Mississippi Gay Boy

The Beginning

Growing up gay in Mississippi was not all that traumatic for me, despite the stories one heard at the time, about violence against gay people. Being poor was worse than being gay and poor is a gross understatement when describing my family.

I was raised by my grandmother. My mother and father divorced by the time I was one-year-old. Mom was not around a lot. My grandfather was an alcoholic who often spent his entire paycheck on Fridays getting drunk and playing Mr. Big Shot, buying drinks for everyone in the pool hall. My grandmother was a praying, God-fearing woman with a fourth-grade education who grew up on a farm in Alabama. She only went to church when a tent revival came to town and they always pitched their tent, at the same place, within walking distance of our house. As far as I know, we never missed a tent revival and I was terrified of these people who rolled on the sawdust-covered ground and spoke (yelled) in languages I heard only at these “religious events.”

Even before the Holy Roller trauma, when I was about four-years-old, I found there was something strange about me when I handled men’s socks, particularly the silky-type, shiny nylon foot coverings. This always caused a tingling sensation in my groin. I never discussed this with anyone because one never touched or talked about anything below the waist in those days, at least not in my home.

A few years later I discovered my uncle’s boxers in the dirty clothes bucket in our bathroom and it only seemed natural that I should sniff them. At this stage, sweaty men’s boxers caused more than a tingle, my little dicklet got stiff. This really frightened me but the need to experience adult male man smell always won out over my fear. A couple of years later my younger uncle’s sweaty boxers were added to the pleasure bucket. I was only interested in the crotch area of the boxers, since I found the skid marks in the butt area a bit gross.

Let me say before the sex in my life begins, that all of the sex I had growing up was always, every time, consensual. No one ever made me do anything I didn’t want to do. I was always the aggressor. As a matter of fact now that I think about it, I can recall numerous times when I made guys do things they didn’t want to do. Like the time a straight guy I met in a bar wanted more than anything for me to suck his dick, but freaked out when I took a nipple in my mouth. Or the time a college student working part-time at my place of my employment told me I could not kiss him because that is too gay, but he sucked me off, swallowed, and afterward told me he didn’t consider himself gay or bi. There were more times but I’m sure every other queer has had those experiences too.

Fast forward through this shower of shit. For about three years before I had acquired my first best friend. His family was at least as poor as mine if not worse off. When he came to my hours to visit, I always dug out my grandfather’s stash of porn magazines for my friend to look at. We always sat on my grandparent’s bed for this activity so I could quickly return the porn mags to their rightful place if someone came in unexpectedly. At some point, I decided that the persistent bulge in his jeans, always, as he looked at pictures of pussies and dicks was not my imagination. While he stared at the porn, I stared at his bulge. My right hand suddenly took on a life of its own and placed it on the bulge down his left leg. No resistance, so I squeezed which caused him to shift his position a little and moan slightly. I rubbed and after a couple of minutes he said, “You want me to take it out?” I just nodded my head.

He unzipped and hauled out the first dick I had seen that closeup. I stroked it for a minute and then knelt on the floor between his legs and licked up and down that hard shaft. Way fuckin’ better than sniffing dirty underwear. I wrapped my virgin lips around the head and licked it like the lollipop I had enjoyed yesterday but this one was more delicious and sugar-free. This was my first of many more experiences of Man Worship.

He asked if I could “go down all the way on it.” I would hear more guys say that after that day. I tried my best at what I would years later learn was deepthroating; I nearly puked but continued without pausing. I bobbed my head up and down on that tasty teen cock and got lost in the ecstasy of sucking my first dick. A couple of minutes after I started, he told me he was gonna cum and I didn’t really know what that meant but very soon became aware. My eyes flew open as his dick spasmed and filled my mouth with the introduction to my first addiction in life.

I didn’t consider spitting this man juice out, I needed to consume it and that I did as I gulped down my first load of man “stuff.” It just seemed like the natural fucking thing to do. We didn’t talk about the first we both had just experienced. He put that big teen cock back in his jeans, I put the porn mags away and we went to the kitchen for a snack. We were alone in my house that day. That night I went to bed early and jacked off three times reliving my first experience as a cocksucker. I had discovered dry orgasms when I was about nine. The good stuff came a year later. And, today my queer education took another leap forward.

During the school years my bud slept over many Saturday nights at my house after our self-introduction to blowjobs. During summer vacation he would stay over more often. I would suck his dick and swallow his load every time. He taught me about face-fucking by just doing it to me and I was always glad to be the receiver. He never sucked my dick but always jacked me off after he came. I begged him to fuck me few times but he always had an excuse. My favorite was his belief that my ass crack hair would cut his dick head.

I started servicing his thick eight-inch cock reuglary (of course we measured it.) We continued the blow jobs and hand jobs through school and beyond. Lee did tell me one morning as he was putting on his shoes to go home that he really believed that you could be in love with two people at the same time. I didn’t know how to respond to that so I kept silent. Life would give us some incredible times together but we never talked much about our sexual activities.

TO BE CONTINUED