That was the first time I stepped over the line. But definitely NOT the last. I had always been hypersexual, even when I was in first grade. I used to get a hardon thinking about this one little girl in my class. I imagined her naked and I was chasing her and whipping her. I should note that I was not like most of the boys of my age, in that I was very much a born sissy. I loathed any sort of athletic sports, for example, and I was afraid of my peers because I had no real physical strength, was uncoordinated, and could not fight. I was bright enough, however, to understand that being a sissy in the world in which I found myself, was completely unacceptable. I had a real sense of shame and embarrassment. So I went to great lengths to fake it; I didn't play with girls, for example, and I avoided situations that would put myself in the spotlight. Being a weakling, I learned to be a good manipulator. I managed to make it through my youth by keeping a low profile.
So when I went through puberty and began masturbating several times a day, I figured I was normal enough. After all, I was extremely attracted by the sight of the naked women in the sex magazines that I used as a visual aid, so I assumed that I must be normal. I had heard about queers. Everybody I know hated queers. The last thing anyone in my circle wanted was to be thought of as a queer. There were queers in Providence, some of whom dressed and behaved like women. I was told that the queers had bars and clubs where they hung out. These were revolting people. So when I found myself in front of that full length mirror, wearing my mother's high heels, panties and lipstick, I was revolted with myself.
It was around that time that a friend and I were taking a shortcut through the woods. As we rounded a bend in the path we came upon a boy of around our own age, sitting on a large boulder, completely naked. We walked on in stunned silence until we heard him call out: "Do you want a blowjob?"
I was enraged. This was an affront to my maleness. I told my friend that we should go back and give this nymph a beating. We ran back to the boulder but the nymph had disappeared. My friend and I resumed our journey, speaking in tones of outrage as to what we would do if we ever saw that "faggot" again.
A few days later I went back to the boulder by myself, hoping to find the nymph - not to beat him - but to join him. To do what, I didn't know. Perhaps just to frolic naked with him, feeling the warm spring breezes on our bodies. I went back several times, but I never saw him again.
My relationship with the opposite sex had always been strained. Now that I was a teenager and full of sexual desire, I imagined various girls of my acquaintance, naked with me. In reality these same girls left me tongue tied and red from embarrassment. Many boys of my age had matured to where they had begun to look and act like actual men. I was small and skinny and had no body hair to speak of other than a few sparse, very blonde hairs on my pubis. When I entered the navy at the age of 18, I still could have easily passed as a 15 year old.
I had sex with another person for the first time when I was 18. I was in the navy and stationed in a small city in California. I still had absolutely no confidence around girls, but I was always horny. I don't know why I did it, but a few days after arriving at the base, I went walking through the city late at night. I didn't know then that what I was doing was "cruising", a homosexual term for looking for sex.
It was a very warm night and I was wearing a tank top and some really short cutoffs, and my black navy issue dress shoes with black socks. After about an hour I spotted a car that I had seen earlier. I knew that the driver was hawking me. I knew that what I was doing was what queers do - and I didn't care. I was so horny I just didn't care!
The car came by again and this time pulled over. The driver had his window down. My heart was pounding and I was really nervous. Now I knew that this time I was the nymph, out for seduction. The driver leaned over. "You need a lift?" he asked. He was a mexican, about 40, with a shaved head and a goatee. His english wasn't that good but understandable.
I got up and walked over to the passenger window. "I don't know", I said. "I'm just hangin' out."
"Come on, get in", he said, reaching over and opening the door. I was really nervous - scared - but something inside me told me I had to. I got in the car and closed the door. He drove off immediately, giving me these intense looks. I stared straight ahead. Then he put his hand on my bare leg. I stiffened, but said nothing. His hand began feeling my bare legs and I could feel myself getting hard. "Ju gotta silky skin, puto", he said. I didn't know what puto meant. "Thank you", I said, still staring straight ahead. He pulled over near a school. "Let's go for a walk", he said.
We walked to the building and he led me to some concrete steps that descended to a basement. We went halfway down the stairs, until we were out of sight. It was dark and very private. He stripped off his wifebeater and pulled off his jeans and undershorts, until he was naked in just his socks and work boots. He was really muscley and had a lot of tattoos on his chest. I quickly stripped to just my dress shoes. As soon as I was naked he took me and pulled me close to his body, leaning down and kissing me deeply, his big hands were cupping my buttocks. He was really hot. He began kissing my lips, face, ears and neck, calling me juera, puto, and linda. He put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down on my knees. "Chupar mi pollo, marica!" He choked, gripping his hard cock. "Suck me."
I had my first kiss, and now I was about to give my first blowjob. I had seen movies before of women sucking men off. I bent my head and took the head of his dick into my mouth and began sucking him off. He was moaning and ran his thick fingers through my mop of blonde hair, entwining my hair in his fingers to control the movements of my bobbing skull. I ran my hands all over his big hairy legs. Suddenly he tensed and I felt my throat being flooded with warm semen. I swallowed it and he relaxed back on the steps, his chest heaving. I remained crouched between his legs, resting my face against his thigh. I looked up at him. "Didja like it?" I asked him
Oh that was so good, juera, he said. Where you learn to suck cock like that?" I smiled and just shook my head. I felt so...right, my head on his leg, inhaling the smell of his bare flesh.
We had a cigarette and then put our clothes back on. The mexican - he told me his name was Jose - drove me to the bus station. It was 1 a.m. The last bus going to the base left a 1:15. Jose sat with me as I waited. He told me that he wanted to see me again. "I want to fuck you next time, Blondie", he whispered.
I looked at him. I was so naive. "Fuck me? But where? I don't have a pussy?"
"I fuck you from behind - that is your chocha - your pussy."
I rode back to the base, my head reeling from what had just happened. Now I was having second thoughts. I began to feel really angry - with myself - and with Jose. I began to transfer my anger to him, blaming him for what had happened at the school, as if he had raped me. After a few days I made friends with some of my fellow sailors and tried to put what happened with Jose behind me.