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+--- Thread: Steve (/showthread.php?tid=174)
Steve - WMASG - 11-15-2025
I grew up in Greenfield, Indiana, which is part of Indianapolis. I went to s pretty large high school, and I knew there had to be other gay guys, but I had no way to know who, or the guts to try to find out. I had few friends and spent most of my time at home alone. I tried to hide what I was.
When I went into middle school, and had to change and shower, it was hell and heaven, both, at the same time. Before the first month was over, I was popping wood all the time in there. I couldn't help it. The weirdest thing was that when I did, almost everyone else did, too. I started to think that maybe it was normal. But on days when I didn't, it seemed like nobody else did. I noticed that. One day I wasn't all hard, but I thought about the bodies and dicks around me and made it hard, and by the end of showers, there were so many hard dicks again, it was like a plague.
On nearly the last day of high school, in the gym showers, Paul S. pushed me around and called me a fag, and I was just so fucking sick of it. I knew I was, and I'd hidden it for so long. I'd known since I was a little boy. The floor was wet, and I ended up slipping and falling on my ass. It hurt like hell. Worse was that I was on the floor and he was standing in front of me all naked and wet from the showers. I stared at his dick in front of me like a complete moron and I got hard before I even got back on my feet.
"You're a fucking faggot!" he yelled at me.
Like I said, I knew, and I was sick of pretending and hiding it. In a few days, high school would be over and I wouldn't have to deal with these assholes ever again.
"So the fuck what?" I yelled back.
"You're not even going to deny it?" he asked, all surprised and shit.
I stood up, carefully, with a sore ass.
"NO! I'm not. I am. I'm gay!"
I screamed it.
I turned and walked away, hoping that he wouldn't jump me from behind. He didn't, and I got to my locker safely. I dressed. No one talked to me. I didn't have many friends anyway. Hell, I didn't have any. I knew I was gay, so I kept to myself.
I wasn't talked to all day, which wasn't a big surprise. I wasn't talked to all through high school. Nearly no one had talked to me all four years of high school. I was pushed around a lot, and beaten up a lot. I stayed to myself as much as I could.
On the last day, at the end of the day, I was walking home. Four guys from the other end of my lunch table came up to me. It felt wrong.
They were nice, talking to me and smiling at me. They wanted to know how much guts it took to admit to being gay. Especially in the showers, naked, on the floor, big, tall, powerful Paul S. standing over me with a rager.
I told them it wasn't anything big. It just happened. They kept asking me questions. How long did I know I was gay? Did I have sex with anyone yet? Did I know anyone else who was gay? Did I like anyone? They smiled and seemed nice. It felt wrong.
They said they had wanted to talk to me before, but were too shy to before then. Now, with high school over, they wanted to talk to me before we all went to colleges or moved away and they never had the chance to.
It just felt wrong.
We got to the alley by the liquor store, and they grabbed me. One of them held my mouth closed so I couldn't open it to yell for help.
I was skinny, always was. I was wimpy, too. And I was swishy. You know, effeminate. Even one of them could have done what he wanted to me. All four of them had no problem.
They took me through a steel door into a dark building. Light came in one window, a shaft cutting through the dust suspended in the air which was being disturbed by our violent, noisy entrance. It shone down on the floor, littered with junk and trash. Old machines, covered in dust and cobwebs and a few counters and tables were all the things that remained from some time long past. I noticed all that as if it mattered and I wasn't being hauled in there to be beaten. I was thrown on a table or bench, something, and held down. I suddenly realized that they weren't going to beat me up. At least, not first. I was face down, and the light from the window was slanted across the floor nearly in front of me; it was sort of photogenic. I sort of felt apart. It was weird. I stopped fighting and gave up.
Someone shoved their dick in my mouth and said if I bit on it he would break my neck. He told me to suck it like the faggot I was, and if I did a good job to all of them, they might let me live.
I didn't give a fuck.
It was the first dick I had ever experienced, so I experienced it. He shoved it in too far and too often, but I did the best I could. I even sort of liked it. I liked how he smelled. That sort of drove me on.