[Meta: This is the first chapter of “Book 2” of an ongoing story. Books 1 and 2 both occur in the mid-1970s: Chapter 1 of Book 1 starts on Friday, February 23, 1974. The “big story” in the news was Watergate.
Book 1 tells the story of how I (John Thomas) first met my boyfriend, Eric Svalberg, how he seduced me into accepting who I actually was sexually, and also how I fell in love with him. The title of Book 1 (“Shame And Punishment”) hints at how that process got started. All of the chapters of Book 1 can be found by checking my profile, which lists all of my published stories (just click on my user handle.)
Book 2—whose title is “I Submit”—tells the story of the trials and tribulations that both Eric and I have to experience—decades ago—in order to be each other’s boyfriend, and also of the sexual journey that Eric takes me on, ever deeper into sexual submission.]
Prologue
In the final chapter of Book 1, Eric and I—for the very first time—slept together in my bedroom—with the approval of my mother, and of Eric’s parents. Of course, they weren’t expecting us to sleep on the floor of my bedroom, in the same sleeping bag (they never did find that out.) It was the very first time that I had ever slept with anyone since I had been a small child. I found out later that Eric had been doing that ever since his first year of high school
In my case, I loved my mother far too much to want to want to cause her any distress or upset over my sexuality. That was one reason I made sure to lock my bedroom door, even though my mother had no history of just barging in to my bedroom without asking permission—at least, not since I was about 10 years younger, anyway. Had my mother discovered the locked door, I would have justified it by appealing to Eric’s right to privacy.
Even though we were both high school Seniors at the time, we were also both 18, and would be graduating high school in 3 months. Nevertheless neither of us wanted to risk being kicked out of either one of or homes, so we were very careful to keep our parents in the dark about what we were up to, sexually.
Thursday morning, February 28, 1974
When my alarm clock woke both of us up that Thursday morning—at 7:30 am—I realized that I had fallen in love with Eric. [That wasn’t unearned, as you will see if you read Book 1.]
Sleeping in Eric’s arms all night was just the final ingredient that contributed to that result: Deep intimacy—sexual or not—was (and is) a huge motivation in my life—it’s what I had been yearning for, especially with other males my own age—but could not get, thanks to the taboos against it in the socio-cultural mores of the time. As for Eric, he had already made his own feelings quite clear: He was deeply in love with me; he had even all but proposed to marry me—and would have, if only same-sex marriage had been legal.
Eric and I made ourselves decent, and then went together to the bathroom to take care of our biological and hygienic necessities. We also showered together. My mother made no comment about that; she wasn’t even awake yet. Had she said anything, I would have simply pointed out that Eric and I were in the same gym class together, and so had to shower together (in the same communal shower, anyway) at school, every day.
Returning to my bedroom, I put on fresh clothes that were appropriate for school; Eric had to just re-use his school clothes from yesterday. He commented that, in the future, he’d plan things out better. Then we had breakfast: Grape Nuts—my usual breakfast, whenever I made it for myself (which was every school day.) Eric had never had Grape Nuts before. He said he liked them, but that chewing them made his jaw sore. I just told him that that served him right. He got the point.
After breakfast, we set out on the 14-minute walk to the high school (which I had actually timed, just yesterday.) Along the way, we both agreed to meet up at his house after school. Upon arrival at the campus, we both headed to our respective classes. It was only as I was sitting down at my desk for my first period class (AP pre-calculus,) that it dawned on me that we had both been seen walking to school together.
Oops. Oh well, too late to do anything about that, now.
It also dawned on me that I didn’t even know all the classes that Eric was taking. I knew he was taking Algebra 2 (although I didn’t know what period that class was,) because that was the subject where he needed my help the most. And I also knew he had 3rd-period PE, because we were both in that same class. I had helped with his history and civics homework, but I didn’t know what periods those classes were in. Nor did I know what 2 other classes he might have.
It was on my trek from my 2nd-period class (AP Physics) to the boys’ gym that I overheard a rather disturbing conversation between two other students whom I didn’t know. The key comment that stood out to me was this: “He was seen walking together with Eric this morning.” The response was also alarming: “Not surprised. Eric has a reputation.” At which point, the original speaker spotted me, and tilted his head in my direction, so that the other boy saw me, too.
Damn!
The fact that Eric had a “reputation” was news to me. But once I gave it the thought I should have given it, days ago, I realized that of course he could: Eric had been doing the same with many other boys (and girls, for that matter) at his previous high school—one in the same city, so gossip could have spread between the two schools. We both had transferred to this high school for our Senior years (12th grade, for any non-American readers.) But in my case, my previous high school was in a city hundreds of miles away.
Eric had told me key facts about his sexual exploits, but not that he had a “reputation” because of it. Perhaps he didn’t know? I had thought that the only reason for our secrecy about the fact that we had become friends was solely due to the events in the showers the previous Friday [see Chapter 1, Book 1 for the details,] but now I began to believe that that was not Eric’s sole motivation. In fact, it would add quite a bit of justification to the fact that he had felt so shamed and embarrassed over the events of last Friday—assuming he was aware of his “reputation.”
Nevertheless, during the PE class, I continued our charade of not knowing, or caring about, each other. Eric did the same, probably totally unaware that we’d blown our cover—at least partially.
No events of significance to the story occurred during the rest of the school day. Upon exiting my last class of the day (French 4,) I headed to Eric’s house using the alternate route, so as to not be seen walking home with him. I was fully aware that that might now be a futile tactic. While on the way, it occurred to me that one of the implications of the conversation I had overheard was that I, too, had a “reputation”—and had already had one, before the events of the previous Friday.
Giving that some thought, I concluded that I had probably not been careful enough about not being seen ogling the larger-than-average endowments of some of my fellow (male) high-school students. I couldn’t think of any other reason that I might have already had a “reputation,” other than the fact that I was a nerd, was seen as highly intelligent, and that I had no girlfriend (and hadn’t ever had one, although there was no way the students here at my new school could have known that for a fact; but of course, they would have had reasonable cause to so assume.)
Damn. Just damn.
Upon arrival at Eric’s house, I again saw him watching for me from the living room window. Seeing me, he waived, and then immediately headed for the front door, to let me in. By the time I reached the front door, he was already opening it.
He apparently saw the look on my face, and instead of his usual, enthusiastic greeting, said, “What’s wrong, Babe?”
“Let’s go inside, and then close the door”, I replied. “I don’t think we want to have that conversation where the neighbors might hear us.”
Once we were both inside, and he had closed the front door, I continued: “Did you realize that we were seen walking to school together this morning?”
“Oh. Fuck! No, I had not realized that. How is it that neither one of us thought to take separate routes to school this morning?”, he asked.
Already having asked myself the same question—hours ago, now—I replied: “We were both too euphoric—and distracted—by the events of the previous day and night.”
He just stared at me for a minute, and then said: “How do you know we were seen?”
I recounted the conversation I had overheard, while on my way to our shared PE class. He looked absolutely stricken.
“Did you know you had a ‘reputation’?”, I asked him.
“I did not”, he replied.
“What about at your previous high school?”, I queried.
“Oh, yeah. I did have a reputation there”, he answered.
“Could that reputation have followed you from there to this school?”, I asked.
“Hmmm…I guess that that’s a possibility”, he admitted. “But if so, this is the first I’ve of heard of it.”
“If Scotty—your previous ‘fuckboy’—had outed you, you would have probably already have heard about it,” I observed. “And in any case, he would have had just as much reason as you to keep things secret, while he was attending school here. And after having moved overseas, it’s just too far fetched to suspect him.”
“Right. Had his parents ever found out, the consequences would have been severe. Catastrophic: His parents held him back a year, because otherwise, he would have always been one of the youngest students in his grade. Instead, he was always the oldest. He turned 18 right before I ever even met him, early last November. So his parents could have—and would have—kicked him out of the house. There’s just no way he would risk anything like that”, he replied. “But that means that the most probable theory is that there was a transfer of rumors between my old school and this one”, he continued.
“Yeah, that does seem like the best hypothesis” I replied. “And by the way, the strong implication from what that one guy said is that I, also, have a ‘reputation’”, I added.
“Why might that be?”, he queried.
“Well, they know that I have no girlfriend. And I’m widely known as a nerd, who’s really smart. And the fact I’m far from well-endowed is probably well-known, too. If you add in the possibility that others have noticed my..unusual..interest in big dicks—because, just like last Friday—I wasn’t careful enough to hide it, then it’s plausible that some would have begun to assume that I’m gay”, I explained. “Isn’t that sort of why you reached the same conclusion about me, last Friday?”
As I was saying all that, I was wondering to myself why I hadn’t realized all of that before. Wishful thinking on my part, I could only assume.
“You’ve got a point, there”, he admitted.
“So, what do we do now?”, I asked.
“Hmmm….Well, we could just stop trying to hide our friendship, without admitting to anything beyond that. Trying to hide would just make us look more suspicious”, he proposed.
Giving that some consideration, I finally replied: “That would be far easier on us, than trying to hide our friendship. And it’s not like our parents don’t already know that we’re friends—best friends, even. Also, given the fact that we already have ‘reputations,’ it wouldn’t make the situation much worse than it already is”, I concurred.
“You know, our high-school days are almost over, anyway. All we really care about is keeping our parents in the dark,” he observed.
“Good point. A very good point, actually”, I replied. “Will you lose any friends over this?”, I asked.
“Not sure, but I don’t think so. As long as I don’t actually admit to anything, other than having you as a friend,” he said.
“So, it’s settled, then”, I concluded.
“Yup,” he replied. “You ready to lose more of your gag reflex? Maybe even all the way?”, he asked, smiling.
I had already decided to fully submit to him—sexually, at least—by the time I had woken up that morning. But I didn’t tell him that, yet. Nor did I tell him—yet—that I had fallen in love with him. So what I said in response was, “Sure. You haven’t misled me about sex, so far. So I’m game.”
He gave me a big smile, took my hand, and led me to his basement bedroom. Unlike last Tuesday, he did not forget to close—and lock—the door to his bedroom, this time. Checking the time, I noted that we would have about 2 and a half hours before Eric’s mother got home.
Eric instructed me to get naked from the waist down, and then to assume the standard position on his bed—on my back, feet pointed towards the head of the bed, head pointed towards its foot, and hanging over the edge. He went to the bathroom that was attached to his basement bedroom to fetch a towel for me to use as a bib, and then handed it to me, after I had assumed the “face fuck” position. I placed it to cover my neck and chest.
Eric was already taking off his pants and boxer briefs. Once nude from the waist down, he walked towards my head that was hanging off of the foot of his bed, stopped when he arrived, and then said, “Tell me what you’re supposed to do.” He wanted to make sure I hadn’t forgotten my part in the play.
“Open my mouth as wide as I can. Try to keep my teeth from scraping your dick. Swallow right when your dick starts trying to penetrate my throat. And don’t forget to breathe after you pull out of my mouth, giving me a few seconds to breathe,” I said.
“That’s good enough for now,” he replied. “i’ll have more things for you to do, later. But not today.”
He then put the head of his dick against my lips, so I opened my mouth—wide: His dick was really big. When I felt the head of his dick beginning to attempt to push into my throat, I swallowed. As before, that eased his dickhead into my esophagus, soon followed by as much of his almost 11-inch member into my throat as was possible, given the physical constraints: He was balls deep into my mouth.
I still gagged—but noticeably less than had been the case at the same point in the procedure than had been the case on Tuesday, two days ago. He held position only briefly, though—not for a full minute, as he had been doing occasionally two days ago. Once he had fully withdrawn, I took the opportunity to breathe; he afforded me maybe 5 seconds for that, and then started the next balls-deep downstroke. Wash, rinse, repeat.
On every fifth downstroke, he would hold position, fully down my throat, for about a minute. When he finally withdrew after such a one-minute hold down my throat, he would give me about 10 seconds to breathe, before resuming. He maintained that 4-to-1 pattern until he came.
As for me, I was focused on reveling in the feeling of submission, of being sexually dominated by him, of experiencing the dick of my dreams in action, and of giving sexual pleasure to the boy I loved. I enjoyed knowing that I was essentially giving Eric the most intimate kiss it was possible to give a boy, or man. The fact that my gag reflex was obviously withering away to nothing during the approximately 20 minutes that Eric was fucking my face really helped with that. The fact that Eric’s big dick was still making my jaw sore had the opposite effect. But at least, the soreness seemed to be less bad than it had been on Tuesday. So, all in all, it was a net win.
Of course, my eyes were soon watering, and I was soon drooling profusely. Just like I had been, two days ago. Eric was apparently right, that that would be a permanent feature of getting my face fucked.
After the first 10 minutes or so, I was getting hard, myself—without even touching my dick. Eric noticed—and just like on Tuesday—he began jacking me while he fucked my face. I came just before he did.
After Eric finally came, he didn’t stop. He just kept on fucking my face—just as he had done 2 days ago. And he kept jacking me, so I also came again. The fact that I could achieve multiple orgasms, helped along by having someone else jacking me, and also by the psychological stimulation from what Eric was doing to me, I found quite fascinating. Until Eric, I had been strictly a “one orgasm per day” guy; although, the only orgasms I had been having were those that resulted from masturbating myself.
I noticed that Eric would check the time, after each orgasm. He obviously hadn’t forgotten the near-disaster we barely avoided 2 days ago, when we had both lost track of time: We almost got caught, when his mother finally came home.
As Eric was going for his 5th orgasm, I (belatedly?) noticed that I was no longer gagging [I had never had any problem with choking, or vomiting, as I noted in Book 1.] But my jaw was pleading with me to wait at least a day between each face fuck and the next.
After Eric’s 5th orgasm, he finally stopped: It was just after 6:10 pm. We got up, headed to the bathroom, got cleaned up, made ourselves presentable, went back into his bedroom, and put our briefs and pants back on. Checking the time, I saw that it was almost 6:20 pm.
“Time to get your homework done?”, I asked. “Your father will ask you about it.”
“Yeah, I know. And so, yes, it’s that time.”
So he gout out his Algebra 2 textbook, found his homework assignment, after which I tutored him on how to do it. While that was underway, his mother came home. Eric paused our tutoring session, and went upstairs to greet his mother. He soon returned, and so we resumed the homework session.
Once we were done with the math homework, the next two assignments just involved his reading in his textbooks, so my only contributions were limited to answering questions he had about what he was reading, and advising him about the key points he’d need to memorize for any tests. The fact that that sort of thing just came naturally to me was one of the reasons I did so well on tests, in spite of almost never doing any homework.
We heard Eric’s father come home from his job as a Professor of Psychology while Eric was still reading his final homework assignment. So, once Eric had completed his homework, we both went upstairs to give his parents some Platonic, teenage boy attention and affection.
Eric’s father (Liam,) asked the expected question regarding the status or Eric’s homework. Eric, smiling, said that he wouldn’t have come upstairs, had he not finished his homework. Liam looked at him bemusedly, then laughed. His father then turned to me, and asked me what the homework had involved. I told him that the math homework had involved graphing systems of inequalities, that the history homework had involved the events surrounding the adoption of the 14th Amendment, and its aftermath, and that the civics homework had been about the legal and political arguments, pro and con, surrounding FDR’s New Deal. That seemed to satisfy Liam.
And that’s when Eric’s mother (Beth) called us to dinner. I noted that, this time, she didn’t ask me whether I would like to stay for dinner: She just assumed it—in spite of the fact that Eric and I had not yet formally presented our proposed teenage-boy feeding reciprocity arrangement to Eric’s parents yet (where my mother would feed Eric dinner on some nights, and Eric’s parents would feed me dinner on other nights); we had gotten buy-in for that from my mother, yesterday evening, though. So I decided to present that idea to Eric’s parents during dinner.
They liked the idea, and immediately accepted it. And then Eric’s mother completely surprised me—and I have to assume, Eric as well—by asking me whether I would like to sleep over with Eric this evening. “You shouldn’t have to walk all the way back home on the evenings you’re here, and Eric shouldn’t have to do that either, on the nights he’s with you at your place,” she added.
After I got over my shock, I answered her in the affirmative. I couldn’t help but notice the expression on Eric’s face. I also noted the fact that Liam (Eric’s father) seemed to also be pleased. Interesting. Very interesting.
After dinner, Eric suggested that we go into the garage to use the bench press to get started on the exercise regimen we had agreed to start, last Tuesday evening. Liam commented, “Do you guys want me to spot for you, again?”
“Not unless you really want to,” answered Eric. Diplomatic. As I’ve said previously [see Book 1], Eric was not dumb; his education had just been mishandled—an issue I was determined to fix. One academic subject in which he was far ahead of every other student at the high school—including me—was psychology. Given that his father was a full Professor of psychology at one of the nation’s most prestigious universities [name withheld to protect privacy], that should have been no surprise.
So Eric and I traipsed off to the garage. I spotted for Eric, then he spotted for me. We took turns like that for about an hour, and then returned to the living room, exhausted. Eric went to a closet located near the door to the garage, and retrieved a sleeping bag. He handed it to me, saying, “You can sleep in this, on the floor in my room,” making sure that his parents heard him. Sneaky bastard: He was confirming their approval of that plan, without explicitly asking for their OK. He got no response.
So he gestured at me with his head, indicating that we should retire to his bedroom. And so, that’s what we did. Eric closed his door. I then asked Eric whether he should lock it.
“What if my parents try to open it?”, he asked.
“Then use the excuse that I deserve privacy when I’m dressing, or sleeping in my underwear,” I replied.
He just smiled, locked the door, and then started to hug and kiss me.
But I had to ask, “Did you and Scotty ever sleep over at each other’s houses?”
“No. My parents didn’t really approve of him. They never really approved of any of my friends—fuckboys, or just friends, either way—since I started Junior High,” he told me “They’re not just OK with you, they seem to be genuinely glad that I have you as a friend. I haven’t seen that from them in years.”
“Can’t complain,” I replied. But privately, I began to wonder just how much Eric’s parents knew about some of his friends. Yeah, those ones.
We slept in each other’s arms for the second night in a row. Mostly, we actually were in our underwear. Mostly. Just in case.
I could definitely get used to this.
