Date: Mon, 2 May 2011 09:39:29 -0700 (PDT) From: Arthur Arthor Subject: AN OLD MAN REMEMBERS HOW IT ALL STARTED As told to me by a man in his seventies after he gave me a blow job when I was twenty. ................................................................... I do not remember how old I was the very first time I was introduced to sex-play. I know that it was when an older cousin was visiting and, as we sat in the moonless darkness of a summer's eve on a limestone wall of a playground that was next to my house, he took my small hand and placed it on something in his lap. I did not know what it was or why he placed my hand there, but he told me to feel it and I did. I asked him, "What is that?" "Not so loud! It's my dick," he whispered, "do you like it? I think it likes you." "What's a dick?" I whispered back; never having heard that as anything other than a boys name. "It my cock. Don't you know anything, boy?" he asked. "It's a chicken?" I asked in amazement. "You are an ignorant thing. Put your hand around it and rub it up and down," he instructed. I could not fit my hand around it. I could not see it in the darkness but I knew it felt warm and fleshy. It was soft and hard at the same time. "Where did you find it?" I asked. "Where did I find it? Where did I find it! I was born with it," he answered with a sigh as he removed my hand and told me not to ever tell anyone about his having let me touch it. His tone was stern and intimidating. He told me that I could cause a lot of trouble and the our parents would likely whip us both, if they found out. I did not know why what we had done was punishable, but I accepted it as a fact and agreed never to speak of it. I must have been about five years old when that happened and, as with all children, my attention was drawn to the next activity and I forgot all about that night on the wall until years later. When I was six, I was playing on the playground when a group of what my mother would call ruffians started to come over to where I was playing and one of them said, "Hey you, come here." I knew from their shabby clothing that they were not from my neighborhood and were likely not 'our kind' of people. The boy that had spoken led the way and they came to meet me in on the ball field. "I'll let you fuck my sister for a quarter," he said. "What's that?" I asked. "I said, I'll let you fuck my sister for a quarter. You got a quarter or not?" he asked with a threatening tone. "Sure, I've got a quarter," I said, knowing immediately that that information was something I should not have revealed. "But, what do you mean by 'fock your sister?'" I added. "She's over in the bushes and you can go over there and fuck her for a quarter. You know, fuck her! Stick you cock in her pussy," he said with a knit brow and an exasperated expression on his face. "I don't know about that. No, I don't think my mother would want me to go that far from the house. She told me to stay in sight, and besides, I don't have a chicken," I demurred. "Don't have a chicken! Who said anything about a chicken? Well, we want your quarter anyway and you're going to give it to us," he demanded. I quickly turned and ran for all I was worth back to my house, took the steps two at a time, ran into the house, slammed the door, and yelled for my mother. She came from the kitchen and was frantic from my alarm and panic. She asked me what was the matter and whether or not I had injured myself. I told her that everything was fine now, but that some kids had wanted to take my money and I ran from them. Then I added, "One of them wanted me to take my chicken and feed it to his sister's pussy cat for a quarter, but after I told them that I could not do that and I did not have a chicken - they wanted a quarter anyway - so, I ran home." "They what!?" she said as she went to the window to see whether they were still around. "Well, he said that I could . . . I think it was, that I could fock his sister for a quarter and, when I asked him what he meant, he told me that I could stick my chicken into his sister's pussy cat. I told them that I had no chicken and ran away," I told her. "Exactly what did he say? Now, think! What did he say that 'fock' was," she asked. "Well, let me think. He said that I could stick my cock into his sister's pussy." Ya, that's how he put it. But, mom, why would anyone want to stick a chicken into a cat?" I asked in all innocence. "Don't think about that now. You did the right thing to run home. I wish your father was not in Hartford at times like this; we need him. I guess I should call the police, but the kids have left. Whatever you do, do not associate with that kind. You can tell them on sight. Just avoid them. What they said to you was vulgar, crude, and not to be uttered by you to anyone. Come and let me fix you some lunch and I will think about what we should do," mother said. I was not allowed to go to the playground without mother for the rest of that week. She told me that, when father came home, he would have a talk with me. My father was a regional manager for an insurance company and was away from home about half the time - either in Connecticut or visiting one of the thirty offices in his region. Mother and I would meet his train at the depot when he returned from his Connecticut trips. When he came home that time, we met him and, as usual, I ran to him and asked, "What did you bring me?" for he always brought mother and me some small gift when he returned from one of his trips. He handed me a wrapped box and told me not to open it until we were home. When we arrived back home, he asked my mother to go to the store and purchase something or other for dinner - I don't recall what it was, but that's no never mind. After she left, he told me that mother had told him about the bullies on the playground and they had debated on what to tell me. Mother had wanted to avoid the whole thing; hoping that I would forget in time. Father, on the other hand, wanted to at least give me some information so I would not be so naif when faced with a situation like that again. 'Knowledge is power' was something he was known to say on more than one occasion. He asked me to tell him what had happened that day on the playground with the bullies. I told him and he smiled, picked me up, and sat down on the sofa with me on his lap. He then told me that my pee-pee, as I called it, had several other names; among them were cock, dick, peter, wee-wee, one-eyed snake, Johnson, John Thomas, and likely as many more, but that the proper name was penis. I giggled at the 'one-eyed snake' name and he admonished me to be serious. He added something of which I was already aware. He said, "You should not mention your pee-pee to anyone other than your mother, me, or your doctor - and then only when we are with you. I want you to remember what I have said. If you want to be a good little boy, you will not be vulgar and do shameful things like those bullies. Always remember that you are better than those hooligans." He then had me open my gift and it was a pair of boxing gloves. He told me that I needed to learn how to defend myself. We spent the next hour with me throwing punches at his raised hands and him telling me how to stand and how to put more power in my thrusts. When mother came home she told him that that was all well and good, but the best thing to teach me was how to avoid a fight. I was torn between the two concepts of how not to be bullied, but I leaned more to the punching than the avoiding. I wanted to hit the next bully that came my way. It was a couple of weeks later that I was playing on the playground and not paying attention when I was grabbed and taken to the far side of the playground and into the bushes that delineated the playground from the street. My mother did not hear my screams - no one did, or, if they did, no one came to my rescue. I was held by three of the bullies as I tried to squirm free. I thrashed my legs trying to trip them, but they tossed me on the ground and held me down. I was still screaming and squirming when one of them grabbed my hair and pulled it and my head back to where I was looking him in the eyes. He told me to shut up, if I wanted to live. He told one of his companions to remove my pants and hand them to him. That done, he checked my pockets and tossed them to another of the boys after finding nothing. They wanted the money that they had missed on their last visit to the playground. "Billy, those clothes should fit you," he said to another of the bullies. "Take all of his clothes off and give 'em to Billy," he ordered to the group. They had to free my arms when the pulled my shirt off and I clinched my fists and started throwing punches, but I only hit empty air. They were laughing as their leader straddled my chest and grabbed my ears. He started twisting them as he told me to be still and be quiet. One of the others proclaimed, "Look at that little cock he's got!" I wanted to cover my penis, but I could not move my arms and I could not turn over to hide it from view. I think it was the same boy that had spoken of it that ran his fingers over it and started playing with it - I could not see because of the bully on my chest. Another of the bullies told him to see whether or not he could make it hard. He pulled the skin back and forth and brushed my scrotum with a finger all the while. It took a little time, but he had my little penis hard and was laughing at his ability to transform something limp to something rigid. Needless to say, my fidgeting had ceased as I found that I was enjoying what was being done. Another said, "Move over and let me have at it." I had no notion of what he was about to do. I think my eyes crossed and my whole body melted into the ground as I felt him take my penis into his mouth. I had feelings that I never imagined one could feel. Then the bully on my chest released my ears, raised himself enough to pull his trousers down, took his engorged penis in hand and aimed it at my lips. He told me to open my mouth, but I clinched my jaw and turned my head. With both hands he returned my head and drew back a fist; telling me to open my mouth or he would bloody my nose. I don't know why I opened my mouth - God knows I did not want to do something as nasty as that. But, I did open my mouth. I closed my eyes and did what I was told. As instructed, I used my tongue to rub it and covered my teeth so as not to scrape his penis. He moved off my chest and, placing his hands on the ground beyond my head and his knees on the ground between my arms, he rocked his pelvis up and down as he fed me his penis. His rocking became spasmodic and he made several rapid thrusts into my mouth as he moaned in pleasure. When he was finished he stood, pulled his shorts back up, told me that the next time he saw me I had better have some money or he would fuck my face again. They left me on the ground, naked and in a daze. I soon was in a panic when I realized that they had actually taken my clothes with them. How was I going to explain this. How was I going to cross the playground to get back home. I was pondering my sad situation for several minutes - it seemed like hours - when the boy named Billy came back and returned my clothes. He apologized for what had happened as he squatted next to me. I noticed that he had a kind face. As I dressed he told me that he was the one that had sucked me and he told me that he would do it again tomorrow, if I could come to the bushes around noon. I did not say anything to him and I ran back to my house. My mother was napping on the sofa with the magazine she had been reading covering her face. I quietly went to the bathroom and closed the door. When I looked in the mirror, I realized that my shirt was on backwards and was discolored from being ground into the earth by my squirming. I filled the tub as I undressed and tossed my clothing into the hamper. As I was washing myself I replayed the recent events in my head and I realized that I was absentmindedly fingering my penis. I was stiff and I was awash with shame for being so naughty. I wanted it to go down. I took my washcloth and soaped it up real good and, rising to my knees, I lathered and washed my little stiffie but, instead of going away, it got stiffer and started to tingle. In desperation for fear of being caught in this condition, I rinsed myself off, drained the tub, and scurried to my room with a towel covering my most private parts. Well, they had been private until Billy and his friends introduced themselves. I was in a quandary as I dressed in fresh clothes and tried to work out what to do. I knew I should have told mother as soon as I returned, but there was a nagging sense that I should avoid telling anyone of my humiliation at the hands of the bullies - not even my father. The simplest thing to do was to be quiet about it. All of my rationalizations for not telling were in reality my uncertainty as to what I would do at noon the next day. "No," I told myself, "that will never happen to me again. Never! That may be what those people do, but we are superior to them and our standards would not allow such base activities." All the while and even after bathing I could still smell the odor of the bullies crotch. It was the smell of stale underwear, sweat, and a hint of urine. Again, my hand was rubbing my crotch all on its own, I had not willed it to do so. I was so ashamed for not having control of my hands and recalled my grandmother's admonition that 'idle hands are the Devil's workshop!' I took my Bible to the front porch and started reading, but the words may as well have been in another language because, the more I read, the less I understood of what I was reading. It may have flowed freely from the tongue in King James' time, but so much was above my level of understanding and it seemed to be meaningless gibberish. In later years, after my vocabulary improved, I loved to read it; especially the Psalms. When father came home I thought again about telling him what had happened, but there would be so much fuss made about my not having told my mother when it happened; again, a rationalization. I was quiet all through dinner and father noticed that something was bothering me. He asked me what was causing me to be so quiet. My mother then asked me whether I was feeling well or not. She leaned over and placed her hand on my forehead as mothers oft do. Assured that I was not feverish, she said it must be the hot weather. I asked to be excused and told them that I was going to listen to the radio in my room and go to bed. The next morning I knew that I should have told mother and father what had happened and I pined for my lost innocence. Just the morning before life, had been so simple; now everything seemed so complicated. My rectitude had become erectitude; to coin a word. I was fidgety all morning and fought with myself as to what to do. It was a classic case of the Devil whispering in one ear and an Angel whispering in the other. Mother fixed sandwiches for lunch a little after eleven and I slowly started to eat my two. I thought that, if I was slow enough, noon would pass and I would have a good reason not to be in the bushes. As I started my second sandwich, I noticed the the time was 11:45 and I gulped the sandwich down and announced that I was going outside to play. I think the Angel fell from my shoulder as I ran out the door; at least, I only heard the Devil urging me to get to the bushes. Billy was there waiting. His friends were not with him and I was glad for that. He smiled at me and took me by the hand and led me further into the bushes. "I'm glad you came. I was afraid you would bring the cops with you after what happened yesterday. I hated to see them do that, but I was glad to be able to suck your dick," he said. "Why did that feel so good?" I asked. "Don't know. Just does. Ain't it grand?" he stated. "Yes, grand," I said as I pulled at my penis through my short pants. "Do you still want to do it again?" I asked. "Sure! Will you do mine, too?" he returned. "I guess. Will you do me first?" I asked. "We can do each other at the same time," he said. We did; and I've been a cocksucker for the past sixty-seven years. While I was a boy, I sucked boys' cocks. All of them were within two years of my own age at the time we did it. When I became a man, I put away childish things and sucked men's cocks. Oh, I saw lots of boys that I would have loved to put on my plate, but, to me they were taboo. They were only eye-candy and more like the fish that you throw back because they are too small to be legal. I don't think I was ever the first to do it to anyone. I only wanted eager partners who were confirmed in their sexuality. I never wanted to initiate anyone - man or boy. And, even though I was sexualized at age six by a seven-year-old in the bushes, I think it best to let children have their childhood. ........................................................ The most amazing thing that the man told me was that, in all his years, he had only been rejected once. He said that either he was a good judge of men or most all men did it or wanted it done. I think he was just one lucky cocksucker.