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ankhjohn · 4 years

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clergy, sex, success, and me

I was born in the middle of 1941. The Second world war had just begun. I can't recall anything much before the age of eight, but I can remember certain places and events like they happened yesterday. Public schools in the inner city, and especially Jr. high, were repetitious, boring, and very dangerous to attend. Back then, every other kid had a switch blade knife, and they were plenty eager to wave them around to intimidate and threaten any body they felt like messing with, including teachers, and sometimes even cops.

Once, I witnessed a stabbing in the school cafeteria. The very quick and violent nature of that horribly messy act frightened me immensely, and it was that experience that made me realize that I was, unfortunately, a coward. It was very disturbing, and it affected me for a very long time afterward.

Up until 1954, I was what was considered to be a clod and a nerd at school, Something equivalent to a non-entity. I had no idea how suddenly my life was about to change. Every day I constantly faced being bullied on the way to school, at school, and on the way home from school. I developed rudimentary time schedules, and tentative escape routes, or safe places, in order that I could have the best chance of making it home unhurt and alive. That seemed to work most of the time, but several times it did not, and I paid dearly for the mistake.

Toward the end of the school year in 1954, just before my birthday, and a well earned, glorious three month vacation, I was run down by two boys on the way home from school, and I got roughly pushed around as they brandished their 'blades'. I was given the choice of sucking their dicks or suffering a beating by both of them. Now some will say never, but this frightened 13 year old left that culvert party unharmed beyond the humiliation, a few bruises from getting knocked around, and dirt on my knees, They let me go with a warning not to tell anyone. I did not. It was too embarrassing, and the stigma at the time would have isolated me completely from my peers, parents, and teachers, not to mention the fear of retaliation, but the worst thing of all, was to be branded a 'queer'.

Summer vacation finally arrived and a friend I will call 'Tom”, from school, came to visit me at my home on one bright Saturday morning and convinced me to accompany him to his friends house that lived in another part of the neighborhood to pick up some money, and then we could go to the movies, and get a hamburger and drinks afterward. I agreed to go with him, and we set off immediately. Soon we arrived at a very nice apartment building and Tom rang the bell. A buzzer sounded, and He pushed the door open widely and as we climbed the short flight of stairs, we entered into a very plush and rich interior filled with antiques and art. Two older men happily greeted us with smiles, and sat us down on a huge couch in the palatial living room. One of the elderly gentlemen went to the kitchen and brought out two beers and set them on the coffee table using coasters that depicted nude reclining male figures. I thought it was curious, but amusing.

The beer was bitter, and I knew I would not be able to finish it. I glanced at Tom as he took a sip of the beer and to my surprise, he downed the whole thing. After setting the glass back on the table, Tom quickly proceeded to undress right on the spot. I didn't know what was happening, until my friend pulled down his underwear, and revealed his very generous boner, which in turn, was immediately set upon by one of the elderly gentlemen, who began doing to him what I had to do to the two boys from school.. That was when the other guy began unzipping my pants and exposing my penis. I was frozen in my spot and my face flushed, my heart was pounding like a rod going out on a diesel engine. I was so embarrassed I thought it would be impossible for me to get an erection under this surprising turn of events. Why, I thought, would anybody want to suck my dick in the first place? Well, here was someone who obviously seemed more than happy to do it, and after a bit of gentle coaxing, I did get an erection, and he did get me to blow a load of cum on his tonsils.

I was complemented by the older gentleman for my 'pervormance', and I realized an immediate new sense of confidence in my sexual prowess, it seemed to give me a feeling of a new identity, as if a new person had unfolded in me that day, and as a result of this realization, the 'queer thing', as well as the age difference, became a non-factor for me. I had become sexually liberated! As we were leaving, my friend and I each received a ten dollar bill, for our obviously successful efforts, with an open invitation to visit at any time. We then spent the afternoon at the movies and stuffed ourselves on everything you can imagine that a thirteen year old would do with 10 bucks.

My life changed overnight that day. I felt 'adult' so to speak. Soon, my visits to the apartment became pretty regular, and I had plenty of money in my pocket. My mother worked as a hostess for a nightclub and her take home pay for a 40 hour week was $35.00. I was making more money than my hard working mother. At school, I loaned out lunch money and it wasn't long before just about everybody in my classes 'owed' me money. Life was good. And when you're on top of the world, it can be a long fall to the bottom if you slip.

I was fourteen now, and Tom, the same friend that introduced me to the homosexuals, invited me for a three way with a smart looking red headed woman in her thirties. The thought was scary and exciting at the same time. I had seen my Friend in action a few times by now, but never had contact with him in that manner. What could possibly go wrong? Well, the red head experience is one I won't soon forget, or get over, for that matter. I felt I had just secured my sexual 'spot' in the world, when Tom and I dated the older woman and he guaranteed that she was a good tipper. She picked us up at a local hamburger stand in the afternoon, and drove us to a secluded section of a nearby park whereupon I performed what I thought was a pretty darn good job, then Tom took his turn, and apparently, it wasn't received with the same enthusiasm, because when he ejaculated in her face, he also decided to urinate to finish the job. That red head really got pissed off. She was hot, hollering, spitting, and snatching her bra off the steering wheel, she kicked us out of her car and we had to walk home. I never got a cent for my valiant effort. Gee,.. thanks Tom,....

Three days after the episode with the red head, my mother had to take me to the doctor because of the large, very painful weeping sores which suddenly appeared on the head of my penis. It was so bad, I guessed they didn't even want to tell me the name of the disease, because they would only refer to the word in my presence using initials. Something like, T.S.P. , or L.S.D., I can't remember, but I do remember the tool of my new found trade being broken and the future of my primary source of income and enjoyment, was in jeopardy. But that was for the future, right now the pressing problem was answering a lot of embarrassing questions from a lot of pissed off adults. I was pretty sure Tom was going through the same thing, and I wondered how he was 'copulating' with the situation. I would have liked to have called and talked with him, but it was impossible, I was being too closely watched, like perhaps they might watch someone for attempting suicide or something.

I tried playing the unknowing recipient of some dreaded disease that I had obviously contacted from some unsanitary toilet seat at some unmemorable filling station. It seemed to work for the moment, but soon I was confronted with real names, and places and events with astonishing accuracy, and there was little I could do to offer any story, and I resigned myself to suffer the consequences for my actions. One of the conditions of my subsequent probation (for lying to police) was that I was told I was no longer allowed to communicate or see my friend Tom. That restriction however, did not last long. My dick healed up in about 3 weeks. It was too painful for me to get an erection or masturbate during that period, and I was celibate the whole time. One boy suggested that I had the clap so bad they called it “applause”... Very funny.

It amazed me to see how the size of my dick shrank in direct proportion to how sick I got. It finally got better enough that I began to gently exercise it, slowly bringing it back to life and serviceable operation. I wanted to continue enjoying the lifestyle I had enjoyed before the crash. I didn't know exactly how, but I was determined to resume my new found enjoyment-employment. The end of summer arrived, and the stress of school once again loomed before me, Because I was not allowed out alone, I spent a lot of time in my bedroom playing music, and taking long showers, to conceal my masturbatory habits. Sometimes In bed, would masturbate into my dirty socks, and put them in the laundry... Mother never thought to look there for evidence...

Returning to school, all I could think of was how I was going to face all my teachers and peers. Talk about stage fright! I was already trying to think of ways to gain some personal time out of the school day. Maybe volunteer for some activity or get study hall, or anything I could use to disguise some unsupervised time after school so I could resume where I left off...

Like an answer to my prayers, God Himself was to intervene and send me a mentor and benefactor, in the form of one Reverend P.J. Goodbody, (not his real name..), a local pastor who worked with wayward kids through his church, and with the juvenile court, turned out to be my assigned probation officer. Since P.J. Knew my case history, it wasn't long before ol' P.J. Had me in his office with his lips on my dick up to my balls... In his car...and several times, in the parking garage. Once, he suggested a filling station restroom for a quickie, but I drew the line at that for obvious reasons, and instead we ended up in a truckers shower on I-5, a few miles away.

My duties were mostly maintenance in and around the church. Our 'professional session' was “as needed” and if I literally “got off early” I could get time for myself that was vouched for by the good reverend, P.J. and needless to say, it was a “marriage” made in heaven. Mother would pick me up immediately after school and drop me off at P.J.'s office. He would take care of 'business' right away, and then I would water the lawns and shrubs, take the garbage out, and whatever was needed. After that, I could do what I wanted for a couple of hours, and that included going down town on 'errands'. Just like mission impossible, P.J. Did speak to me about being caught where I shouldn't be, and told me he would have to disavow any claims resulting from such a situation, otherwise, I should have a good time. I wasted no time.

Remember when I was worried about facing my peers? Well, a little advertising certainly goes a long way, and everybody in school was talking in front of, on the side, behind my back, and over my head. I would get razzing and giggles, and some unusual inquires, but everyone of the general population pretty much kept away from me. Oddly enough however, during this time, I was being covertly propositioned by some of the most unlikely students of both sexes. Several boys wanted mutual masturbation, another was interested in anal sex, A girl suggested oral sex. And then, My math teacher began occasionally keeping me after school for “Special instruction” which of course, took place in the cloak room. Opportunities abounded, but these were non paying jobs as far as I was concerned, more or less a good will tour, if you know what I mean.

Do you have any idea how hard it was in the 1950's for an underage boy to get a blow job on the street? If you were young, horny, and wanted sex, your best bet was to join a church. In 1955, I was bumping into other guys my age that were having similar experiences, and we would talk about them whenever we got together. I eventually 'gave' and 'got' through the school year with the help of P.J., who was thanked profusely by my mother for the vast improvement in my attitude and calming my wild ways. I wanted to say: Jesus mom, I blow a load of cum down his throat twice a day, No wonder I'm calm! But I didn't want to spoil it, I was having a good time, and things were looking up.

With spiritual guidance from the good reverend, I gradually acquired several regular 'customers' from the religious community. For a while, it seemed like I was going from 'parson to parson'. I have to say they were very gentle and grateful. I didn't always get paid in money, but there were pool parties with food, drinks, gifts, weekend stay overs, and the very busy hot tubs. I seemed to be popular at the time, because I had a good history of keeping quiet. And why not? What has being truthful ever gotten me? The whole idea of this 'truth will set you free' thing, seemed counter-intuitive to me from the beginning. The truth has never set me free. It only frees the cops, the attorneys, and the judge.

So far, My sexual contact with a woman had proven to be a rather negative, and downright disastrous event, but I still wanted to explore this realm a bit more intimately, and I came to the conclusion that I was not a homosexual, nor was I heterosexual, but just plain sexual. Which is not to say I was in it primarily for the sex, but more as the means to enjoy a social standing I would not normally have been able to experience. In other words, it became kind of a hobby with benefits. While there were the occasional negatives, there were far more positives as a result of those relationships. In a sense, my “friends” had become clergy, attorneys, doctors, dentists, you name it, I had the best advice and support that money alone cannot buy, and I have yet to meet a stingy cocksucker among them.

That summer and winter came and went and I was spending a minimal amount of time at home because of my involvement with the whole church business. The year seemed to pass quickly. Things had settled in, and my time became very structured in terms of who, where, when, and what. I had liked the way things were going, and I didn't want or think that it might end any time soon. Another boy who I did not know, but had seen hanging around Tom, spilled his beans after a brief cross examination by his parents, and my name came up along with others, and the cops eventually showed up at my door for a bit of a chat about who I knew, and when... I have to admit it was intimidating and I was genuinely scared, but I held out, hoping they would get tired and go away. I didn't want to get in a jam like I did last time, so it was all or nothing, todo or nada. I refused to talk at all. I clammed up as if frightened, and I was. Finally they left, but vowed to see me again. That was not the end of it by any means, but for now my mind was swirling with thoughts of doom. I had no idea what was going to happen to P.J. and the 'gang', and most of all, Me.

P.J. Wound up getting arrested for oral copulation with a child under the age of fourteen, and along with two other acquaintances, were convicted. I refused to incriminate him and instead, I extolled his virtues in my deposition, lauding him for keeping me on the 'straight' and narrow. As a matter of fact, my grades were very good, and I had not gotten into any 'regular' trouble since he became my probation officer. Coincidentally, My attorney turned out to be a queer friend of P.J.s, and he was eventually able to keep me out of the juvenile justice system. Unfortunately, I still had to deal with my parents. By this time, my parents had enough and sat me down for a discussion which consisted of them yelling at me for a long time. They finally got tired and threw their hands up in the gesture of giving up. Since the tough love approach didn't work, they were ready to allow my emancipation, but only when I turned fifteen in another month, and if I stayed out of trouble until then, I was good to go. I was delighted, of course, but with serious twinges of uncertainty.

I turned fifteen in the summer of'56, I was finally emancipated, and my classes had been modified to accommodate 'sexualized' students like myself. I was in a class with the bad boys, and I was accepted as one of them. A club, as it were, for comrades in arms and action. I was no longer considered a nerd, or a clod. I had graduated to 'punk loser', and in a weird sort of way, I couldn't have been happier with my new found identity. Looking back, you might say I would have been better off hanging out with the 'A' students, but I eventually went to work for an interesting gay and generous company that employed me for my skill in customer relations and closing important deals I was good at what I did, and why not? I had plenty of experience!

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