Source: BoyChat
My Story. A Story of a Boy.
Submitted by Elf on October 08, 1998 at 22:56:10:
I have been reading BoyChat for quite some time, and only just the other day I finally worked up the nerve to place a message. I’m still very confused and ashamed and afraid to even thik about what I’m feeling, but to know that there are others… It helps.
This is my story. I’ve never told anyone, nor written of it until now.
When I was a boy I was what society would call molested. My parents were both drinkers, and they fought a lot. When they weren’t fighting they were out partying, so from the age of 8 or so I was left to fend for myself. I had no siblings, and hardly any friends, so I learned to function alone out of necessity.
Behind my house was another family’s property. They seemed sort of low-class: run down house, old cars in the yard, etc. As far as I know there were only three people in the family – father, mother, and son. The son was named David, and I’m not sure how old he was exactly, but I guess he was a middle-to-older teenager, maybe 16-17 or so. I’m pretty sure he could drive, so I guess I’ve got the age about right.
David was kind of scruffy looking. He had some sort of after school job that was messy, maybe road work or construction or something. He was tall (at least to me, at 9) and lean, with blonde hair in a crew cut. He was always nice to me, and since I was a lonely kid I guess I probably hung around him a lot just for the company.
Because of the limitations on graphic descriptions here on BoyChat, I won’t supply the details. Its enough to say that David and I started a sexual relationship. He initiated it. It started wih touching, etc., and eventually graduated to oral sex. He never penetrated me, and never made any attempt to. He never made me do anything I didn’t want to do, in fact, he was reluctant for me to even try to perform oral sex on him because he thought he was too big and that he’d hurt me – I insisted (it didn’t work too well). This went on for over a year, pretty steadily. I felt like I had someone who wanted me, who thought I was special. I guess I loved him, as much as any 9 to 10 year old can.
Eventually my father found out about what was going on. To this day, 15 years later, I don’t know how he knew. Something went down between my Dad and these people. I never saw David again, and their house was empty. I got the worst beating of my life, and nearly had my arm broken, at my father’s hands. He said it was to teach me to be a man. Then I was subjected to counseling.
I was told that what had happened was wrong. But, if that were true, then I was just as much or more to blame. Although David was the initiator, it was I who sought him out more often than not. It was I who suggested new games, new “moves,” to try. It was I who, time and time again, offered my thin, naked boy’s body up to him for pleasure and for love. I willingly gave myself to him. There was no coercion.
And now? It’s 15 years later, and my life is a mess. I’ve never been really able to commit or complete anything. I’ve never really had a serious relationship, just a few fleeting sexual encounters. Although I’m told differently, I don’t feel attractive to anybody. I don’t feel wanted or loved. I am completely alone in the world, without a friend to turn to. And why? Well, lots of reasons, probably. But largely, I blame it on being ripped away from the bosom of the only person who ever showed me affection. As far as I am concerned, all that lies ahead is cold and misery, until I finally get to die.
God, David, I miss you.