This is a true story. It takes place at a boarding
school for the legally blind. Since the time of this story–late nineteen
fifties–attitudes towards those of us with handicaps have changed
significantly. Fortunately, too, attitudes toward those of us who are gay have
changed to some extent from the poor state of things described in this story.
We, all of us boys who lived at the state supported school for the blind, had
visual problems severe enough to classify us as legally blind. I was one of the
lucky ones, I was totally blind and had been since my birth. I say I was lucky
because, in my case, there was no waiting for a miracle drug or preacher. I
knew I was going to be blind for the remainder of my life, so I might as well
settle down and get on with living. For many of the kids who had some vision,
there were always miracles over the horizon, but none of them ever worked out.
There were legends aplenty, telling of guys who had their sight restored by some
benevolent ophthalmologist. But no one knew these legendary heroes, but the
teller always knew some one who knew them.
On this particular day, a November Saturday, I was more concerned with warding
off the boredom brought on by a rain-filled cold wind which blew relentlessly
outside ruining all my twelve-year-old plans for one of my two days of freedom
from the classroom. I was listening to a lady reading Johnny Tremain on the
“talking book” record player, and trying to imagine myself as a revolutionary
war kid fighting for freedom. It wasn’t working. Let’s face it, I was just
plain bored. Earlier I had tried to play with some of the little rubber pirates
my Mother had purchased for me last summer, but I no longer had any interest in
little rubber people. I didn’t know it then, but those pirates were the last
“kid’s toys” my Mother would buy for me. I had reached the age where music,
(especially rock-‘n-roll music) would take the place of toy soldiers and
children’s dreams. I was becoming a sexual animal in my own right, but, most of
that was some where in the future. Today, I was just !
flat bored.
Suddenly, there was a knock at my door. “Come in, unless you are a supervisor!”
I yelled. That was a pretty stupid thing to say for the dorm supervisors never
knocked, they just walked in. I thought it was funny though.
“Hey, cat, you whacking off?” it was the voice of Bill.
“Nah,” I replied, “I was just waiting for you to come do it for me.” I said with
a laugh. My words of vibrato about whacking off, were just that. I had only
been playing with myself seriously for the past couple of months, since my
cousin had taught me how last summer. I had not yet orgasmed, I guess I didn’t
have the patience for it, but I probably would have soon. I had discovered that
it made me feel good, and was beginning to do it with increased frequency and
intensity.
Bill was a friend I had known since the second grade, when he joined our little
group of freaks. Though he was thirteen years old, he was a grade behind me in
school. He was not well accepted by the kids his own age because he was kind of
small for his age–the results of having been born prematurely; but he wasn’t
despised by them either; he was merely ignored. Therefore, he hung around us
younger guys, and we looked upon him as a guide; someone who could teach us the
ways of the street, and Bill thrived on this position.
“So, whatcha doing chicken shit?” he asked. To Bill everyone was
chicken shit.
“Just trying to read this stupid book.” I responded. Even if I had loved the
book, I would have called it stupid to keep from being labeled an egghead.
“Let’s do something,” Bill said. I could tell from the sound of his voice that
Bill had a scheme in mind, but he wasn’t going to reveal it yet. So, I
patiently waited. Bill’s “adventures” were interesting enough, if you let him
lead them. Otherwise, he did everything he could to undermine them.
“What do you have in mind?” I asked. So much for patience.
“How about we play some dice.”
“I only got one die,” I said idly.
“Well, we’ll play high number wins,” he said.
“What do we play for?”
“How about two bucks I have, against your Buddy Holly record.” Buddy Holly’s
“Peggy Sue” was one of my prized possessions. I had just bought it.
“No way man. That Buddy Holly’s worth a lot more than that to me.”
“Okay, let’s just play for money, then.”
“I don’t have any money,” I said.
“Okay then, let’s play strip dice,” he said. “Low number has to take off a
piece of clothing.”
“Okay,” I finally agreed. Anything to break the boredom. So I rummaged through
my dresser drawers and came up with the single die.
We started playing. Bill would throw, and then I would. Since Bill had pretty
good vision he would read the die.
The game started off pretty evenly divided. I would win a hand, then Bill would
win. The looser would take off an article of clothing, or something out of his
pocket, anything to postpone the inevitable for a little while. Back and forth
like that, until I was lulled into a sense of well-being. I was actually day
dreaming about watching “gun smoke” and “have gun will travel” on the TV that
was in the living room of the dorm.
Suddenly I realized that I was losing. I was down to my underwear, and Bill
still had his pants and one sock on.
“I’m bored with this game,” I said abruptly, “let’s play something else.”
“You can’t quit now chicken shit.” Bill said angrily.
“Well, I don’t want to play any more,” I said petulantly.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” Bill said. “We will play one more hand, if you
win, then will do anything you say.”
“And, what if you win?” I asked.
“Then we go into the closet and play nasty,” Bill said. “You have to do
anything I say.”
“Hey, I’m no queer,” I said. My heart was beginning to race, and my voice
sounded a little shaky. Queers were mythical ogres who somehow corrupted little
boys. I had never met one, but I had heard plenty of stories about them from
the more experienced kids. Being thought to be “queer” was something that could
ruin one’s reputation in a heartbeat, and to be avoided at all costs.
“I’m not queer either,” he said, “we’ll just show each other our dicks and
stuff. Nothing queer.”
“Well, okay,” I said, my status and sexual orientation being reassured.
So, we threw the die one more time. I threw a one and Bill threw a six. I knew
he was lying, but I wanted to experiment as much as he did. This was his scheme
all along, I realized.
We got up and went into my closet. Lighting was no problem for us, we were both
use to working in the dark.
I heard Bill unbuckle his belt and drop his pants and underwear, so I dropped my
underwear. Now was the moment of no return. I reached out and touched his
dick. My God, it was huge. Mine was a whopping 3′ and his must have been six
or seven inches long. Of course I was no expert on guys dicks as my own was the
one I was most familiar with, for touch was my best sense of discovery, and
since touching another guy’s dick was a good way to get into a fight, my
experiences were limited. However, Bill’s dick felt huge to me. He was
circumcised and the head felt like a ping pong ball in my hand. The shaft seemed
to go on forever.
“That feels so good,” Bill said, grabbing hold of my hardening dick. “Would you
suck my dick?” he whispered.
“Only if you lick my ass first.” I chuckled. I thought this would stop him, but
he thought about it for a moment and said, “Okay, turn around.”
I was flabbergasted, because I really didn’t want to either suck his dick or
have my ass licked. I had just said that to put him off. I was busy thinking
about that long hard dick. Would mine ever be that big? I doubted it. I turned
around and heard Bill kneel behind me. He parted the cheeks of my ass and began
to feel the crack. This was the first time since we had gone into the closet
that I began to get aroused. Before that it was just two kids playing. He
stuck his finger in my hole and began to move it around.
“Kiss it,” I said. My voice sounded very shaky, and my breathing was difficult.
Then I felt his tongue gingerly touch my asshole, and it began to move around.
He stuck his tongue between my two cheeks and began to lick my hole. My young
dick sprang to full attention.
“No way, man,” I fairly shouted, quickly jerking up my underpants and opening
the closet door. “This is sick. Really sick.”
I went out into the room, and could hear Bill behind me adjusting his clothing.
“You chicken shit,” he said. “You said you’d suck me off.”
He had me there. I couldn’t tell the other guys that he had licked my ass,
because he would tell them that I had agreed to suck him. We would both be
labeled “queer” and ruined for life. It looked like we had a stand off.
“Well, I don’t want to do it,” I said cherlishly, feeling almost like I wanted
to cry.
“I should beat you up for being such a chicken shit,” Bill said. Bill’s words
were mainly words of vibrato. He was no fighter–as I said, he was small for
his size, and had probably been bested in every fight he had been in. I
realized that he felt desperate. He was a little taller than me, and the fight
would be pretty close, but he had me on body mass.
Then he reached out and grabbed me, and threw me on the bed. We began to
wrestle around, half serious and half playful. This game had gone too far,
there would be repercussions from this day, I knew.
Suddenly, Bill’s body was laying across my upturned face, and I realized his
dick was still exposed. It was right next to my lips. I could smell the
slightly rank smell of him, and that smell immediately got my dick hard again,
and started my heart racing. I could feel the head of his pecker thrusting
insistently against my lips and there was no doubt what I was going to do. I
tentatively opened them and took the head in my mouth. The taste surprised me;
I had expected it to taste dirty, but the skin had a sweet taste. It was soft
like baby’s skin. The smell was a definite turn on. It was, in some way,
reminiscent of forbidden mysterious places; reminding me somehow of the sounds I
use to hear after my father and mother went to bed some nights.
Bill began to move his dick up and down in my mouth. At first I could only feel
the ridges of his hard dick move up and down past my lips. Then, as he began to
thrust deeper and deeper, I found myself gagging and fighting him with my
tongue. I feared that I was going to throw up or choke to death. But, I did
neither. I learned to breathe through my nose, and to relax a little.
He began to say things like, “that feels so good.” And “suck it, lick it.”
I felt that I had some kind of mysterious power over him; as he liked it so
much, then he must like me as well.
Then his body gave a shudder and he almost pulled his dick out of my mouth. “Oh
God,” he said, “I’m going to cum.” I quickly pulled away from his dick and left
him humping the air for a second. Then he stopped.
We were both breathing very hard. “Why did you stop?” he asked.
“Man, I can’t do that,” I said.
“Oh, please,” he pleaded. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” I felt weak. I
had wanted to do it so bad, but I felt that I couldn’t.
Bill put his arm around my neck, leaned down and began to kiss me. It was
strange, I loved it. I felt like I was under his control and had no will of my
own.
“Please suck my dick?” he pleaded. “I won’t tell anybody, I promise.”
“Okay, if you promise,” I whispered.
Once again I took his still hard member in my mouth and began to move up and
down on it. Since his orgasm had been forestalled, it didn’t take Bill long to
hit his stride again.
“Here comes!” he panted, “do you want it?”
“Oh yes,” I mumbled.
Then he pushed his dick further in to my mouth than it had ever been before, and
I tasted something sweet and powerful being squirted into my mouth; five or six
powerful squirts. I knew that this was the stuff that could cause human life to
come into being and for the first time in my life I had a dry orgasm. My whole
body shook with the feel of it, and I knew that I wanted to go on like that
forever.
Bill was finished. He put his softening dick back in to his pants and finished
getting dressed.
“Hey, cat,” he said, “are you going to tell anyone what we did?”
“Hell no,” I said. I was still very shaky. “I won’t say anything if you
don’t,” I whispered.
“Nah, I won’t say anything. I was just kidding anyway. I just wanted to see if
you would do it.” Bill was now easing toward the door. “I’ll see you around
chicken shit queer.” he said as he slammed the door. I didn’t know if he
was
kidding or not; I don’t even know if he knew whether he was kidding or not.
The worse thing was that he was right. I was queer. I had loved it. I would
love to do it again if he asked me. Yet, I didn’t want to be queer, I wanted to
be normal. After all, I had been normal about thirty minutes ago; but I could
never go back to being that guileless kid again. I began to cry, not the
hysterical wailing of a child, but the silent violent tears of someone in
serious trouble.
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