Dark Passengers Series

Dark Passenger: Volunteering for Molestation

Not until December 19, 1985, would I actually utter the words, “I am gay.” Interestingly enough, I’d be considered an “adult” at that time, just barely 18.

Between 15 and 18 years old, I plunged into the world of sex. My classmates spent their time experimenting with alcohol and weed, neither of which I even attempted at the time. Sex turned out to be my drug of choice.

Shoving my cock under stalls in bathrooms provided some satisfaction, but I am an analytical sort and I needed to understand what drove me into these situations. Satan? The Devil did actually turn out to be a leading contender.

You see, around this time, MTV came on the air. My father absolutely forbade cable television from ever coming into our home. But MTV did provide one good quality. For my parents, Satan moved from FM radio to MTV. I finally got my first clock radio.

In the years prior, the only music I was allowed on the JC Penney piece-of-shit my parents called a “stereo” was Barry Manilow and Christian music (including Christmas albums). I distinctly recall having to return the vinyl of Billy Joel to K-mart because my parents felt it as “inappropriate.” I did successfully get an Air Supply and Alan Parsons Project album in there somewhere.

In other words, my parents were very, very restrictive on my options.

The Internet didn’t exist. Deep within the thick white pages of our phone book, I did find the Gay and Lesbian Center of Atlanta. I would occasionally call and hang up. Eventually, I would speak with the “youth counselor” there.

I recall he was the first person to explain the mechanics of gay sex, including what a “blowjob” was. I didn’t understand where “blow” came from. Told you I was analytical.

In the end, this fucking pervert drove his nasty ass out to near my house. I biked to his location. How we found each other without cell phones still amazes me (then again, I lived just east of bumfuck in the middle of nowhere).

We walked into the woods and, I would say, he was probably the first man I officially fucked. Yes. If you were the “youth counselor” for the Atlanta Gay and Lesbian Center in 1982 or 1983, I was the kid who fucked you.

In his mind, it was all about “educating” me. He explained cleaning out and expelling the cum after it was shot in your hole. Condoms were never discussed.

My next experience with with a man in a black van. Yes. I crawled into a van with a man I’d just met in a Sears bathroom. I’d gotten his phone number off the bathroom wall.

I recall his cock as being huge. He had a lover and lived in downtown Atlanta. Somehow, I got out of the house one weekend and (as a 16 year old) drove to a store to meet him. He took me the rest of the way downtown.

After a dinner, we ended up at his place and I fucked his lover. I’ll never forget him in his jock, his legs behind his ears, begging for my cock. I was so much smaller than the black van man, who had a thick and long but a little limp 9 inches.

As I look back, I know it was stupid to put my trust into these men I never really knew. But my only method to find people was the phone book and bathroom wall.

Those two strangers probably define my memories from that time. One good (van guy) and one weird (counselor). As a teenager, too young to comprehend and too horny to stop myself, I continued to put myself into situations where older men would have sex with me.

 

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  1. How appropriate of them to let you listen to Barry Manilow… the man who got his start as Bette Midler’s piano accompanist in the gay bathhouses of the 70s 😀