How to Come Out to Your Parents

By: Little Dan
(Copyrighted 2006 by the author)
 

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

Which I am saddened to say can no longer be obtained! (Effective August 14th 2007)

How was I ever going to tell my parents that I was gay? This was a confrontation that I had been dreading for a long time, but how long could I put it off? If I didn't tell them, they were going to find out anyway for sure. I was a complete slut. I mean, really indiscreet. One time I got the mailman up to my bedroom, and he was just in the middle of fucking my ass, when I heard the front door open. I knew it was my father. He was due home about then, and I had played it too close. But I just couldn't pass up the mailman. He was so cute and humpy, and I didn't even know he was available, but when the mail came through the slot in the front door, I opened the door, wearing only my red thong, and he was still kneeling there about to stuff TV Guide through the slot, and there I was standing there with my packed thong practically in front of his face. I saw him look at my tight package, and even though he was kneeling in his baggy trousers, I saw the prickhead pressure pushing out his uniform. I raised my foot and kind of rubbed it against him. He smiled. I smiled. I invited him in for a cup of coffee. He accepted. I put the mail on the hall table. We skipped the cup of coffee. We went up to my bedroom and immediately started to go at it. I helped him out of his uniform. He really was cute and humpy, and muscular and hung. I went down on him immediately. I licked his cock. I sucked his succulent balls into my mouth. He pressed his feet down on the mattress to raise the angle of his ass. He separated his two bouncy fleshglobes and displayed the clean, pink. pursed lips between them. I went for it. He manually held my face within his deep cleft, and the insides of his buttocks rubbed against my wet nose. Finally he flipped me over on my belly, spit into his hand, rubbed it on his thick dick and speared me. I loved it. It was just after that, that I heard the front door open, and knew it was my father. I tried to move out from under him.

"It's my father," I hissed. "Get up."

He just kept fucking. He wasn't going to be cheated out of an anal cumshot.

"Take it out, for god's sake. It's my father."

This only seemed to make him more excited, and he started pounding like a jackhammer. I was sweating in fear under his insistent hips, but I was also loving it. Slap. Slap. Slap. My father certainly would hear that. Slap. Slap. Slap. His hips against my ass. Slap. Slap. Slap. Suddenly he tensed, and he swelled, and he hosed his spooge into me. He was finished. Thank goodness. I made him get dressed immediately, and I opened my bedroom door to let him out, just as my father passed my door. Unfortunately, I was only wearing my red thong, so it looked a bit peculiar.

"Hello," said my father. "What's the mailman doing in your room?"

"I had to sign for something," I explained. I ran to my desk and picked up a cheap ballpoint. "Here. You forgot your pen," I said to the mailman. He took the pen from me and smiled.

"Thank you," he said to me, in a meaningful way, but my father thought he was thanking me for returning the pen. Great mailman. He understood perfectly. I hoped to have to sign for many more special deliveries from him.

So you see, I'm in a little bit of a mess. I have to get all this out into the open. Stop the hiding and the lying. But how? My father hates queers. He was always making nasty comments about them--about us. And my mother was a Sunday school teacher. She was sure we were sullying the divine plan of the Supreme Creator. Actually, I felt, I was carrying out the divine plan of my Supreme Creator, and was behaving just as he had created me to behave. But let's save the theosophical arguments for later.

When my mother got home, she cooked dinner and set the dining room table for three. Family dinner was a regular and important occasion in our house. Mother put fresh white candles in the valuable silver candlesticks that had come down from my great great grandmother. One day she would pass them on to my wife, she thought. And then they would go to one of my children. And then one of my grandchildren, etc. etc. etc... How could I tell her that the candlesticks stopped here?

My mother went into the kitchen through the swinging door. She came out with two plates on the first trip, setting them down before my father and before me. And then she returned through the swinging door, before it had even stopped swinging. She returned with her own plate.

She took her seat, and the three of us sat poised over our evening meal.

"We thank you, O lord, for the food we are about to receive," said my father, hands clasped in front of his face.

"Amen," said my mother, hands clasped.

They both began to eat in the flickering candlelight.

"Delicious, darling," complimented my father.

"Thank you, dear," said my mother. She turned to me. I was sitting there with the fork in my hand. I had not begun to eat. I had been thinking of the mailman. I had been fondly remembering the mailman's big cock. "What's the matter, Jeffrey?" my mother asked me. "Is anything wrong with the food?"

"Oh, sorry, mom. I was just dreaming, I guess." I rolled my fork in the spaghetti with meat sauce and lifted it to my mouth. "MMMM. Very good," I said.

"Thank you, dear," she said.

"He's got his mind on Marcy. That's all," said my father.

"I guess so," I said.

"I knew it," said my father happily and triumphantly.

Marcy was the daughter of their friends from church, Harry and Wilma. She was a sophomore at Clearwater College, as was I. I took Marcy to the movies. I took Marcy to proms and dances and parties. We were a regular couple. Marcy and Jeffrey. Jeffrey and Marcy. Everyone knew. Fortunately I was protected, in that Clearwater College was a religious institution, and premarital sex was strictly forbidden. And I was obviously too young to get married. After graduation I would be expected to pop the question, but for now everything was A-OK. Everybody believed that I was a clean-cut, fine, respectable, young American boy, going out with a respectable, pure virgin, from a good pious family. And that I was dutifully stifling my natural? urges and behaving myself until after the wedding.

I took another mouthful of spaghetti. This was getting worrisome. I couldn't keep up this charade forever.

I had heard about a swinging club down by the water in Foggsville, which was about an hour's drive from Clearwater, and I was dying to go there. I was thinking of taking the car after dinner and making the trip. But what could I tell my parents? They would want to know where I was going. Fuck. I just didn't have any privacy at all. And certainly no right to it, living in my parents' house.

I was thinking about saying I was going over to Marcy's, but suppose they called and I wasn't there? Then I got this terrific idea. Something they would really approve of.

"Dad, I hear there's this great Bible class over in Foggsville on Tuesday nights. I was thinking I might go."

"I hadn't heard about that," he answered.

"Oh, yeah. Everybody's talking about it."

"Funny. You would think I would have heard about it." He was puzzled. He knew about all those things. "Where is it?"

"I forget exactly. But everybody in Foggsville knows about it. I'll just ask someone when I get there."

"All right," he agreed. "But be careful driving," he admonished. "I'm glad to see you taking such an interest in the Good Book."

"I've always been interested in the good book," I answered. And that was the truth. When I was a little kid, I had been in a bookstore with my mother and had seen this illustrated edition of the Good Book. And on one page there was this drawing of Cain standing above Abel who was lying on the ground. And they were both buck-naked. And Abel had this absolutely great muscular rounded butt. I was getting excited just looking at the Bible illustration. But I was afraid to ask my mother to buy the book for me. I was afraid she would guess why I wanted it so badly, and...

"I will," I said. "I'll drive carefully." I took a deep sigh of relief. He had bought it. I had his permission to drive to Foggsville. This way if I got a flat, or my radiator overheated on the road, there wouldn't be any questions, like "Why were you going to Foggsville???" etc. etc.

I called Marcy before I left, and we discussed the papers we had to write for Intelligent Design class next week. She was going to write about how God had created Adam, and Eve, and the talkative snake in the Garden of Eden, and I was going to write about how God had created the monkeys and situated them far away in Africa. I told her I was driving to Foggsville to the alleged Bible class, and she immediately wanted to go with me. But I told her, I had been having some trouble with the car lately, and if anything happened and I got stuck, I didn't want to be responsible for her missing classes the next day. She was disappointed, but she agreed that she didn't want to take the chance of missing any classes. After all, she had the highest grade average of all the girls in the school, but Penelope Stanlope was getting very, very close, and she didn't want to give Penelope the opportunity to top her impressive scholastic record.

When I got to Foggsville, I drove down along the water, and had no trouble finding the forbidden venue, The Grizzly Bear. A new club where, it was rumored, tough guys went to find queers. It wasn't all that clear what they did with the queers once they found them. There been incidents of violence in the streets of Foggsville. Anonymous attacks. And it was also rumored that those attacked had been in The Grizzly Bear. And as for me, I had just driven over sixty miles just to go to The Grizzly Bear. Was it possible that someone had told me that they were giving Bible class in The Grizzly Bear tonight?

I parked in the lot and entered. I saw a lot of grizzly bears. Tough-looking, bearded, trashy looking guys. Some slim, mean-looking and tattooed, with cigarettes dangling from their angry lips. Others were massive and had beer-bellies. They were also tattooed, and had cigarettes dangling from their lips. Some had big black cigars. Those with cigars didn't dangle them. They held them between a thumb and a finger and chewed on the end of the soggy stogie.

I could see that all the guys at the pool table were eyeing my ass, as I walked over to the bar and sat on a stool. I chose the third stool from the back, mainly because on the second stool from the back was a guy who knocked my socks off.

It wasn't that he was handsome or anything. He was tall, skinny, with straight straggly blonde hair, a little on the long side. He was wearing some kind of a uniform. I wasn't sure what it was. And he looked like trailer trash. If there's anything that turns me on, it's trailer trash. They're so tough, so mean, so masculine, so dominant. The say opposites attract. Well I felt I was the exact opposite of this guy. If he had the peg, I had the hole--so to speak, that is.

I could imagine myself groveling on my knees, begging for kindness and pity, which he would withhold until I had completed the most debasing tasks. I had had no experience, up until now, with debasement. But I felt I was ready. I was anxious to be debased.

The bartender approached me and asked me what I wanted. I gave a quick look to my left, and ordered the same cheap brand of beer that my neighbor was drinking. He wasn't paying any attention to me. He was just staring at the bottle, and every once in a while, he would raise it to his lips and take a swig.

He lit and cigarette and took a few puffs. Then he just let it dangle from his lips. That was so sexy. It was giving me a hard-on. Suddenly he spoke. In a hard southern twang, with bad grammar. I went out of my mind with desire. I just lost it. I wanted his cock.

"Pass me that there ashtray," he ordered, pointing to the ashtray a little down the bar from me, on the side where no one was sitting. I noticed that he had a chipped tooth in the front. I thought that was sexy too.

"Sure," I said. I reached out and grabbed the ashtray, and just scraped it down the bar until it sat in front of him.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," I said. What could I say? How could I get a conversation going? But he helped me out. He spoke first.

"I ain't seen you around here before," he observed.

"No. I live over in Clearwater," I said. "I was passing by here (lie) and it looked like a nice place, so I thought I'd stop in for a drink."

He nodded. "You work over in Clearwater?" he asked me.

"No. I go to school. I'm a sophomore at Clearwater College," I said.

He nodded again. "That's that churchy college, right?"

"Yes," I admitted.

"You live in the dormitory with all them other college boys?" he asked me.

I thought that was a strange question for him to ask, but I answered him anyway.

"No. I live with my parents." I thought I would venture a question of my own.

"Do you live here in Foggsville?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he said. "I got me a nice little trailer right down the highway in the trailer park."

So he was trailer trash. I had been right when I sized him up, and sat down next to him. I felt a little rush of blood course through my penis. My throat suddenly felt a little dry, so I lifted my beer bottle and took a swig. My heart was pounding. He was so sexy. So lanky. So bony. So mean looking. And he couldn't even speak proper English. This was like a dream come true. The mailman had been great... but so clean cut and all American. This was what I wanted. Dangerous, threatening sex. Another rush of blood surged through me and my penis started to stand tall. I told him my name was Jeffrey Parsons, And he said his was Bo Sneedle. We shook hands.

"I never was inside a trailer," I told him. I wasn't lying. "Is it nice?"

"Yeah. It's real nice. I got me a bed, and I got me a bathroom. And I got me a little kitchen. I got this little refrigerator, and I got 5 six packs of beer in it right now."

I looked at his belly. With all that beer drinking, he should be fat. But he was skinny. Maybe because he was young. But I could see that his belly was slightly soft. In another ten years, he'd probably have a little pot. But right now, he was looking damn good.

"That sounds like fun," I said. "Living in a trailer. All by yourself. No parents. I bet that would be a lot of fun."

"Oh, it is," he assured me. "I have myself a good time, all right."

"How do you do that?" I asked innocently.

"Now never you mind. At least I don't got no parents I got to report to."

"Yeah," I said bitterly. "That's the pits. I wish I had myself a trailer."

"You ain't never been in no trailer," he said. "You might not even like it."

"I know I would," I said. "If I saw the inside of a trailer, I know I'd love it."

I tried to keep the eagerness out of my voice. I had to squint a little, because the smoke from his dangling cigarette was drifting right into my left eye and making it tear. He took another puff. A long ash from the end of the cigarette, dropped off and fell onto the bar, missing the ashtray completely.

"You wanna see the inside of a trailer?" he asked me, a note of vicious shrewdness in his voice?"

"Sure," I said.

"You want me to show you the inside of my trailer?"

"That would be great," I said. "If you wouldn't mind."

"And if I show you the inside of my trailer, what're you gonna do fer me?"

"I don't know," I said. "What would you want me for do?"

"Oh, maybe nothin'," he answered. "I was jes askin'."

We finished our beers, and we went out into the parking lot. He had a motorcycle. I got into my car and followed him down the highway to the trailer park. I parked outside the park, while he idled the motor of his cycle. Then he told me to hop aboard behind him, and we zoomed through the rows of trailers, to the one that was his. He chained his bike to a steel bar attached to his trailer, and he took out a key and opened the front door. It didn't have any steps in front, so I had to raise my left foot and step way, way up. Like a double step. He followed me in and closed the door. No. He was locking the door. I hoped he wasn't a homicidal maniac.

He had a convertible sofa in the back of the trailer, which was at the moment in converted mode. It was dressed as an unmade bed. He motioned for me to sit on the crushed sheets at the bottom of the bed. He was not going to fold it up. That was okay with me. But just sitting there at the edge wasn't very comfortable.

He went to the icebox and got two beers. He opened them with his teeth. Aha. The chipped tooth. He handed me one of the bottles and took a swig from the other. He was sort of standing in front of me, while I was sitting. If his fly had been open, I would have gotten poked in the eye. That bulge looked like it could do some damage. I was not going to make the first move, though. That was for sure.

"Is that a uniform you're wearing?" I asked him.

"Yep," he said, and took another swig.

"What do you do?" I asked. I didn't recognize the uniform at all.

"I'm a guard over to the state prison," he said, and took another swallow.

"Really?" He was a prison guard. Obviously at Foggsville State Prison. I had never had a prison guard. This was kind of exciting. Like getting a policeman or a fireman, but even better. I could picture him walking down the row of cells, letting his club vibrate against all the bars.

"That sounds exciting," I told him. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah," he said. "I like it real well."

"Do you ever have to get rough with the prisoners?" I could easily imagine him smacking them around. He looked like he would get a real kick out of that.

"No. Me and them get along real well," he told me. "Real well. I sort of help a few of them out, and they watch my back." He emptied his beer bottle and went to the refrigerator for another. He grabbed the cap with his molars, and pulled. The beer foamed out of the open bottle. He licked the bottle, and siphoned off the top two ounces. I could hear them gurgle down his throat.

"How do you help them out?" I asked.

"Well, when the new guys come in, I kind of arrange it that my guys can meet the new guys late at night sometimes."

"Really? Meet them? What happens?"

"I guess you can imagine what happens, they bein' in prison and all."

I didn't dare imagine. My heart was beating wildly. Dare I pursue this? "I'm not exactly sure what you're saying," I told him. "Could you be a little more specific?"

"I let my guys get it on with the new guys."

"You do not!" I shouted. He probably guessed that I was queer, and he was playing mind games with me.

"I got it right here in this trailer on videotape. "

"You tape them?"

"Sure. I got a collection. They're real hot tapes."

"God. I'd love to see one of those tapes," I told him.

"I'll put one on," he said. I could hardly believe my luck.

"If you want, you can sit back in the bed and get a little more comfortable," he offered.

"Okay," I said gratefully. My back was starting to hurt. I took off my shoes, and moved back on the bed, sitting up and resting on a pillow against the headboard. He turned on the television, and put a tape in the video recorder. It started to play. He moved back on the bed, and lounged next to me.

He began to give me a running narration of the scene that was unfolding on the television screen. It showed this young, clean-cut looking guy sitting on his cot with wide eyes. Looking very, very frightened.

"The kid's name is Luke," Explained Bo. "They gave him five years for beating up and robbing some old faggots. Unfortunately, one of the old faggots was the district attorney's father.

The camera stayed on Luke, but now another figure (so far, I could only see his back. His massive back, in a tight black sleeveless shirt) was entering through the cell door. He approached the bed.

"That's one of my buddies. Al Hennessey. He's doing ten to twenty for attempted murder. His bitchy wife just pushed him a little too far one night."

"Aha," I said. That explained everything. Al walked over to the bed, and started to ruffle his hand through Luke's thick black hair. Luke pulled his head back.

"Come on, kid. You don't gotta be afraid of me. Here have a cigarette," said Al. He took out a pack and offered one to Luke. Luke took it. He put it between his trembling lips, and Al took a disposable lighter from his pocket, and lit Luke's cigarette for him.

"See. You and me can be real good friends. I'm really a nice guy. If you need anything, you just gotta ask me. I take good care of my friends."

"Really?" asked Luke. He was sizing up the situation, and Al was much bigger than he was. Much more muscular. And the large gold hoop earring in Al's left ear was also a little intimidating. It might be good to have Al as a friend. It would not be good to have Al as an enemy. And he'd been with guys before. Even though he was really planning to mess them up, and rob them after. He supposed he could play along and be friendly. Except Al was probably going to want to be the top, and Luke had never been a bottom. That was really sissy. But he needed to make his prison time as easy as possible, so what the hell.

"You're a real nice looking young guy," said Al to Luke.

"Thanks a lot," said Luke, shyly lowering his eyes.

"Listen to this next part," Bo said, jabbing me in the ribs with his elbow. "This is where it starts to get good."

I didn't answer. I just concentrated on the screen.

"Maybe no guy has ever said this to you before, Luke. But I'm your friend, and I gotta be honest with you. You're so pretty, you're giving me a hard-on."

"Oh, yeah?" asked Luke. He was trying to figure out what to say.

"Yeah," said Al. "You wanna see?" And with that he pulled down his zipper. He obviously wasn't wearing underwear. He reached in and out came a throbbing thick vicious looking peter. Al certainly did have a hard-on. There was the proof.

He stood up in front of Luke, and started to tenderly jack it right in front of his face. He swayed his hips forward a little, so that his heavy balls swung out and hit the young man on the chin. You could see that Luke was reacting to the male animal fragrance, which was now assaulting his chiseled young nostrils.

"Would you be a good friend, and just suck the tip of it for me a little?" Al asked Luke. Without waiting for an answer, he pressed the tapered crown against Luke's lips. Luke decided to open his mouth, and Al's peter was home.

The camera work was a little shaky now. Either the camera was getting heavy, or Bo was getting turned on, and maybe using one hand on his dick, while he was filming. Something like that.

While Luke was sucking him off, Al undid the front of his pants and let them drop to his ankles. He stepped out of them, as he guided the young guy's head into different positions with his big hand.

Bo's camera was first behind Al's big powerful ass, and mostly you could just see Al's asscheeks and his big swinging balls, but you could see the length of his dick going into an open mouth. Then Bo must have tried to get a side view, because it looked like he was on the move. And now you could see the length of the dick from the side, feeding into the youthful lips. You could hear little choking noises every time the tip went too deep, but Al just took the noises as a challenge to force himself even deeper into the boy's throat.

"Man. You give a good blow job," said Al. "A real good blow job. I'm sure glad I found you, sweetie. You and me are gonna have a lot of good times together." He slammed Luke's nose into his abdominal muscles and ground the kid's nose into his pubic hairs. Luke just kept making phlegmy, coughy, choky noises.

"I'd love to shoot my shake down your hot little throat. But I got better ideas. I want to get my dick inside your ass? Would you like that, baby?"

Luke lifted his eyes and looked mournfully into Al's, as he continued sucking. He wouldn't like to get that dick in his ass, but he knew he had little say in the matter.

"Okay, sweetie. That's enough of a good thing." He grabbed Luke's hair and pulled his face away from the wet dick. Strings of mucous still connected the instrument to Luke's puffy lips.

"Get your clothes off, baby," said Al.

"I never really...."

"I said get your fucking clothes off, and I ain't gonna tell you again." The kid got his fucking clothes off and fast. When he stepped out of his pants, his cock was small and limp. He was not having a good time. Al made him kneel on the cot, with his ass upraised. Al spread the kid's hole, and bent down to spit into the crevice. He coughed up a few good wads. Then he let his index finger work the slime into Luke's little hole. His dick was still wet from the blowjob, so he just pushed it in.

"Unnnnggghh," groaned Luke.

"Great, isn't it?" asked Al.

Luke just kept groaning, which got Al really horny, and he started slamming his dick home with force. Bo caught the action from behind the big man's behind, and he got an angle where you could see the whole long thick dick sliding into the tight ring, which clutched at it obscenely.

"Look's great, Al," said Bo. Bo's voice was on the tape. Commenting on the action he was taping.

"Oh, it is, man. I owe you. This time you got me a real good one. It's so hot and squeezing. It just makes my pecker itch and tickle. My pecker wants to shoot a big wad of whipped cream into this hot little ass. You want my whipped cream, man? Beg me for my whipped cream." He banged Luke up alongside the head.

"Yeah, man," Luke answered obediently. "I want your whipped cream. I want your thick, white, hot whipped cream. Whip it into me."

Al took his words literally and began to slap his asscheek as he fucked. It was getting redder and redder. "You fucking little bastard. You fucking little bastard. I'm fucking your faggot ass. You gonna rip off anymore gay guys, bastard?"

"No."

"No, who?"

"No, sir."

"No, you won't," said Al. "Cause you're a faggot too. Tell me what a faggot you are, faggot. I wanna hear you say it." And all the while he was slamming into him and beating his ass.

"I'm a faggot. I'm a faggot," screamed Luke as the cock slammed up to the inside of his navel. "Oh, god. It hurts. It hurts. Oh, god. I'm a faggot. I'm a faggot."

That seemed to do it for Al. He went into a series of tight short strokes, and then pressed forward, almost as if he were trying to bury even his balls in the kid's tight, and now, wet ass.

He pulled his cock out and sighed happily. He watched joyously as his pearly essence began dripping out of the kid's hole. He began to display it for the camera. He held the kid's cheeks open, and ordered him to push out. You could see the little rosette twitching and pushing as streams of the liquid oozed out of his butt onto the cot. Al was delighted with that. He liked to see his liquid oozing out. He stuck his finger into the hole and played a little, and scooped another fingerful out.

"Did you get my cum?" Al asked Bo, referring to the taping of the event.

"Yeah. It looked great," said Bo, (on the tape) from behind the camera.

"You know what?" asked Al.

"What?" asked Bo from off-camera.

"This one's too good to waste. And I got him all broken in and slimy now. He'll be a great fuck for the other guys. Why don't you go get Chester and Rodney? I know they'd appreciate this nice open wet ass.

"Okay," said Bo (still off-camera.) He must have stopped the shoot and gone for the other guys. Because suddenly, the next thing on the tape was these two muscular dudes stripping off their clothes.

Bo told me that they were Chester, who was in for armed robbery, and Rodney who was `the downtown elevator rapist.'

One of them (the shorter skinny one) waved to the camera. He petted Luke's still upturned ass and played with his own dick. Then he turned back to the camera and smiled and walked right up to the lens with the handsome head of his rigidified prick sticking straight out. His hand was squeezing it, and the little lips of his dick were moving. He said in a high funny voice, "Hi, I'm Wimpy. Chester's big cock. And I'm gonna fuck me some ass now. You wanna see me fuck me some ass?" It was very cute. It looked like the dick head was talking.

"Yeah," said Al. "We all wanna see Wimpy fuck him some ass."

"Okay," said Wimpy in his funny high-pitched voice. "You got it." And he turned around and plowed into the still-wet asshole. He hadn't bothered to spit on Wimpy, so Luke screamed a little. Even with all the cum in him.

Chester was an agile little guy, and he had silver piercings through both his nipples. As he fucked Luke, (or rather as Wimpy fucked Luke,) Chester's tight little butt moved a mile a minute. He was a fast-fucker. Slamslamslamslamslam.

"Wow. What a great little ass. Thanks, Al. "

"You're welcome, Chester," said Al from off-camera.

"And thank you, Bo, my man. Thank you lots and lots and lots. I thank you, and Wimpy thanks you, and Rodney's gonna thank you in a few minutes."

"Yeah," said Rodney. You could only see his right kneecap in the lower corner of the screen. His right kneecap had a happyface tattooed on it, in yellow and red. He was patiently sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting his turn, as Wimpy took his selfish pleasure like the prick he was.

I was fascinated with Chester's tight little butt as he hammered and hammered. "Oh, baby," he cooed bending over the boy's back and locking his arms around the kid's chest. "I'm in love with your ass. And so is Wimpy. You've fuckin' won our hearts, man. AAAAAGGGHHHH. AAAAAGGGHHHH. AAAAGGGHHHH."

Those were the sounds he was making, as his balls unloaded a full week's supply of syrup. Little by little, his fast ass started to slow down, until it was in rest position. It was happy. Chester was happy. Wimpy was happy. I was happy. I still had my pants on, but as you must know, I had a raging hard-on by now. I needed to get fucked badly.

There were more good scenes. Chester moved away, and Al moved in, and spread the kid's ass again, so that he could watch the cum ooze out. Now he was sticking his fingers inside and scooping out Chester's hot cum. Al liked to finger Chester's cum too. He loved cum oozing out of an asshole. That was the whole point of fucking. To get to that moment, when you could watch the cum ooze out.

"Your turn," Chester said to Rodney, and moved magnanimously out of the frame. The happyface knee stood up, and the camera took a full body shot of Rodney with his long, six-foot-six, slender frame. He was skinny like Chester, but much taller, and his scraggly blonde beard made him look trashy and sexy. As a matter of fact, I was noting, that they were all trashy and sexy. Lucky Luke.

Rodney wasn't all that excited. He had a heavy thick meaty droop there. He crawled up onto the bed.

"Suck it," he ordered Luke. Luke raised his head off the mattress and took Rodney's long limpness into his mouth. He doggedly coaxed it into action mode. When it was hard enough, Rodney pulled his boner out of Luke's mouth, but then he flipped him over on the bed. He lifted the kid's legs over his bony shoulders, and fiercely gripping Luke's haunches, actually pulled Luke's asshole over his cock. Wow.

Luke's face twisted in pain.

"I can more pretend I'm screwing a lady like this," he explained to the other guys.

"Go ahead, man," Al encouraged him. Put it to her.

"Yeah. Take it, bitch," Rodney said to Luke and began to seriously piston in and out.

It looked like after a few minutes, Luke was starting to like it, because he threw his arms around Rodney's back, and he lifted his thighs up to get Rodney's dick in deeper. And then his legs went around Rodney's waist and he was digging his heels into Rodney's ass. Yeah. He was having a good time. He lifted up his face to try to kiss Rodney, but Rodney quickly turned his face away. Then he took an open palm and whapped it across Rodney's cheek.

"No kissing, bitch."

When he slapped the bitch's face, something happened in his brain. It was like he became electrified. He turned his face to the camera and gave an evil smile. And you could see some crazy kind of wicked gleam in his mad eyes. He began slapping Luke's face with every instroke, and his skinny ass was tensing and relaxing. Tensing and relaxing. And now a vicious slap and a scream. No two screams. One from Luke, and one from Rodney as his seed poured forth.

"Here it is, cunt. Take it. Take it. Yaaaghhhh. Take it. Take it. Bitch. Cunt. Bitch. Oh man, yeah. Yeah. Yeah. His breath was slowing. He pulled out his cock with a big sigh and Al pushed him aside. He crooked a finger for the camera to close in on Luke's ragged ass.

The cum started bubbling out.

"You got more cum in there. Let's see it," said Al.

More bubbled out. Not enough for Al. Push it out, bitch. Let's see that cum. Push it out. You could see the little circle of his asshole struggling to force out the liquid, and then another gush poured out, and Al was happy. He ran his fingers in it happily.

I expected that it was the end of the tape, but I was wrong.

"My turn," said Bo to Al. Take the camera and film me."

When the camera was handed over, you saw the floor, you saw the ceiling, you saw the walls, all from a million crazy angles. But now Al had it steady, and I could see my trailer mate, Bo. He was stripping off his guard's uniform. Wow. What a beautiful cock. What a beautiful big cock.

"That's me," said Bo to me, half proudly.

"Yeah. I knew it was," I said.

"I got a pretty big cock, right?"

"Yeah," I answered in awe. "I'm very impressed."

Bo just lay down on the cot, and the other three guys shoved Luke into sitting position over the long upright dick. They made him sit on it. And when it was in, they made him post up and down, like you do when you're on a horse, and the horse is trotting.

"Swallow my cock in your cunt, bitch," said Bo. I was excited. He sounded mean. I knew he was probably mean. My heart was a flutter. I wish that it were I who was riding that long riding crop.

"He had a nice hot ass," Bo said to me, watching the screen action. Now he was starting to feel himself through his pants. "How about that?" he asked me. "This fuckin' tape is giving me the biggest hard-on."

"It is?" I asked. "I just kept watching him fuck Luke on the television screen. I was afraid to be too forward. He might beat me up. Maybe he liked to beat up faggots. I was a little nervous, and scared of him, which only made me desire him all the more.

"Yeah," he said. "The biggest. You wanna feel it?"

"You want me to?" I asked fearfully.

"Sure. Enjoy yourself." He pulled down his zipper and dragged it out through the fly. These trash guys didn't wear underwear.

I still kept watching Luke's face as he impaled himself on the prick I was now holding, but not looking at. It was hot. It felt like it had a fever.

"Man. Your hand is so nice and gentle. I can hardly imagine what your mouth would feel like," he said.

"Yeah?" I asked stupidly.

"Why don't you let me see what your mouth would feel like," he urged me.

"You want me to?" I asked fearlessly.

"You're a faggot, ain't you?" he asked me.

I didn't answer.

"I said `you're a faggot, ain't you.' Answer me, faggot boy, before I slap you silly."

"Yes," I admitted. "You're right. I'm a faggot."

"Then get down there and do what a faggot does. Get down there on the bed and suck my dick." He opened his pants and rolled them down his long, skinny, blonde-hairy legs.

I knew that my hour had come. I was safer now sucking him off, than trying to play dumb. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him switch off the VCR and the TV with the remote controls. Damn. I was never gonna get to see him cream into Luke's ass. And I wasn't going to see his essences leaking out of the well-fucked hole, and I wasn't going to get to see Al sticking his finger into Luke's ass to scoop out the ejaculate. But I was busy with other things now. I had a cock in my mouth. The same beautiful long thick cock that Luke had just been bouncing up and down on in the tape that Bo shut off. While I was sucking him, I managed to strip off my clothes. And he removed the rest of his.

"Lick my balls, faggot," Bo ordered me. I discovered that I loved to be ordered. I got my mouth down there, and sucked each of the hairy walnuts into my rapturous mouth. His hands were on my head, and they were pushing my head lower, at the same time as he planted his feet near his butt, and tilted his ass up toward my mouth. My tongue slid over the fleshy area between his balls and his ass, and was suddenly between his skinny asscheeks, heading toward `black kiss' territory. And then I was `black kissing.' My tongue was lodged inside his tunnel. I was at once repelled and excited. It was nasty, but I loved being forced to service him in such a disgusting, demeaning way.

"That's it, faggot," he said softly. "You got a sweet tongue there. You're a good little faggot. You take care of Bo, and Bo will take care of you."

I went back to cocksucking, and after a while, he pushed me flat down on the bed. It happened so fast, that my stiff dick got hurt, as it scraped along the wrinkled sheet. He was on top of me in an instant. He spit into my crack, and aimed down. I felt it pushing, pushing, and ahhh... it had gained entrance. I think the fact that I had gotten fucked by the mailman just that morning was a big help in how quickly my ass adjusted to his dick.

And it felt so good. Better than the mailman. So fucking good.

"Oh, Bo," I sighed. "Fuck me. Fuck me with your big cock."

"Yeah. Take my cock, faggot. Suck my cock with your ass, faggot."

Some people think Nirvana is seventy-two female virgins. For me Nirvana was Bo's cock. He was ill-bred, uneducated, trashy, and everything I had ever wanted. And his cock was in my ass. His dick had taken up temporary residence inside me. With that thought, I creamed out onto his sheet. Well. It hadn't been so clean anyway.

I guess when I creamed, the contractions of my asshole did a number on him, because now he was pounding. Now he was groaning.

"Fucking faggot! Fucking faggot! Goddamn great ass! You fucking faggot! Take my load. Feel my hot load up inside you." And I did.

He was still lying on top of me, with his softening cock up my ass, when he reached out an arm, and grabbed his pack of smokes and his lighter. He lit up, still on top of me, and still inside me. He took puff after contended puff, and the smoke drifted up my nose. I wrinkled my nose and sneezed a couple of times. I did not like second hand smoke, but I was not going to say anything. I could put up with a few puffs, while Bo was buried inside me.

When he finally pulled out, he went into the little trailer bathroom and I heard him urinating and washing up. I flipped over onto my back, with my head on a pillow. He came out of the bathroom, and came back to the bed. He lay down next to me and lit another cigarette.

"You got some great ass there, kid," he said. "That was one of the smoothest fucks I've ever had. I sure wouldn't mind a steady diet of that ass."

"Thanks, Bo," I said. I liked him too. I wouldn't at all mind a steady diet of trailer cock.

"You think I'm good looking?" he asked me.

"You're very good looking," I assured him.

"You think I fuck good?"

"Best I've ever had," I told him with confidence.

"So how come I can't get no woman to go out with me or fuck with me? Unless I pay `em?" He asked.

"I don't know. I'd go out with you. I'd fuck with you."

"Them cunts. They just want money. They don't want a good-looking guy who's a good fucker, if he lives in a trailer. I ain't good enough for `em," he said bitterly.

"You're too good for them." I put my hand on his thigh, and gave a little squeeze. His dozing cock jumped a little.

"I wish I had someone to be here to fuck with me, when I get home from work every night." And idea popped into his head. "Hey," he said. "How about you? How about you stayin' over here for a while, so I can fuck you when I get home from work. I'll give you a real good time," he promised.

"I'd really love that, Bo. Boy. Would I ever? But my parents don't know about me."

"They don't know? Why the fuck don't you tell them?"

"I don't think they'd be real happy," I explained.

"Well. Even if you don't stay here, you can come over a few times a week and take care of me. Right?"

"Where would I tell my parents I was going all the time? I was lucky just to be able to get here tonight. I told them I was going to a Bible class."

"So you won't come back and let me fuck you?"

"I can't. Except maybe once in a while."

"You don't like me," he accused. "You don't think I'm good-lookin'. You didn't like the way I cornholed you." He was getting very agitated. He had no self- confidence at all.

"No. I do like you. I think you're very good looking. And I wish I could get cornholed by you every night of the week. Really!" I insisted. "It's not me. It's my parents. I swear it."

"Well. We just gotta do somethin' about your parents," he said angrily. "I want you to be able to get your tight little ass over to my trailer, whenever I want it here."

"If only that were possible," I mourned.

"Where do you live?" he asked me.

I was starting to get nervous. "What are you thinking?" I asked him. "You'd better not tell my parents."

"What's your address?"

"No. I'm not telling you."

"Tell me, bitch," he threatened.

I held my ground. "No," I said.

Suddenly he grabbed my pants off the floor and reached into my pocket. Out came my wallet. I grabbed for it, but he pushed me away. Pretty roughly. He opened my wallet, and pulled out my Clearwater College student identification card. That had my name, which I had already told him, but it didn't have my address on it. So then, he pulled out my driver's license and got the address.

"Please. Don't tell my parents. Please." I was begging him. I was even starting to cry. My parents would throw me out. My life would be over. I would be branded as immoral and godless, and thrown into the streets."

"Oh. I ain't gonna tell them. Don't you worry that I'm gonna tell them. I ain't gonna say nothin' I just wanted to know where they lived. That was all. No reason. I sort of wanted to know just whose tight little ass I couldn't get no more of."

I tried to believe him, but I was nervous. My trip to Foggsville was turning from a dream into a nightmare. Maybe I would have been better off looking for a Bible class, than some trashy trailer guy's dick.

I got dressed in silence. "I guess I'd better go now," I said.

"Okay. And you just come back here whenever you want to. I'll always be glad to pork you."

"Thank you," I said. I shook his hand, as if we'd just completed a business meeting, and I left the trailer. I couldn't see too well in the dark, and I almost turned my ankle, dangling my foot to find that big step down onto the ground. I wasn't sure which was the right way through all those rows of trailers, and it took me almost a half hour to find my car. I would have even had trouble getting back to Bo's trailer. I sort of remembered where it was and how it looked, but there were so many. If I ever did want to come back and visit him, I would need a compass.

Finally I saw my car. I was so relieved I almost cried. I realized that I was in a sweat. Lost in the middle of a big trailer park. I could have died there and no one would have ever known.

I drove along the dark highways, and when I got to the Clearwater outskirts and started recognizing local landmarks... What a relief. It was very late, and the house was dark when I pulled into the driveway. I quietly opened the front door and climbed the stairs up to my bedroom. I got into bed, but in the dark, I started to remember the hot videotape, and sexy, trashy Bo. And sexy, trashy Bo's big cock. And how it had felt in my asshole. And my asshole was still a little warm and tingly from his penile stimulation. But it was a good warm and tingly. I just kept concentrating on the warm and tingly sensation in my ass. Until I finally fell asleep.

Life continued as it always had. I went to classes. On Saturday nights I took Marcy to the school basketball game where the cheerleaders prayed for victory, and where we generally lost, despite the prayers. The Lord was testing our faith. That was all. But we were strong. We knew it was just a test.

Then after the game, we'd go into town to Bea's Malted Shoppe, and have Strawberry Phosphates. When I was alone in bed, I would think about Bo fucking me, and jerk off. I was so, so horny. I needed a cock so badly. But I didn't dare take another drive to Foggsville. And I was still a little nervous. Why had he looked in my wallet for my identification? When I said I was still a little nervous, that was a lie. The truth was I was very, very nervous.

But the weeks passed, and nothing happened, and I breathed a sigh of gratitude.

I realized that there was just no way I could ever let my parents know that I didn't like pussy as a boy was supposed to. That I liked cock. Just no way. What was my life going to be like? Infrequent furtive couplings in the dark? Never to have a love of my own? What was I going to do? I didn't want to even think about that now.

One night we sat down at the dinner table, and my mother brought the last plateful of corned beef hash and baked beans through the swinging door and set it on the table. We all sat down as always.

We all folded our hands gratefully in front of us.

"We thank thee, almighty Lord, for the food we are about to receive,"
said my father.

"Amen," said my mother. I said "Amen" too, but very softly.

I lifted a forkful of beans to my mouth and the doorbell rang.

"Who can that be?" asked my mother.

"Don't they know it's dinner time?" asked my father.

"Are you expecting anyone?" My father asked me accusingly.

"No, dad," I answered. "I'm not expecting anyone. Who could it be?"

My father went to the front door and my mother and I followed a few feet behind him. We were all very curious about this strange intrusion into our dinner hour.

"Who is it?" My father asked. He was being cautious. Though we had zero crime in Clearwater.

"Flower delivery," said a mail voice.

"I wonder who's sending flowers," said my mother. I wondered too.

My father opened the door and we all got the shock of our lives. There were three men standing out there with stockings over their faces and guns in their hands. They pushed into the house. We were terrified.

Their noses and faces were all pushed in under the stockings and you really couldn't tell what they looked like. But they were scary. I was scared. My father was scared. My mother was scared.

"What do you want with us?" Asked my mother.

"We gotta go through the house and see what you got," said the stockiest one of the three.

"Take what you want. Just don't hurt us," said my father.

They started looking around the first floor. The living room. The dining room.

"Oh. It looks like we interrupted their dinner," said the short skinny one.

"Yeah. It looks good," said the long skinny one. He walked over to the table and took a taste, lifting the stocking above his chin for a moment. "MMM. It is good. The old lady can cook."

Then they took the dining room chairs into the living room. They had rope with them, and they tied the three of us to the dining room chairs. The tall skinny one kept a gun on us and watched us, as the other two went through the house. They returned.

"Anything good?" the tall one asked.

"No. Nothing. They got nothing. Only a couple of crappy silver candlesticks. All the good stuff must be in the bank vault," said the stocky one.

"Take the television," suggested my father.

"Fuck the television," said the stocky one. What are we gonna do with a crappy television. But we gotta get something for our trouble now.
Don't we?"

"What?" asked my father.

"Some fun," said the short skinny one.

"Yeah. Like maybe we each get a blowjob?" said the tall skinny one.

"And maybe we fuck," said the stocky one.

"Oh, god," screamed my mother. "No. No. Please. Anything but that. Please. Oh merciful Lord in heaven, please help us. Please help us. Don't let them rape me. " She was sobbing so hysterically, she was almost incomprehensible.

"Not you, lady," said the stocky one. "You're too fuckin' old."

"Then who?" asked my father.

"We're gonna fuck your boy here."

"No. No. Please. Rob us. Take something. But leave my boy alone. He's pure. Pure in body and in heart. Please don't touch him." My father pleaded.

"You don't want your boy to suck a cock?"

My father couldn't even answer that question. Just the `c' word was enough to shock him into silence.

"Well," said the stocky one. "I'll give you a choice. We can fuck him or we can kill him."

My father was silent another minute. Then he made his decision.

"Kill him," said my father.

"No," screamed my mother. I never heard such a scream.

"But after this he'll be contaminated. He'll be a queer," explained my father.

"Don't kill him," blubbered my mother. "He's my baby."

"I guess we fuck him, then," decided the stocky one. My father said nothing. My mother sobbed.

They untied me from the dining room chair, and the three of them started to strip off my clothing. When I was naked, they started to unbutton themselves. There was something so familiar about them. I didn't know why. You couldn't tell what they looked like, with those stocking masks distorting their features. The stocky one was very big and very muscular. He looked so familiar. And that gold hoop earring in his left ear???

Now the shorter skinny one was naked and I noticed two silver piercings through his nipples. Where had I seen that before?

Now the tall skinny one was naked, and I looked down. His right kneecap had a happyface tattooed on it in yellow and red. And I knew. They were the three guys in the tape. The ones who were in prison. How had they gotten out? How had they escaped? And why had they come here? Bo had something to do with this, obviously. My thoughts were cut short, when the stocky one (Al) threw me on the living room couch face up. He straddled my chest, and leaning over, placed his large hard dick against my lips.

"Open your mouth," he said. I really didn't want to suck a cock in front of my parents. I kept my mouth closed. He gave me a fierce crack across my face. I yelped and started to cry. I was really frightened now. When I yelped, his cock gained entrance to my mouth. He pushed forward and straightening his legs, began to seesaw in and out of my mouth. I could feel the knob hit the back of my throat. I choked, but I was pinned under him. I had to take it. I looked over and saw tears dripping down my father's cheeks. His son was a cocksucker.

"Now, I wanna fuck," he said. "Turn over, bitch. Let me see that boypussy."

I turned over. I was glad to get that thick dick out of the back of my throat. Al separated my crack and spit a few gobs onto my sphincter. He pulled my cheeks further apart, until the hole opened a little, and I could feel his mucous running in.

Now his body covered mine, from the back. The cock pushed in, and I just lay there like a lump and let him have his way with me. I couldn't act as if I were enjoying it, now could I?

He smacked the back of my head. "Fuck my dick, bitch. I want to feel your pussy sucking out my cum. Fuck me, bitch. Fuck my dick."

I put my rear into active mode. I was afraid not to.

"That's it. That's better," said Al to me, and also to Chester and Rodney who were standing a foot away, watching with eager eyes. Both were jacking their large dicks lasciviously. Chester twisted my face toward him, and squatted a little, so that Wimpy was at the same level as my mouth."

"Suck it," he ordered. I did. Al was fucking me, and I was sucking Wimpy, Chester's cock. Rodney was still stroking himself.

Al's dick really felt good in my ass now. But not as good as Bo's. Nobody's cock was as good as Bo's.

"You want my load in your pussy, bitch?" asked Al.

I didn't speak.

"Answer me, bitch." He slammed me on the back of my head again. "You want my hot load in your pussy?"

"Yes," I said. "I want your hot load in my pussy." I looked over, and my father's face was slumped on his chest in defeat. He was glassy eyed. My mother was unconscious. She had passed out.

Al started hip-battering my buttcheeks, and I felt his dick swell inside me and shoot his cum into me. "Great ass," he yelled. "Ahh, yeah. Great ass. Nice and wet and sloppy now with my juice."

He got up off me, and made a big show of scooping his fingers into my hole to collect his cum. He brought it over and held it in front of my father. "You know what this stuff is on my fingers? "

My father wouldn't answer.

"It's my hot cum. I just got it out of your son's ass. See my slippery cum." He started rubbing all his fingers together in front of my father's eyes. "Your turn," he said to Chester.

Chester walked over in front of my parents, and waggled his dick before their eyes.

"This is Wimpy," said Chester. "Wimpy's gonna fuck your kid's hot ass. Say hello to Wimpy." He kept waggling his dick an inch in front of my father's eyes.

My father said nothing.

"Say hello to Wimpy, goddamn it," yelled Chester. Rodney walked over and waggled the gun in front of my father's eyes.

"Say hello to Wimpy," ordered Rodney.

"Hello, Wimpy," said my father through clenched teeth.

"I know your hands are tied, so I won't make you shake Wimpy's hand," said Chester. "I ought to make you kiss his cheek, like the French do."

My father grimaced and shook his head energetically. What a horrible thought.

"Okay," laughed Chester. "Never mind. Wimpy'll just fuck your son now.

Chester came back to the couch and got on top of me and slid his dick into my ass.

I had envied Luke on the videotape. Getting those three big rods inside his ass. Well, now it was happening to me. I was getting everything he got. I felt Chester's silver metal nipple piercings scraping against my back, as he hunched his ass into me. Oh, yeah. It felt so good. Really good. I couldn't help but to respond and move my ass around his cock.

"Oh, baby. What a nice loving ass," he said to me, and stuck his tongue into my ear. "We got ourselves a good one, guys," he announced. After a few more minutes of working together, he began to spray my insides with Wimpycream. As soon as he climbed off me, Al reached down and stuck his fingers inside my ass to gather Chester's cum. When he pulled his fingers out, I could feel more juice leaking out of my hole, running down my cheeks, over my balls and onto the sofa.

Al walked over to my father again, flashing his scummy fingers.

"You know what this is?" he asked my father.

No answer.

This is my friend's cum. I just scooped it out of your little boy's asshole. Your son is a faggot man. A fucking queer. Say it. Repeat after me. My son is a faggot. My son is a fucking queer."

No answer.

Al started to run his sticky fingers over my father's face. "Say it," he ordered. "Or I'll have to hurt you."

"My son is a faggot. My son is a fucking queer," said my father tonelessly.

"That's better," said Al. "Now I wanna hear you say, I love my faggot son."

"I love my faggot son," intoned my father dutifully.

"Say it like you mean it," yelled Al.

"I love my faggot son. I love my faggot son," repeated my father endlessly. My mother was now awake and she was crying again. And now my father started to cry, as he kept saying, "I love my faggot son."

"I love my queer gay son," ordered Al.

"I love my queer gay son," said my father.

"You too, lady," screamed Al.

"I love my queer gay son," said my mother immediately. At least she sounded like she meant it.

Now it was Rodney's turn. I remembered that he liked to fuck face to face. He turned me over, just as he had turned Luke over. He crawled between my legs on his plain knee and his happyface knee, and fed his long dick in. He settled down on me, and I had no choice but to wrap my arms and legs around him. The couch was very narrow. It wasn't like a bed where you could spread your limbs to the side.

Rodney was making sex noises. "Unnnggghhh. Unnngggg." Etc. Etc.

The sounds, and the feel of his dick in my ass, and his balls against mine were making me so hot. I couldn't restrain myself anymore. I was fucking him back like the slut I was, and as my ass muscles clamped around his hard rod, something happened inside of me, and I felt an itchy burning shooting up my hard cock. I shot my own load up onto his pubic hairs. The clutching of my quivering ass became too much for him, and now a third load of cum (Rodney's, this time) shot into my guts. So wet. So warm. So soothing.

Now Al was untying my father and dragging him over to the couch. He took my father's hand and forced my father's fingers into my slimy running asshole. Now it was my father scooping out the cum. The fingers came out, and Al bent my father's arm so that his hand was right in front of his eyes.

"See that wet shiny stuff. That's mancum. You know were you got that? You got that out of your son's ass. Your queer faggot son has mancum inside him. How do you feel about your son?"

"I love my queer faggot son," my father said dutifully. I'm not sure he even knew what he was saying anymore. It was possible that the shock of the evening had robbed his mind forever.

Al retied my father to the dining room chair. He held the gun on the three of us while Rodney and Chester got dressed. Then he handed the gun to Rodney to cover us while he slipped into his own garments.

"Your boy, here, has a terrific ass on him," Al told my father. "How did you like all that cock in your ass, kid? It was great wasn't it?"

"Yes," I said. I was afraid to tell that man anything else but what he wanted me to say, which was really the truth. Of course, I had loved it. I was a gay man. I loved dick. Even with my parents there, which had been awkward and embarrassing, it had felt wonderful. But when I said `yes' I saw a despairing look flit across my father's face.

"Now you're gonna need lots more. Lots more cock to keep that hot little ass happy. Won't you boy?" Al pursued.

"Yes," I agreed. "Lots more cock." And suddenly everything became clear. I realized that Al, and Chester, and Rodney had come here for a purpose. To out me to my parents. I could stop suffocating in my closet now. I could say that they had done this to me. They had caused me to be gay. I wasn't to blame. They had made me like cock. They had enlisted me into male/male sex. It wasn't my fault I liked cock. It was all their fault. And I knew that Bo was behind their visit. I owed him a big favor.

"You're always gonna need cock now. You realize that, don't you, kid?" That was Al again.

"Yes," I said, nodding my head. "I'm always gonna need cock now. Thanks to you dirty bastards." I was playing along. Al gave me a little secret smile.

"You wait five minutes after we're gone," he told me. "Then you can untie Ma and Pa over there. But not a second sooner. We don't want anyone to get hurt, do we? You understand me?"

"Yes," I said.

They went out the front door, still in their stocking masks. They closed the door behind them. I sat on the couch, facing my parents. I wasn't going to untie them for five minutes. I was going to follow my instructions to the letter. I knew how dangerous those guys were.

"Honey," said my mother tremulously. "You aren't going to do this anymore, are you?"

"Yes. I have to. You heard what they said. I'm always gonna need it now. You should understand, mother. You know how great it feels to have a penis inside you, right?"

"Yes," my mother painfully admitted. "God forgive me. I do."

"Martha!" snapped my father.

"I can't help it. It's true. Do you want me to lie?"

"Yes," hissed my father.

"There's nothing like it, right?" I pressed my mother.

"No. Nothing like it." She started crying again.

As I started to untie them, I faked a few tears of my own. "You'll never know what I went through here tonight. My life is over. I'll never be the same after this. I'm a queer. A queer forever. They made me a queer for the rest of my life. Oh, my god." I dropped my head onto my father's knees and hugged them. I had just untied his hands, and they were free. He lifted a hand and ran it through my hair. He was comforting me.

"That's okay, son. We love you. Your mother and I love you, no matter what. You'll always be our little boy."

"Yeah, sure," I thought. If I'd come to them and told them I was gay, I would have been out of the house in a flash. How come straight people couldn't believe that someone might just be naturally gay? They either believed that it was an evil godless choice. (Because you were contrary and downright wicked.) Or that a fag converted you. Why, everybody knew that even the sight of a fag could turn a self-respecting straight man homosexual. That's why queers were so dangerous. Queers could make you queer. I figured that under all that straight macho posturing, there must be quite a few suppressed longings struggling to break free.

After that evening, I began driving to Foggstown after dinner every night. My father and mother didn't even ask me where I was going. They were afraid to ask. They didn't want to know. They didn't want to confront whatever I might be up to. Whatever I might be.

I now could find my way easily through the tangled rows of cheap metal housing at the trailer park. I could find my way easily to Bo's place. Night after night. The first time I knocked, he opened the door. He had a cigarette dangling from his lips, and a beer bottle in his hand. He was wearing a pair of threadbare jockey shorts. I could see his thick soft cock lumping through the tatters.

"Come on in," he invited me. "I thought I might be seeing you one of these days. Did you ever tell your parents you like cock?" he asked me, innocently, but with a sly gleam in his eye.

"No. But I had a visit from three guys who fucked me in front of their eyes. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Me?" he asked in surprise. Still playing dumb.

I sat down on the bottom of the bed. He handed me a bottle of cold beer, after pulling the cap off with his teeth.

"It's a funny thing. Those guys were wearing masks, but they kind of reminded me of the three prisoners in that tape of yours."

"But those guys are in the pen," he protested.

"Are they still in the pen?"

"Absolutely. I'm takin' a sacred oath."

"That's so funny. I could have sworn it was them."

"Really?" he seemed very confused. "I'll have to ask around and see if anybody let `em out for the night. Kind of gave `em a little vacation, if they promised to come right back."

"Can someone do that?"

"I never heard of it, but who, the hell, knows? The world is a crazy place."

"It sure is," I agreed.

He dropped his torn shorts and climbed back on the creased sheets. He began to play with his lengthening, thickening endowment with one hand, and tickling his balls with the other, while puffing on his cigarette, no hands.

"If I'd a had somethin' to do with all that, you'd kind of owe me a debt of thanks, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," I said. I knew what he had in mind.

"Well, let's pretend that you owe me, just for the hell of it. Why don't you get up here and get your hot wet mouth around my big dick."

I crawled up and went down on him. It felt so good in my mouth again. Getting fucked by Al, and Chester, and Rodney had been great. But my parents watching me had been a little distraction. And besides, nobody had a cock like Bo.

When I got it all big, and stiff, and slimy, he started stripping me. He laid me face up on the crumpled linen, and knee-crawled into my ass. He used one hand to aim his hard dick. The long ash from his cigarette dropped off onto my chest, but it didn't burn me.

As he continued puffing, he started to yo-yo in and out of me. It was heaven. It got so good for him too, that he actually stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray near the bed. And as he was fucking me, he began soul-kissing me. I savored his tobacco tasting tongue. It was almost as if we were lovers.

Now that I was out, I wanted to be completely honest. I decided to tell Marcy, and to break up with her. It was the only fair thing to do. I told her I had discovered that I was attracted to men, so it had nothing to do with her, but please not to tell anybody. She still must have felt hurt and rejected, because she told absolutely everybody. School became a total nightmare. I was bullied everywhere I went. They called me names, and started fights, and beat me up constantly. Five guys at a time would attack me. And the professors did nothing. They laughed. They thought it was great that I was getting beat up. I was a disgusting, unholy, perverted thing. I deserved it.

Everything worked out very well, though. When Clearwater College finally expelled me, my father was forced to send me to Harvard. I had very good grades, and I got accepted easily. Especially after I explained to the Admittance Board, how my life had been endangered in my previous school because I was homosexual, and that I needed asylum.

I ran for president of the Gay Students League. And I won. I am now a BMOC. Big Man on Campus. And here, even being a BGMOC--Big Gay Man on Campus is okay. I think my parents are secretly proud of me, though they don't say anything.

When I fly home for vacations, it's good to see my parents. It seems to me that they have mellowed somewhat. But on my first evening home, I always drive over to the trailer park in Foggsville, to get topped by Bo. That is still the single greatest joy in my life. It may always be.

Just before Christmas, I got my mother to teach me to make chocolate brownies. With walnuts. Every good gay man should be able to bake chocolate brownies with walnuts. I bought three beautiful cookie tins, and filled them with the brownies. I Christmas-wrapped them, and attached a little note to each. A Merry Christmas/Thank you note. I drove up to Foggsville State Prison and left one tin each for Al, Rodney, and Chester.

Dear __________,

Have a wonderful holiday season, and thank you so much for my fabulous new life out in the open. At last, I am free to be myself. I'm sure no one can appreciate the meaning of freedom more than you. When you get out of jail, please get in touch with me. Bo will know where I am. I would be delighted to get together with you again, for an encore of our fabulous evening together. Yours, sincerely,

And I signed my name and drew a little heart. On Chester's note, I wrote a little something extra, which I thought was cute. "P.S. And don't forget to bring Wimpy."
 

Posted: 10/12/07