Innocence

Growing up in a small town in southern Maine; especially looking back, was such a simple time. The four streets that made up my neighborhood; named after ivy league schools and running parallel to each other, were all I knew.

The expansive park sitting perpendicular; and directly across from those streets, had two baseball diamonds. One was reserved for men’s softball games. The other still has professional dug outs, stand seating, a concessions and an announcers booth above it. In the summer, you could hear little league games being called throughout the neighborhood.

Each field sat at opposite ends of the parks length. In between them: a three net fenced tennis court, a double sided court divided by a concrete practice wall, twin basketball courts and a well equipped playground. From my upstairs bedroom window, this view stretched before me; as if the Earth ended beyond the line of homes and trees that bordered behind it. Idyllic as it was; even then, it felt a little like a backdrop, especially after the incident.

Like my parents, the neighborhood was blue collar; but comfortably middle class homes. Mine being particularly sheltered due to my devoutly catholic upbringing. I was not; so much as my upbringing was; but it sometimes left me a little late to things and a little out of step. For example, I remember the first time a friend showed me his Dad’s hidden stash of dated 80’s Penthouses and Hustlers.

I m sure my eyes were as big saucers. It certainly was a curious in between time; and I was blown away by them. We had access to “wordliness”, the internet etc; just a lot of oversight and protections. I had my share of friends around the block. We all similarly shared the same wholesome experience, except for one.

He wasn’t really a friend of ours; not even in our age group. He lived two streets away in the only tenement building in the area. It was a rundown place he lived in with his mom and brother. His name was Mike. He was my older sisters age. He was heavy set, had a buzz cut, thick glasses and always seemed a bit greasy.

We knew more of him then anything else. Even then, there was something off-putting and somewhat obnoxious about him, despite how friendly he was. His tenement sat across the street from the little league field and was exactly where the bus to my catholic school stopped everyday; from there it was a five minute walk home.

It was on one such day. I was an adolescent with slight freckles and mopishly wavy hair. A bit of baby fat still clung to my hips slightly, but otherwise slim and fit. Someone called my name. He was standing behind his door.

I hadn t spoken to him in years; and he only looked like a larger version of the memory I had of him. Thick glasses, heavy and sweaty demeanor. I think back to what a near cliche he was. He called me over and I reluctantly approached. I didn’t want to be rude. He made quick small talk then told me he had something to show me.

I couldn’ t imagine what it might be or that I ‘d be remotely interested. Despite all misgiving, in I went though it may be unfathomable to anyone else. Painfully niave? Yes; but something else was being tapped into….

I stepped into a kitchen with old creaking linoleum covered floors. The interior was muted dark with pulled shades. An absence of light that was as metaphorical as it was physical. The floors were slightly tacky.

A sour staleness hung in the air. It occurred to me that I had never been inside that heap of a place and wondered why I was. He told me that something had happened and that my sister had told him to look after me, while he led me to his room. None of that made sense, of course; but there i was looking at his dingy room.

A shabby unmade bed against the wall. He told me to sit down as he closed the door. I was ready to leave, wanted to; but I sat instead. He made small talk and asked me how my sister was; after just telling me he spoke to her. He coaxed me to lie back.

I was confused and resisted slightly. He pressed me slightly back and I gave in, yet again. He said while we wait. We should play a game. He placed a pillow on my face. I pulled it back; but again, gave in. I was scared now; but mostly of my own acquiescence.

I layed there feeling silly; as he rambled on. I then felt my belt buckle being worked. I jolted up, pillow sliding. He regained his control of me again. I lay there breathing nervously, as he worked my belt loose. I had never played “doctor” before or any of those “show you mine games”.

I was embarrassed. I remember screaming at myself to stop things; but I felt heat too, that I didn t understand then. Soft tingles too, as he gentle worked my pants down and off me. I remember pulling at them for a moment, gripping them; only to have them relinquished from me assertively. My hands returned to my sides gently. I felt weightless.

He moved my shirt up next to my neck. His hands slid back down over my nipples and It felt like a shock. I think my hips bucked slightly in response. He made a point to flick with his thumbs again. I saw lights flash and breathed wetly into the pillow.

It felt… like nothing I d ever felt before.. I had no idea what he had just done to me; but it felt amazing. I was vaguely aware of my …boy panties … being worked slowly down. It was the cool air, though it felt like a sauna in that room, on bare heated skin signifying I was fully exposed.

There was a sudden intake of breath and a groan from him. I know now it was a lust filled and yearning sound. I lay there for what felt like forever under my pillow. I could feel his eyes on me. I was embarrassed, ashamed to be so open to anyone like that; let alone him..at the time.

Now, as the submissiveness of the situation washes over me, I hope that he was pleased by what he saw. I think even then, a part of me did too. I sensed movement as he un dressed. The bed shifted suddenly as he mounted it, … prepared to mount me.

The pillow was suddenly pulled from me, wrenched away unceremoniously. What had been my undoing at first was now my last line of protection, something to hide behind. I looked up at him. His glasses gone. He had a chubby frame.

I glanced a hard thick dong. There was a moment; and then he was on me. I was already recoiling to push, fight and resist. His weight came down on me first as he necked me. I pushed back against him with all my might . He was much heavier but I was ready now finally to fight it.

We struggled until he finally swept my left arm away in frustration. My wrist thudded against the wall loudly. I was struck suddenly with the gentleness in his tone and concern when he thought he may have hurt me; even as he attacked me like wild animal.

My other hand slipped off his sweaty shoulder. His size did the rest we lay naked together as he ground and poked against me. I resigned to it angrily and awkwardly. Unsure of what I was supposed to do now. and sensing the same from him.

He slid and moaned against me. His shallow breathing.. in my ear.. “you re so soft..” I kind of remember him saying as he held my wrists.. and his cock kissed and rubbed into my belly button. I felt a sticky trail forming; but wasn t sure if it was my imagination or our mixing sweat.

I was still resisting as best I could, until his thick thighs pried mine apart surprisingly, masterfully. I wasn’t aware then being so caught up. I recall now how easily he opened me up to him. How my wanton thighs flew open to accept him. What a rush!

His body began to sync into an awkward humping rhythm. The old bed springs began to screech lewdly to his weight and mine. He kissed my neck, then my cheek; groaning that he’d been “waiting for this for so ling with me.

His weight caused my haunches to slap back at him. I was a confused wreck of emotions but I held on to him and his need for dear life, moaning with him. There was no penetration thank god. He sudenly stiffened. I again felt a sicky hot release from my neck to my belly. I wasn't entirely sure he disn't pee on me.

He slowed his pace. We lay there. He holding me; both of us breathless. Exertions cooling, my anger, confusion; now disgust with myself returning. A whirlwind of confusion of what just happened and how? All the storm that a trauma can bring . 

I didn t say a word as we dressed like lovers. He made more talk. I was silent. I know he was gaging me. He was worried of what I might do or say. I could read it now, thanks to him. He got what he wanted; my innocence. What's more I could tell he was worried because he wanted me back.

He tried to tell me in his own way that he wanted to see me again. He even gave me candy?!? And offered more of it to see him again. I was out the door and hoped he could see me smashing it on the street in front of his house. Im sure he did.

My walk of shame was a march. I got home and found the wetness of his cum clinging to my shirt, stainingthe length of it. Like a good catholic, I repressed it and resented; even hated Mike. I never told anyone; and fretted over my sexuality. Was I still “straight”? Did he “make” me gay.

The first time I made myself cum, though. It was to Mike; or the idea of him. I tied my own hands and played that way till I released. I began to look at the sluts in my friends porn mags; and imagine being one rather than be turned on by them.

I knew I was attracted to women; but he had awakened something inside me too, something fierce and dark. I was sexualized and saw myself; as if for the first time. . I looked in the mirror and saw that little bit of hip my babyfat gave me and a thick little bubble butt.

I wondered if thats what he saw when he’d watch me. I hated to think it; but the idea that I was just some naive cocktease all along: HIS cocktease. Well, the emotions and feelings were tumultuous. It wasn t long before I was fantasizing about being in situations I couldn’t control with actual men. I came hardest that way and the shame was devastating.

To this day screeching bed springs makes me think of one thing and I get incredibly hard. I began to Cd, slightly, sister’s panties and heels to give that thick little booty some lift off .

The first time a year or 2 later that I imagined going over to his house while dressed made me cum without touching myself. I was a wreck over it; but it became an idea I actually had to wrestle with not doing. The idea of showing up, strictly as a pleaser for this ..person. I probably have never processed him , it, properly.

What I do know is that for better or worse, Mike gave me eyes to see the world as it is and can be. I've processed as much as I can thru exploration and discovery, in life and sexually. I know its wrong and I d never idealize the memory; but Mike remains to this day as one of my most seething encounters with a woman or man. I still think of him; and yes longly when I do.

I wonder what I ‘d have become; if I’d gone back to him. I wonder now; even hope he thinks about me from time to time. I ve allowed myself finally for a few years now: to embrace what he has given me, to forgive him; and most importantly, myself. What he did was wrong; in ever way, but he still TURNS ME ON SIDE WAYS. For awakening this sexual demon inside me, I stroke to Mike with all my hate; but cum with all my love.