn't have much choice in the matter, so I told him ok, I would fight him over at the basketball goal if he would just PLEASE stay off the tree until I could get down, at which point everybody (except Travis) laughed some more, then I climbed down, went over to the basketball goal where he was prancing around acting like he was expecting a ring announcer to introduce us and hit him. Right on his nose. And it started bleeding. Then I thought, "Oh shit! NOW I've DONE it!", only he damn near started crying and said I hit him before he was ready. So I just hit him again. Then he started blindly throwing haymakers, but emboldened by my unexpected success, I danced around making like I was Muhummad Ali or something and even though he did hit me a few times, it really didn't hurt much more than being frogged, so I kept going bop bop bop until finally he just turned and stalked off. He said he wasn't going to fight me because I was dirty. I yelled, "Well tough shit!" That day was one of my proudest ever. But I suppose I really do have some fairly severe emotional problems because the next day I saw him off by himself moping and I'll be damned if I didn't start feeling bad about it, in fact I ended up telling him I was sorry. Oh I don't know, I guess because Travis never was all that popular around the neighborhood I felt sorry for him. And sometimes it was like he was the only person I could run around with. Neither one of us was worth a damn when it came to playing sports, but I think he's worse than I am. He seems to be inherently clumsy. So pretty soon we'd made up. And yes, I felt good about it. Bless my heart! Then before too long he sat on my face again. But no, I didn't bust him in his nose. I did not LIKE him sitting on my face, but... oh how can I explain this? There actually IS no satisfactory explanation, but most of the time when he ended up sitting on my face or whatever, it started out we were just playing around, even if after awhile I got the impression that basically he was just beating the shit out of me, but at least whenever we started playing like that there usually wasn't anybody else around. Although at least after I bloodied his nose he didn't sit on my face quite as OFTEN but then roughly a year later things started getting slightly weird, only I wasn't ready for weird at that point. He started grabbing me between my legs right often. And he said he could shoot off when he hadn't even come close to starting puberty, in fact his was even smaller that mine, but anyway, when I said he couldn't, he said if I wanted him to he'd show me how. Now I can think of several boys who could've showed me how and I wouldn't have minded all that much, but not Travis. No way. So I started having less and less to do with him. Then one afternoon he showed me just what a red-eye was. And while he was at it, he showed me what a brown-nose was as well. That fat son of a bitch sat on my face, pulled his pants down and then, "Snuf, hedg thaff kame.. Damn! Geth outh my fath! Cud it outh!" Fortunately, he then got off of me. Only the damage had already been done. "Oh shit!" he crowed, "I got you but good! Go look in a mirror at your nose. I dare you!" I didn't have to look in a mirror. I could smell it. Turned out it really wasn't quite as bad as it smelled but even so, after calling him quite a few names I got the hell OUT of there and really didn't have a whole lot to do with him from then on. Until just recently, I mean. Because aside from all that, the biggest problem with Travis was that he'd gotten a reputation as a funny boy which in my neighborhood is roughly one step removed from queer boy. So apparently he'd gotten weird on other people as well. But at any rate, if labeled a funny boy you're most definitely going to be looked at with great suspicion and it also goes without saying that anyone who hangs out with you is going to be looked at with suspicion as well. So if it was somebody I liked I don't guess I'd care if I was looked on with suspicion or not; at least not all that much I wouldn't, and if not for my old man I might not care at all; but if it's somebody I do NOT like then it's not worth it. Whenever I used my common sense that's exactly how I looked at it, but every now and then I would get... well at first I was merely curious. Just slightly. Like for instance one afternoon I was out riding my bike going no place in particular, when I saw Travis sitting on his front steps wearing just a pair of red gym shorts and tennis shoes. So I would have totally ignored him, but he yelled out, "Hey dumb ass, I haven't seen you around lately. Where you been keeping yourself?" So real cool like I peddled up to him and I said, "Who you calling dumb ass?" then in case he got the impression I wanted to fight, I added, "I've been around. So what have you been doing all summer?" "Oh, this and that." That's about as deep as our conversations ever got. But I couldn't help but notice that his shorts had rode down pretty far on his chubby stomach, so I could see a good deal of his v and I just had to wonder. Was he wearing anything at all underneath those shorts? It sure didn't look like it. Last time I'd seen it, his penis had been fairly small, but now it sort of looked like maybe it wasn't. So had he started growing hair yet? If those shorts rode down just a little more on him, it looked like I'd find out. Up until that moment I wouldn't have wanted to see him even partially naked, but all at once I did. "I got a paper route" I said wryly. "I ain't kidding you, it's a bitch. You mowing lawns again this summer?" Meanwhile I was wondering if there was a way to casually sit down on the steps slightly below him. About three steps below him would probably work out fairly well, I thought. "Nah" he answered in reply to whether he was mowing lawns or not, "It's bad enough just mowing my own damn lawn. I just got finished. Man it's hot! ..You want to ride around some?" I shrugged and swung off my bike, then laid it over and casually sat down on the bottom step below him. "Oh I don't know" I replied. "Maybe. We going anyplace in particular or we just riding around for the hell of it?" As it turned out, the view of his v was a lot better from up on my bike and I really couldn't see UP his shorts all that much either. Even so, I guessed it would look cooler if I remained where I was for at least a minute or so. "Well you know the old Horton place?" (Unable to remain perfectly still while talking, his legs swung open briefly and HELLO I had a very definite sighting.) "There's this sort of cave out back" he continued, "I mean it's really cool. So you want to check it out? Nobody'll bother us. There's not ever nobody around anyways. So you want to?" Very innocently I said, "Oh I guess maybe for an hour or so, but I can't stay gone too long." Perhaps I enjoy chronicling the depths of my depravity. Sure does look that way, but sneaking a peek up his gym shorts... now that's REALLY bad. But I must admit I was intrigued. Because he WASN'T wearing any underwear and while I didn't SEE any hair, it seemed a safe bet that he'd at least grown a little because I DID see his dick and it was BIG. His nuts were pretty large as well. And perhaps it was slightly erect or maybe it was just the way he was sitting, (or possibly it's just that I am just TOTALLY depraved) but it also seemed to be peering out inquisitively in my direction. But it was only a fleeting glimpse and then his legs swung closed again and he said, "Well ok, wait for me out here then. I got to go put on some more clothes. I'll be back in a minute." So right then I was disappointed and it didn't get much better after we reached our destination. I was hoping he'd get weird on me. Well, I didn't want him to sit on my face again, but he could have started wrestling around and grabbing between my legs, he could have tried to pull mine out, at the very least he could have wondered if I ever jacked off or how big mine was now, but he didn't. Although at least he did take a piss without bothering to turn his back. So ok, that was nice of him, since it allowed me to confirm that my first impression wasn't at all exaggerated, it WAS big. But he DIDN'T have any hair. I swear he didn't. When he fished it out, he pulled his fly wide open and he still didn't have on any underwear so I got a fairly good look and he didn't HAVE any. And I'm just sorry as shit, but I found it intriguing. Even though pubic hair is very important to me. At times it's almost more important than even the size of the penis. I mean you know, it's a bench mark. But in spite of that, on my way home that day I stopped at Walgreens and picked up a bottle of Nair. Why did I DO this? Why did I get an erection when I made the purchase? And why did I become more erect when I actually -GASP- smeared the stuff into my sparse bush? And not only that, the longer I stood there letting it set in, knowing full well that with each passing moment I was drawing closer to that point beyond which there was no undoing it (at least not for awhile), the stiffer I became. And when I got into the shower and saw just how well that stuff worked, I REALLY got stiff. So naturally I whacked off and had a thunderous climax. Then I felt guilty about it and at that point I thought to myself, "You fool, NOW you have DONE it! WHY did I DO that? WHY? You are so stupid!" But that is nothing compared to how I felt the next morning. At first I was hoping it was a bad dream, but it wasn't. Well, I guess I found the idea of a big dick without it's customary crown to be sort of interesting and soon enough I started wondering how I'd look without MY crown. And finally I got to thinking that maybe if he found out I didn't have any hair either, he'd start acting weird with me again. He might even suck my dick. Then I'd surprise him and return the favor. Then after that maybe we'd TRULY get weird. Maybe one afternoon he'd say something like, "You know what me and my cousins do sometimes? We cornhole each other. You ever done that? You can do it to me if you'll let me do you. You want to try it one time?" So I'd say ok. I liked imagining him sticking it in me. I'd be beyond shame, I wouldn't even be embarrassed if when he stuck it in, I cut a loud explosive whistling fart. The things I thought of the next few days while I tried to get up enough nerve to ask him if he wanted to ride out to the old Horton place again, the things I thought of to draw him out of the closet!! Weird things. Unsanitary things. Truly disgusting things. Things that are in all likelihood anatomically impossible. You see, my old man also raises chickens and...(and you really shouldn't get ahead of me here. Believe me, the chickens had nothing to worry about)... and it is my job to feed them. Well, the feed barrel is a fifty gallon drum set in a box which is on a platform maybe a foot off the ground and when the feed starts getting low I have to climb up on the platform and then lean over the edge of the box, then while trying not to fall into the barrel headfirst, fill the feed can. And my feet are up off the ground. So I began fantasizing about leaning over a counter about that high in the Horton place and Travis whopping it in me. I guess he would have to be standing on a chair. And I probably would have found it pretty damn uncomfortable. It would have almost killed my stomach muscles. But I still thought about it. I began thinking just how very vulnerable I would be leaning over like that, that's all. But I guess in such a position it would be almost impossible to relax the muscles I should relax, in fact it probably would be impossible not to TIGHTEN them, so I suppose it would be pretty uncomfortable at that. At any rate, after three days I got up enough nerve to ride my bike by his house. This was after I'd sneaked my old man's razor out that morning and shaved myself again taking care of three or four stray hairs. And when I saw Travis sitting morosely on his front steps I thought for sure it was fate. Which I suppose it was. Yes, he guessed we could ride out to the Horton place again, he sure didn't have anything else to do. So when we were riding through the woods, I fell off my bike into a mud puddle. And "Shit!" I said, "Now I'm going to have to wash my damn clothes off and let them hang up to dry for awhile before I can go home, because if my mom sees them messed up like this, she'll KILL me!" "You're kidding me" said Travis. "No I'm not" I said. "You don't know her. Well, I guess I can wash them out in that little creek behind the place. Then I'll let them dry out for awhile. I don't guess I have any choice." So when we got to that creek out in the woods, he swung off his bike and said, "Well, do what you have to then." I wasn't entirely sure, but I thought I detected an ill-disguised note of anticipation in his voice. "Nobody hardly ever comes out here much, right? I mean you're sure about it?" I didn't want to seem too eager about it. "Shit, I don't know. I don't guess so" he answered. I guessed he didn't want to sound too eager either. "Well ok" I replied glumly, then for good measure I added a very rueful "Shit!" then I sat down and started working on my shoes. In no time at all I was down to just my pants, only at that point I hesitated. There are just a few things it is hard to grow out of. I laughed self-consciously and completely in character. "Maybe from now on I ought to wear some underwear" I said and then with my back to him, hurriedly finished undressing, squatted beside the creek and began to earnestly wash my things out. I had only a slight erection. I was relieved, actually. And by the time I my clothes were hung over a low overhanging limb to dry, it was completely at ease. Then I sat down cross-legged and acted almost normal. Only he never made any comment about my appearance one way or the other. No, he just said, "Well, I'll be seeing you around sucker" and as I just sat there in stunned disbelief, he grabbed my pants and shirt and peddled away. I had no idea he could move that fast. And he didn't just throw my clothes in the bushes either, oh no, they were GONE. I said, "Uh oh." No really, that's the first thing I said. I said it very quietly. Admittedly my initial reaction was somewhat understated, but I didn't want to scare myself. But I really was scared. I wasn't sure, but I had a feeling he wasn't coming back. And he didn't. I waited and waited and WAITED, feeling dumber and dumber by the minute but finally I had to admit to myself that he REALLY wasn't coming back. It was hard not to panic. (Yet another understatement.) Still, believe it or not, after roughly thirty minutes of hiding in the bushes hissing out obscenities directed mostly at myself I said, "Oh fuck. I think I'll just whack off." But I couldn't get it up. I tried for at least five minutes, and if anything, my dick just got smaller. So as you can see, I was really upset. So finally I guessed I might as well try to get myself home. I was fairly certain I was doomed, but I had to at least try. I had a very strong homing instinct. And anyway, it would have been at least in the wee hours of the following morning before traffic would only be a MODERATE concern, no matter HOW I went, so off I went. And for just a bit, there almost seemed reason to believe things might not turn out as badly as I had at first thought, because while trying to slip wraithlike through the woods, I happened upon a plastic garbage bag partially buried in some wet leaves. It wasn't in really great shape and had a small colony of ants in it, but finally I managed to transform it into a sort of diaper, a bit on the drafty side but still an improvement. Even if it itched like crazy. Which is ANOTHER understatement. I shook it out as best I could, but ants are very stubborn. A couple of times I almost said the hell with it. The places I got bit, boy oh boy. Very strategic places. Made me hop up and down and cuss. Eventually I managed to reach the edge of the woods. There behind a bush I paused, carefully looked both ways down a very busy street and then said to myself, "Ok, now... OUCH! SON OF BITCH!... what?" Did I dare go hopping down that street in broad daylight wearing nothing but my Nikes and a brown trash bag? (I could tell you the name of the street, but seeing as how there's only one Episcopal church on that street, I won't. But trust me, it's a real busy street. Six lanes not counting the center turning lane.) What happened was, I looked across the street and saw this big Episcopal church. Now mostly what I know about Episcopalians is that my old man considers them to be very LIBERAL. He said most of them don't really believe in much of anything. They have dances, play cards and go to movies. And they don't have the church doors open even on Sunday nights, much less on Wednesday nights. So after thinking it over for a distressingly long time I guessed if I went over there, just maybe I could talk to somebody and explain that a gang of boys thought it would be a big joke if they stripped me naked and left me that way, but they were my friends in a way and so I didn't want to get them into trouble with the law which if my foster-father found out about it they would be, because he wouldn't let well enough alone until I told him who all was responsible which would only make things worse for me because the only reason they did that in the first place was because he was a fundamentalist preacher who was preaching at them all the time, then just maybe whoever I talked to wouldn't ask too many questions and just get me some damn clothes. I'd wait somewhere out of sight until they could find some. They didn't even have to fit me. Just halfway fit, that would be just about perfect. Yeah, if I could just get across the street, then maybe somebody would help me out. So I took a really deep breath and started to dart out from my hiding place, then panic stricken I thought, "No wait a second! Here comes some fucking joggers! Just wait until they pass. And the traffic clears a little." About ten minutes later I guess, there were no pedestrians except way on down the sidewalk and the traffic on my side of the street was clear for at least twenty seconds, so I said to myself, "Now, damn it! Go!" and I zipped out into the street, tightly clutching my trash bag in place with one hand. Usually when I do something I'm scared to do but I have to do it sooner or later so I might as well get it over with, it's like I lose my hearing. I get this big ringing in my ears and that's about all I can hear. So that's exactly what happened. I zoomed out into the center turning lane and then screeched to a halt waiting for the traffic to clear in the opposite three lanes and for the most part all I could hear was a loud ringing noise. But I did vaguely hear a whole lot of traffic. I think I heard some horn honking. And raucous laughter. And I know a truck passed right behind me. Almost blew my diaper off. I am serious. I knew I still had the front in place but for a second or so I wasn't sure if my ass was out in the open or not and I was afraid to look. I was saying to the oncoming traffic, "Damn it! Come on! Hurry up! Please! PLEASE!" Finally I saw an opening, so frantically I took off again. Then OH SHIT a car and a truck was bearing down on me much faster than I had anticipated and self-preservation took over at that point and the deal is you can run faster if you're madly pumping both arms. It seems like you can anyway, and that's exactly what I started doing. Pumping both arms and the hell with my trash bag. And some people think I'm suicidal and/or self-destructive. Well, that should prove once and for all that I'm not. But yes, I lost my trash bag just about as soon as I let go of it and started running for my life. It's a wonder I didn't trip over the thing, but no, one instant it was on, then all at once it wasn't. Oh, I noticed right away, but I did NOT go back and pick it up. My ears REALLY started ringing, but ZOOM I flew across the last two lanes, across the sidewalk in one fairly amazing broad jump, and then I discovered the gate was locked. The gate through which I needed to pass in order to reach the church property. I mean the church was surrounded by a 10 foot high wrought iron fence and the god damn gate was locked! So at that point I just flat out panicked. I started crying. Hell, I'm sorry, but I just couldn't help it. Now in retrospect, my best course of action would have been to have just curled up in a fetal position and waited for the police to show up; well shit, that's easy enough to think of when you're fully in command of your faculties, but at the time, I wasn't; so what did I do? Just took off blindly running down the sidewalk. God, it was horrible. I have no idea how far I ran, although I AM sure I didn't cross any more streets. Atlanta traffic is a BITCH, I'm not kidding you. So I guess I was just circling the block hoping for an opening into some sort of hiding place, but my ears were ringing and I was crying and I had an acute case of tunnel vision, so it was kind of hard to think, you know? Then ... RRRRR, RRRRR, WHELP WHELP... a police car with it's lights flashing and strobing and then someone was grabbing at me and someone else was blanketing me and before I knew it, I found myself in the back of a police cruiser and that took care of that. At least until my old man picked me up all outfitted in a nice orange jump suit that was a couple sizes to big for me. First thing he said was "That convict suit looks kinda nice on you. You might want to get used to it." Not the most promising start I could imagine. Then as we reached the elevator, he added, "Had a real interesting talk with the officers who picked you up. Care to guess what we talked about?" "It wasn't my fault" I mumbled. "Oh, and why WASN'T it your fault?" "Because... because..." Oh what was the use. "It just wasn't" I mumbled. "Because-" He cut me off. Which is just as well, I guess. "I suppose you get a kick out of running down the street in broad daylight naked as a jay bird, don't you? Get in the car!" (Well, there were several long pauses during my attempt at explaining things, so yeah, we were moving right along.) And in the interest of moving this narrative along I will tell you one of the policeman told him that when they apprehended me, I had an erection. Which I was completely unaware of, and I wish they'd kept quiet about it, too. Dumb thing gets stiff on me at a time like THAT??? What was it doing? Was it just sticking out, or was it straight up? It's pretty noticeable either way, but done gone vertical IS a bit more blatant. Blatant, my ass. How about demon possessed? Tell you what, if that thing had started pitching a tent in my jump suit at the very MENTION of it's previous behavior, I just might have GONE for demon possessed. But it didn't, right then it seemed to be thoroughly ashamed of itself. And I could tell my old man was pretty ashamed as well. I mean, beyond telling me that only fags ran around naked like that and enjoyed it, (Which isn't true of course, but who was I to argue?), he had little more to say driving home. So it was over and done with except for the whipping and in the meantime I could wonder about some other things. Like for instance, if the damn thing had THAT little self-control, then why didn't it just go ahead on shoot off on the arresting officers? Well, that might constitute an assualt on a peace officer, (it probably would) so maybe it's just as well that it didn't. Oh, and I could ALSO wonder how my old man was going to react when he discovered my hair had gone missing. Now THAT was something to worry about. To be continued. (I'm fairly sure there's going to be some actual sex in the next installment.) (I guess you might have been wondering about that.) But anyway, I hope you enjoyed this installment. Any NICE comments would be greatly appreciated and may be sent to jjjanicki@gmail.com (Yes, I changed my email address.)