Singer’s Story

By: David Divers
(© 2008-2009 by the author)
Edited by: Madison Cole

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 1
The Awakening

I stood there acknowledging the applause and the shouts of joy. I nodded and applauded back towards the audience in the balcony and the pews in the main auditorium. I really loved their show of support and appreciation. I set my guitar down and held up my hands, and the congregation slowly quieted.

“You know we came here to glorify the Lord and I believe we did just that. Now, it’s time to get serious. You know that my family and I have been ministering in song for nearly twenty years. We started out in the hills of Tennessee when Daddy was a preacher with all these kids to support. For six years we ran the wheels off an old Chevy, driving back and forth to different churches. For the last twelve years our home has been on a tour bus. I was just a kid back in those old days, but I have seen the power of God come down, and people’s lives have been changed. We hope our songs and messages have played a part in you having one of those life changing experiences personally.

“But now it’s a new season and it is time for some of us in the family to move on to new callings of God. For every man there is a season. Then a new season begins and new opportunities present themselves. My Mamma and Daddy are going to take some time to write new songs for the ministry and run the management end of things. My brothers and sisters also want to settle down and spend more time with their families, so they will be leaving at the end of the tour as well.”

The crowd gave a collective “Awwwwww ...”

I paused, and then said, “I guess I am the born gypsy in the family and I will probably be on the road until I die. We will get back together for special events and our family TV appearances, but this is the end of one of those ‘seasons.’

“I will begin ministering on my own with a new backup group and some of the best Christian musicians around. Naturally, we will keep playing the hit songs that you all ask for, but I will also be going in new directions and with a new record label. I hope to be back here next year and that you will support the new group as much as you have this one. You outgrew your old country church that we used to visit years ago, and now you have grown into a mega church. We have also outgrown our old calling and hope to please you as much with this new one. We would like to leave you with this next song and a loving farewell.”

And when that song was over, an era came to a close  ... The Stone Family era had come to a close ...

My Daddy had been a country preacher with a wife, four kids and a mortgage—and a way with words. Serving as a pastor of a local church with a total capacity of one hundred souls was not the way to clothe or feed a family of that size. Besides having an agile tongue, he could also play a mean bluegrass guitar and many other string instruments, while Mamma played old-time gospel piano and keyboards. Together they sang great gospel harmony and, from the time we kids were old enough to talk, they taught us to sing along with them. By the time we began singing outside our home church, we had developed a distinctive sound of our own.

We had complex harmonies that were more suited to jazz than the traditional Gospel music—sort of like the Beach Boys and bluegrass rolled into one. And it was a controlled sound. If you are coached to sing from the time you are four or five years old, you learn control, breathing and other vocal techniques. Where traditional Gospel had four part harmony, we had six.

We also were taught to play instruments. By the time I was seven, I could play rhythm guitar on most of the three- and four-chord songs that were to become the backbone of the Stone Family ministry. In private, I also learned the lead guitar parts, but in those early days we didn’t use the lead part in most churches.

In order to make ends meet, Daddy began preaching revivals and camp meetings at other small churches. Most revivals were two to three day affairs that would usually start on a Thursday and end on Saturday night. Then the home preacher would take over and preach on Sunday. Meanwhile, Daddy would drive all night in order to get back home in time to preach at his own church.

A typical revival would always begin with prayer, and then Daddy and Mamma would sing several duets. Then they would call us “younguns” up, and we would join them in singing old-time gospel favorites. In between songs, Daddy would preach, but after a few years the songs began to dominate and the preaching would be done toward the last of the service. By the time I was 13 years old, they had me sing a lead solo and they would sing backup. I could always make the old folks in the congregations cry with delight. I had a strong, clear voice and I could phrase things just right to make the songs “my own.”

In practice, Daddy would try to make me sing songs the traditional way. But young as I was, I didn’t want to copy the old records, tapes and CDs that we listened to at home. Even at that young age, I secretly listened to secular country music on an old transistor radio and I wanted to add some of that style to my songs. When I could get away with doing it, I always got a lot of applause and “amens.” After a short time, I began to solo more and more by popular request. The other kids also were called on to sing, but they were shy and preferred to sing in the background. So, I developed a grown-up voice and what they call “stage presence,” even at that early age.

Revivals didn’t pay much—maybe gas money and someone’s spare bedroom to spend the night in. Mamma and Daddy would stay at the house of the congregation’s Pastor, and each of us kids would be “farmed out” to the homes of the other congregation members for the duration of the revival.

Most of the money we were paid was collected in the form of “love offerings.” In those old churches, they would pass the hat and take up collections. The offerings could be pennies, or could total as much as $50 to $100. The real “grocery money” came from selling homemade cassettes or CDs of our songs. Daddy would record us on a reel-to-reel tape recorder and then transfer the songs to cassette or CD. We didn’t have fancy labels, just a type-written card with a picture, our name, and booking information. We would set up a table in the church lobby or in a Sunday School room and, after the service, we would be available to meet and greet the members of the congregation. Mamma and Daddy would sell the recordings for three to four dollars. We didn’t pay royalties to the owner of the copyrighted music and a case of blank CDs or cassettes only cost a few cents each. Furthermore, the “revenuers” never saw a penny … Anyway, we made a living.

As the years went by, some of those old recordings got passed around from home to home, and everybody in the community soon bootlegged a copy. Then they copied them again for distant relatives. Daddy didn’t mind because it led to many revival bookings in other areas. Our name began to spread out from the small churches to larger congregations in bigger southern towns. So we began doing revivals and special services at larger churches.

By the time I was 15, I had been singing “professionally” for more than five years. I began to notice that not only the adults, but also the girls and boys in the congregations would pay attention to the songs and the service when I sang. The kids no longer played under the pews or slept beside their parents. I seemed to be touching something in them. They would stare at me in awe and sit quietly throughout the whole time I was on the platform. And, it was the kids that led the applause afterward.

I suppose I was precocious and maybe even a little conceited. However, I didn’t really know how to be a kid. We couldn’t go to ordinary school because we were gone so much during the school year. So, Mamma home-schooled us. Except for my brothers and one sister, I was never around other kids and if I was, it was always in a religious environment. Adults were always telling me how wonderful I was to do the Lord’s work, how much they liked my singing, etc. And when I witnessed to the congregation, I felt like a grown up preacher. I knew all the right words to say because I had heard my Daddy say them a hundred times; and, to tell the truth, I could have filled in as preacher because I had memorized everything he said, too. Everyone said I had a calling—eventually I did—even if it was only a calling of my own and not necessarily of God’s.

In one of those revivals, I was farmed out to a local family for a five-day revival in a farming community in southern Tennessee. When we arrived in town for the week, we went first to the church to get settled in and set up the music equipment. A boy about my age named Bobby followed me around and helped carry in instruments, the sound system, and to hook up all the wires. During the sound check, my family sang a song or two and I also did my solo in order to check my microphone. When I was introduced to the family I would stay with, it turned out that they had several kids about my age. One of them was Bobby, the boy who had helped me. After the usual admonishments from Mamma and Daddy to be good, etc., we finished up and I gathered my suitcase and rode out to their farm where I would stay.

I had all my street clothes for the week as well as my “stage” clothes with me. I would rest, eat dinner, and then they would get me back in plenty of time for the evening service. When we arrived at their farm, it turned out that I would be sleeping in the Bobby’s room with him. Country church people had no qualms about sharing beds. I had done it dozens of times over the years and I didn’t mind a bit, because it was sure better than sleeping in the car (which I had also done many times). Bobby was anxious to show me around the farm so, before anything else, we toured the barns and outbuildings, looked at their cattle and crops, and then went back to the house to get ready for dinner. His Mamma asked if I would like to clean up before dinner. She brought me a clean towel and showed me where I would be sleeping and the bathroom.

After my shower, I wrapped the towel around me and went into the bedroom. Bobby was lying on the bed, watching me while we chatted and I finished drying off. I began getting dressed for the performance. Because I was innocent up to that point, I didn’t think anything of it. He told me how much he loved my song and the family’s harmony. I told Bobby I would sing the song again for him that night.

After dinner we drove back to the church. That night the family sang ten songs and I sang two solos. Everyone loved them and many people came down to the altar before the night was over. Bobby and his Mamma came up to the platform afterwards and hugged me and both of them told me how proud they were to have me staying at their house. When we got back to their house, it was after ten and time for bed. The parents had me lead everyone in a bedtime prayer and Bobby and I headed for bed.

While getting undressed for bed I saw Bobby undressed for the first time. I felt a strange tightness in my chest and a tingling in my groin. He was a well developed boy and somehow I was attracted to him—like many country boys he had muscles on top of muscles that had developed from hard work, not from exercise. Although I was pretty well developed too, he was attractive but at that point I really didn’t know why. Bobby also looked at me with a different look in his eye. We got into bed and said good night. He seemed to fall asleep almost immediately.

I knew I shouldn’t be feeling the attraction that I felt towards Bobby. Even though I couldn’t identify why, I felt it was something forbidden. I lay awake for a long time thinking about all the sermons that I had heard over the years about gays and homosexuality. Although I was essentially a country boy, I had led such a sheltered church life that I didn’t even know much about heterosexuality, let alone what gay or homosexuality actually was. In fact, the only thing I did know about being gay was that God hated it and that was good enough for me—they were bound for hell and I was bound for heaven. But I knew I was feeling something that didn’t seem right and it worried me.

I had never felt anything even remotely like this before. My mind was in turmoil. I had experienced hardons before, and I knew if I rubbed it a certain way that I would have pleasurable feelings. But why did I feel that tightness in my chest and get a hard on just looking at him? I was supposed to feel that way about girls. After tossing and turning for awhile, Bobby suddenly rolled over and whispered, “You can’t sleep either, can you?”

I quietly said, “No, but I thought you were already asleep.”

I pretended it was just excitement over the service. I said, “Sometimes it is like this after a service. If everything goes right I just can’t relax and fall right off to sleep. I get to daydreaming about the future and imagining what I could become someday.”

Bobby said, “It is more than that, isn’t it? I can feel the heat of your skin and the beating of your heart from clear over here. I can show you how to relax if you want me to.”

I was too embarrassed to let Bobby know how much I wanted him to do just that. I said, “Naw, I'll be OK as soon as I lay here and relax for awhile.”

Bobby reached over and tried to grab my crotch, but I instinctively drew my knees up to my chest so he couldn’t reach it. He said, “Come on. Just relax and I’ll show you how me and my friends take care of that problem.”

I told Bobby, “I can’t do that. It’s forbidden in the Bible!”

He said, “It is just innocent fun and a pamphlet at school says it doesn’t really harm you! Just doing that is not gay or anything and I won’t even touch you if you don’t want me to. I’ll just how you how to do it and then you can do it all by yourself. You can even go in the bathroom and do it in private. It is better than a sleeping pill!”

With that, Bobby threw back the covers, rolled on his back, raised his knees up and slid down his underwear. He said, “Now you do yours.”

Red faced, I said, “I don’t think so...”

But I knew that I eventually would because my peter was rock hard and throbbing just looking at him in that position. Knowing that I was in hot agony, Bobby reached between my legs and grasped my peter through my underwear. He said, “You might say you don’t want to, but this says differently.”

Spreading his knees, Bobby said, “Look here. You can see mine all you want. Take a look and feel it if you want to.”

I kept staring at the ceiling.

Taking my hand in his, Bobby guided it to his hard peter and said, “Come on, give it a try. Just follow my hand and do yours the same way.”

With that, Bobby began to gently move my hand up and down on his peter. I looked at his crotch and thought to myself, “His is just like mine ... red and hard.”

So I withdrew my hand and lowered my shorts. Bobby raised up and looked at it closely. It was uncut, but the head was fully exposed. He reached down and grasped it with his fist, pumped it two or three times, and said, “Do it like that for a while.”

Gently, I stroked it up and down and it kept getting harder and harder. Suddenly Bobby reached over and grasped my hand, took it and placed it on his own peter and placed his hand on mine. We began stroking each other until I felt this powerful feeling welling up in me. “You’d better stop,” I whispered, “I’m gonna pee!” ... “Better stop, or I’ll pee the bed!” … “Better stooopppppp!!!!”

But he didn’t stop ... he kept on a few more strokes and suddenly the most glorious feeling came over me. I had my first conscious orgasm of any kind that I knew about. (My Daddy had explained to me about wet dreams, but this was the first time I ever had an orgasm while I was awake.) It spurted and spasmed until it reverted to a limp, floppy noodle in Bobby’s hand. I was too focused on my own feelings to continue stroking Bobby, so he finished himself off with his other hand. Bobby then cleaned himself off with a towel and handed it to me.

After putting our underwear back in place, he must have fallen right to sleep. I thought and prayed for forgiveness for what seemed like hours, but no answer came. Sleep finally did.

The next day we went about our business being boys. Not gay boys or straight boys, but just boys. I began to feel like maybe it might be all right after all. I wasn’t going to be struck dead or go blind. I helped him do his chores and we went racing around the farm from one thing to another. We were inseparable. In the afternoon I showed him how to do a few licks on the guitar and how to use a mandolin that his grandfather had given him. In the evening we had another church service and I had a hard time keeping from laughing every time our eyes met. I sang both of my songs to Bobby and he later said he would be my fan for life.

That night was hardly a repeat of the last. I wanted to share that feeling again. But this time it went farther. Both of us took a shower before bed and got in bed as we had before. But I knew this was a step beyond turning back. As we lay down, Bobby said, “I feel so close to you. It’s like we’ve known each other for our whole lives.”

Then he put his hand inside my shorts and began slowly jacking me. After he eased my shorts down, Bobby licked his hand to make it slide easier as he jacked me. And, he kept on licking it over and over. After I saw what he did I copied him ... it felt so good ... slowly slipping and sliding over my knob. And, it didn’t taste bad either. Slowly, Bobby bent over and licked the head of my peter directly. Then he replaced his hand with his lips. The feelings intensified. I stretched out and he followed downward, moving towards the foot of the bed. That put his peter close to my lips. I didn’t really feel any attraction to do what he was doing, but I wanted to somehow return the pleasure that he was giving me. So, I tentatively stuck out my tongue. It made contact with the tip and then I licked and licked while I continued to jack him. Loving the feel of the slick head I gradually took it into my mouth and began imitating what he was doing, bobbing it in and out of my mouth. The feeling in my peter began intensifying even more and I began pumping in and out of his lips. His did the same. Realizing I was getting close, Bobby replaced his lips with his fist and began jacking me furiously. I could tell the head of his peter was expanding and I decided to jack him also. My peter erupted in a white surge of sperm. Pulse after pulse poured out. Throb after throb pulsed through my body. The cum went everywhere. When he came, it poured onto my fist and I was pumping so fast it splattered my face and chest. When our breathing finally slowed back to normal, we cleaned up as much as possible and Bobby then snuck the towel into the bathroom and soaked it in the sink. Then he wrung it out and hung it on the towel bar inside the shower. We went to bed and slept until it was time for his chores. For the next two nights it was more of the same. We blew each other many times that week—in bed, in the barn, and out in the woods at the back of their farm.

Now I knew what gay meant ... sort of ... and I knew I had to keep it to myself. I had heard about the fall of the big-named televangelists, but that was over money and women. The church could eventually forgive all those sins if you could convince them that you had a contrite heart and a humble spirit. But they could never forgive a boy being gay. You might claim that you were saved from it, but they would never trust you around their kids or listen if you were called to preach. And, if this was what gay was, then I concluded that I might be gay ... and I didn’t want to be gay ...

For months afterward, I tried to figure out what God could hate about it. I prayed and prayed and the answer never came to me. My Daddy and I were very close and he knew something was troubling me but I couldn’t possibly confide in him about this. It seemed perfectly natural to me. Not that I would go around bragging about it, but it just seemed to me that two boys engaging in innocent sex was pretty natural, and it did not change me at all. After all, I was still attracted to girls.

To be continued ...

Posted: 06/19/09