[Meta: No actual sex in this chapter, but there will be in subsequent chapters]
It was the Winter of 1974. I was 18 years old and a high school Senior. I had transferred from another school (hundreds of miles away) for my Senior year--for reasons that have no bearing to the story--and partly as a result of that, I had essentially no friends, only acquaintances. Other reasons for that included the fact that I was a nerd: Best chess player in the school's chess club, captivated by foreign languages and linguistics, and not interested in sports, nor in girls...you get the picture. I was also generally oblivious to any sexual/romantic interests that others--of either sex--might have had in me, although I had been hit on rather blatantly a (very) few times during my school years. I rejected every advance. Physically, I was not ugly, not fat, but also not buff nor well-endowed. I apparently wasn't so bad that absolutely no one was interested.
Here's what went down: I was standing at my gym locker, getting dressed after 3-rd period gym class. The architecture of the dressing room allowed all the students a clear view of everyone who was showering. I happened to sweep my gaze over the students who were showering, and noticed that one of them was exceptionally well-endowed--the second most impressive male genitalia I have ever seen in person. I had not noticed this student before, and his impressive size seduced me into staring at him a tad longer than I should have.
Yes, I had that problem, and I knew it. Nevertheless, I did not think of myself as 'gay.' Yes, I had sexual fantasies involving other guys, but I also had sexual fantasies involving females--and far more of those than I had involving males. I had absolutely NO desire to be seen as gay by anyone--the socio-cultural stigma against it was strong and fierce at the time, even in the relatively liberal city where the school was located.
I attributed my interest in impressive male genitalia to my own modestly-sized equipment. It was envy, and also curiosity regarding just how (less than) "average" I was in that department. At least that's what I told myself. It's not that either of those excuses weren't the truth; it's that that narrative was a lie by omission.
Hung Dude was toned but not buff, had relatively short (for the era) blonde hair (but not a crew cut,) a relatively handsome face (not exceptional,) and was about average in height (no more than an inch taller than me.)
Very soon after I noticed him, he began to play with his dick. That earned him not just my focused attention, but that of some of the other students. He noticed, and responded by doubling-down on jacking his dick. I got the sense that he was challenging anyone to object to what he was doing. One of the other guys who also had a rather large dick decided to copy him, but in a way that made it obvious that he was mocking Exhibitionist Dude.
When that didn't put a stop to the show, the second guy said (clearly addressing Exhibitionist Dude,) "I can do that too," as he also jacked his own dick in an exaggerated, mocking way, staring at Exhibitionist Dude menacingly. That, and the fact that the entire body of students in the dressing room were all now staring at the Exhibitionist Dude, finally made him stop.
So we all went back to getting dressed. Although I had enjoyed the show, I didn't think much of it as I left the gym and headed to the school cafeteria for lunch. In the cafeteria, I selected my food from what was on offer, and sat down by myself at one of the tables where no one else was sitting--my usual procedure. It wasn't long before Exhibitionist Dude sat down at my table, right across from me. He was staring daggers at me.
I just looked at him, I imagine like a deer caught in the headlights. He didn't say anything at first, just looked at me like I was a bug that he intended to crush. Although I didn't believe I had done anything wrong, I nevertheless knew that he apparently believed otherwise. And of course, that's exactly what he thought.
[Meta: Please excuse the fact that the dialog is in relatively formal English--it's the way I speak normally, and although it was NOT the way the other people in this story spoke, the events occurred so long ago now that I only remember the gist (the concepts, not the words) of what they said, which I just naturally express using my formal way of speaking]
Finally, he spoke: "Why?"
I knew what he was asking, but I decided to reject any responsibility, so I answered, "That's a good question. Why did you decide to put on an exhibition of your talent at masturbating yourself?"
His immediate response: "Why did you decide to watch?"
My answer: "If you didn't want me--and everyone else--to watch, why did you decide to put on a show?"
His response: "Because you were staring at me; at my dick. And you were doing that BEFORE I decided to mock you by jacking myself. Why were you staring, dude? Do you think I'm a freak? Or do you just like shaming guys with big dicks? Because yours isn't?"
He was right: I had been staring at his dick, although I had had no idea that he had seen me doing that. As for having any desire to embarrass or shame him (or anyone else) for their sexual endowment (no matter how major or minor,) I had never done any such thing, had no such intent, and never will. But the accusation to the contrary triggered me, and made me feel guilty and defensive.
So, I replied: "I would never shame anyone for their body. I don't think you have any need to be ashamed of yours. Probably less than most of the other guys at the school, to be honest."
His reply: "So you say. Nevertheless, what you did caused me a great deal of shame and embarrassment. You owe me."
After thinking that over, and hoping to de-escalate the situation, I replied: "I'm the one who's ashamed, every time I have to undress in front of others. I wish I had been blessed with a body like yours. That's the main reason I was staring at you. I'm envious of what you have. You should be proud--but not so proud that you make things worse by putting on a show like you did."
He reacted by raising his right eyebrow, and giving me a look that suggested he had something in mind.
He said, "I see. Tell ya what, I, and several of my friends, we were gonna beat your ass to a pulp after school. Maybe we still will--if not today, then eventually. We know you walk to and from school, instead of taking the bus. We'll eventually find you.
But I'd like to offer you another way out. But I don't want to discuss that here. Meet me after school, at the main entrance. And don't worry, it will be just you and me: There are far too many people at the main school entrance for me and my friends to dare going after you there. Don't be late or fail to show--I won't offer you this other option after today."
Well, that didn't sound good. I wasn't all that afraid of him by himself, but I knew I would be no match for a group. So I decided I should at least hear him out: I agreed to meet him after school, at the designated place.
After my last class of the day got out (French,) I headed to the main school entrance. I had that feeling of pending doom in my stomach while I walked. He wasn't there when I got there. That made me feel even more nervous and anxious, for some reason. Was I perhaps late? Checking the school clock just inside the entry hall, I convinced myself that I was almost certainly not late.
After about another 3 minutes, Exhibitionist Dude finally showed up. He actually apologized for being late: He had had to call off his friends from coming for me.
At that point, I realized that I didn't even know his name. I raised that issue. He answered, "Eric Svalberg" (not his real name.) He asked for my name, so I told him: "John Thomas" (not my real name, either.)
He then suggested that we walk away from the school a bit, in order to have some privacy. Once we were about 150 feet down the sidewalk towards a cross street, Eric started his pitch:
"So, you're fascinated by my dick. You wish it could be yours, yeah? Well, I have an idea for how you could not only get what you want, but also earn my forgiveness for causing me so much shame and embarrassment. You might even be glad to go along with what I'm about to suggest, but even if you're not, you would probably prefer it to the alternative."
I was not so naive that I didn't suspect where he was probably going with that. But if I were wrong, I didn't want to give him any ideas, so I replied simply:
"I'm listening."
He didn't respond right away. It seemed as though he was trying to find the words to express his proposal, or perhaps gin up the courage to speak of it. Or both. But finally, he began:
"I'm guessing you don't have a girlfriend."
That made it seem to me more likely that I knew where this was going. But I replied: "No."
"Have you ever had one?", he continued.
"No," I answered.
"Have you ever had sex?"
OK, he's gonna go there. But I answered truthfully, "No."
"Do you fantasize about it?"
"Uh...yeah." I was getting a little embarrassed.
"So, why don't you have a girlfriend? And why haven't you had sex? Perhaps you don't realize it, but you could get a girlfriend if you really wanted one. And I know from experience--my own, and that of my friends--that most girlfriends want to have sex with their boyfriends, and you'd be no exception."
Honestly, that is not what I believed about myself at the time. I now know that he was right, but at the time I was very dismissive of myself physically. And that's why I was too shocked by what he said to have any immediate response.
He apparently took my silence to imply something else, though:
"Have you ever fantasized about having sex with a guy?" And there it was.
(As I mentioned already,) I had, but I didn't want to admit that. But I took too long to come up with how I wanted to respond to that question, so he continued:
"Are you gay? Is that why you were staring at me? Because you're sexually frustrated? You're not interested in girls, but are afraid to make a pass at any of the guys that you've been lusting after? Due to fear of rejection? Of being exposed?"
Silence; I was too conflicted to respond, because I had been lusting after (some) guys, including him--even though I hadn't been consciously admitting that to myself.
So Eric continued:
"I wouldn't reject you, John. Even though I'm not gay.
Even better, if you'd agree to let me fuck you, you wouldn't have to experience getting 'fucked over' the other way. It would be a win-win situation: You'd get out of a severe beating, and I'd get to have far more sex than any girlfriend has ever been willing to give me."
I had only been expecting him to ask for a single sex act--and I had been seriously considering agreeing to that--but with those words, I realized that he was angling for an open-ended commitment to let him fuck me whenever he wanted.
After a minute of stunned silence, I finally found my voice:
"Holy fuck! Are you serious?"
We stood there, looking at each other. The idea of what he was proposing began to stimulate my libido, but not so that I was aware of that fact at a meta-level (I didn't self-reflect about it just then, although I was are of the arousal.)
He finally said, "Yes, I am. Very serious. Look, you probably think my size means that I can get all the sex I might want. Not true. Not true at all: Girls typically see me as too large, once they see me nude for the first time. They don't want to actually let me fuck them; at most--with a few exceptions--they're only willing to suck my dick, or even to just give me a hand job. I've actually had better luck with guys."
That shocked me. He saw it in my face:
"Don't be so shocked. You'd be surprised how many guys will let me fuck them--although, usually, just once. There have been a few exceptions. And those are the ones that have let me learn how to break them in so that they can accommodate my size, and take my fuck. That applies to both boys and girls--but more to boys than girls.
But I've lost contact with all of my willing fuck boys and girls; most of them were students at the high school I had been attending before I transferred here for my Senior year [I found out later that he had transferred from a different high school in the same city.] And the one guy here moved away at the end of last semester: His father was in the military, and got transferred overseas.
So I'm actually eager to have you as my fuckboy. And I promise you, I have very strong reasons to want you to like having me fuck you. I want you to want it, because that's the only way I'll be able to keep you.
I know what I'm doing, John. And this is your chance to find out whether the sex you fantasize about, and the guys you lust after, are what you really want.
You weren't planning on going through life as a virgin, were you? Having fantasies you could never actually experience for real? I'm offering you that chance to solve that problem--and avoid a beatdown, at the same time."
While he had been monologuing, I had been doing some thinking. One thought that occurred to me was that he really wanted me for sex, more than he wanted revenge. It was more than a little flattering. It also meant that there was room for negotiation. So, I responded:
"Fantasy is not the same as actual experience: What if, after trying sex with a guy--with you--I find that I actually hate it? Is there some minimum requirement I could meet, without getting beaten up?"
At that, he grinned. And replied: "I think we can work something out. But, based on my experience, I'm very confident that I can win you over. For now, I'll agree to defer final judgement on your case, if you'll agree to come home with me, so we can start to get you on the path to being a fuckboy that any guy would love to have. What I have in mind for today would not involve any actual fucking. What do you say?"
After thinking that over, I replied: "What, exactly, do you have in mind for today?"
"Hmmmm....I think the best first step would be for you to just give me handjobs until my parents get home."
He looked at his watch. "That won't be for at least 2 and a half hours."
I looked into his eyes, and saw sincerity. So I agreed, and we proceeded by foot towards his house. Like me, he lived close enough to the school, so that he could just walk, no bus required.
