Friday, March 4, 2011


In a hotel room that smelled of old cigarettes and Lysol she lay, supine upon a bed as flat and hard as sidewalk. She blinked and squinted in the axe-edge of light spread by the door opening to the afternoon sun. I caught a brief glimpse of her, pale in the dark, caught by the sudden intrusion of brightness like a theatergoer blinded by an usher’s torch. Beside her sat the man we’d come to meet. He and she both raised their hands against the light, exposing their palms and casting their faces into shadow.

Like her, he was naked. The hairs on his chest coiled like springs between his flaccid breasts. A layer of thick stubble covered his jowls. His knees were spread wide, exposing his dick in the shaft of light—rigid it was, and still wet, a curving stubby rod that seemed almost thicker than it was long. I balked at the sight, and stood motionless. “Christ, come in and shut the fucking door,” he barked.

Earl, my mentor, pushed me within, then closed the hotel door behind him. I heard him toss the key onto the table. My eyes were so bleached from the sunlight that in the near-darkness, I could see nothing. I felt Earl’s hands on my shoulders, guiding me forward. He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t need to. I knew what he was thinking, as surely as he knew my own mind. He’d realized how surprised I’d been at the sight of the female, when he’d unlocked the door and pushed me through. Another of Earl’s surprises, she was. Frightened as I was, I knew what Earl meant by that steadying grasp on my shoulders. He was there for me. And more importantly, I wouldn't be going anywhere.

I was fifteen. By this point I was firmly enthralled in Earl’s spell. Whatever he told me to do, I did without question. I put my legs into the air on command—not only for him, but for whomever he told me. I submitted to strange men blindfolded. Gagged. Collared. With my wrists and ankles restrained in a variety of creative and degrading ways. Until that point, though, all my sexual experiences in front of and away from Earl had been with men.

She was definitely not a man. She was curves, and hollows, and recesses hidden by overhanging limbs. I didn’t know what to make of her.

The strange man had risen from the bed at our entrance. I sensed, rather than saw, him shake hands with Earl. Then I felt a thick hand on my head that ran down my face and chest. It skipped down to my groin, and grabbed my dick and nuts in a way that almost made me yelp. Earl’s still-firm hold on my shoulders kept me from going anywhere, though. “The kid’s never fucked pussy, huh?” he asked.

“Nope.” Earl’s voice rumbled soft and low.

“You gonna get a piece?”

“Not today.” Earl managed to sound bored, but I knew his voice well enough to sense his voyeuristic anticipation. He let go of me and strode over to a spot in the darkness where I could hear the metal feet of a chair skid across the linoleum. “Just helping the kid pop his cherry.”

I still was having problem seeing anything in the room. I felt as if I’d been suddenly stricken blind with no hope of recovery. The pounding of my heart and the thickening of my blood from fear and panic probably wasn’t helping. I felt the man loom over me as he continued to squeeze painfully at my groin. “I thought you said he’d lost that a long time ago.”

“Not with a girl,” drawled Earl. From behind me, I heard the sound of his zipper.

The man’s hands were all over me at that point, squeezing at my nipples, grabbing my ass, poking and prodding my barely-concealed rib cage. “You ready to get your dick wet?” he leered, his spittle decorating my ear. As if I couldn’t do it myself, he tugged at my shirt to pop open the buttons, undid the snap of my corduroys. He yanked down my white briefs. With my shoes still on, my pants around my ankles and my shorts at my knees, there was no way I could do anything but fall face-forward onto the bed, humiliated.

I felt the man’s fingers jamming their way into my hole. Sparks danced before my eyes, but I didn’t protest. When I opened my lids again, I could see the vaguest of shapes and forms in the darkness. She lay on her back, head turned in my direction, watching my violation without expression. With the cover no longer covering her naked body, I could see how slim she was—long and skinny, like me. The man’s breasts were bigger than hers; save for obscenely plump nipples, her chest looked almost like a boy’s. I heard Earl’s chair shift, and felt then a pair of hands loosen free me of my shoes, and then my pants, and finally my underwear and socks. Then Earl sat back down again.

“Go for it,” the man commanded, shoving me forward. I rose onto my knees, understanding what I was supposed to be doing, but not really wanting to follow through. “You need a demo? Hell, I’ll show you how.”

I could see well enough by this point that I wasn’t at all surprised when the man stomped over to the bed’s far side. He grabbed the female’s ankle and yanked her to him, leaving her long brown hair in a trail where her body slid over the sheets. Without foreplay or preparation, he shoved himself inside, grinding into her with his fat dick. It was an obscene sight, closer to the unashamed necessity of wildlife animal sex than any of the lust-charged escapades in which I’d taken place.

She received him without protest, her eyes closed at the suddenness of his insertion. Then her lips parted in a moan. Her hips gyrated. Her back arched as she pushed forward to meet him with sexual desire. I watched him grunt into her for a little while until at last, grudgingly, he pulled away. “Your turn,” he informed me.

I wasn’t ready, not by any means. This wasn’t something I wanted. Still, I was aware that Earl was watching, and that Earl had brought me here for this purpose. I allowed the man to position me between the female’s open legs. His own dick was a steely, wet-tipped probe against my spine as he reached down and grabbed my cock, squeezing it lewdly to make it hard. It didn’t take much to make me hard, when I was fifteen. “That’s it,” he said in my ear. “I’ll guide you in.”

It took a few attempts until I found the sweet spot, even with him guiding me there. “She’s beautiful, huh?” he kept growling into my ear, as his fist pinched tight my cock’s head. “You want her bad, don’t you? She’s going to feel real good around that boymeat.”

I’d been so petrified from the moment I’d stepped into the hotel room that I honestly didn’t know if she was beautiful or not. I’d only seen naked women before in the pages of Playboy and Penthouse—painted women of exaggerated proportions, kneeling in Daisy Dukes in a pretend barn, or straddling an oversized glass of champagne, or wearing nothing but a pair of high heels and a good string of pearls. She was none of those things. She wore none of that makeup, had none of the props. Her face was somewhere between plain and pretty. Her hair was long and straight. But she was real, and waiting, and her eyes half-shut as at last I slid into her. I know my eyes closed, so I could shut out everything but the feelings.

The sensation wasn’t bad. If I’d been left to my own devices, I might have enjoyed it. But I had the man’s half-whispered urgings continuing in my ear, a constant radio station of filth and obscenity that never ceased. I had him poking me, shoving his fingers in my hole as I tried to move in and out of the warm wetness, telling me when to move faster, when to slow down. A couple of times he bodily lifted us, still connected, and repositioned us on the bed. Throughout it all, I could hear across the room the slight jingling of Earl’s belt buckle, as it bobbed up and down in time to his self-pleasure.

My dick tingled in a way it hadn’t before—not when I masturbated, not when I’d fucked Topher. It almost felt as if the flesh down there had melted away and left only phantom sensation behind, a prickling and a sense of heat that was unlike anything I’d ever felt. I wanted to see where that sensation would take me, but I didn’t get the chance. The man pulled me out of her and wrapped his hand around my meat, then beat it roughly, urging me to shoot. Pure mechanics powered that orgasm—the mere fact that he beat at a high enough speed with firm enough pressure guaranteed the hydraulic release. He jerked my body over the female’s, forcing me to spray my load over her tits, her face, her belly. Her eyes closed reflexively to keep out the flying semen. Her glance rested not at the man who’d mated me to her, but upon me.

I hadn’t looked at her during the exercise. I’d been worried that kind of intimacy might put me off, might make me lose my hard-on. Women laughed at men who lost their hard-ons, I’d heard. Her expression was hard to read.

Not that I had time. My body was still wracked with the aftershocks of the orgasm when the man shoved me down onto the rough sheets and wretched hardness of the cheap hotel bed. I felt the weight of him, then saw bright flashes of light as he shoved himself into me with very little lubrication. Then I endured the man’s brutal thrusts as he used and flooded my hole. It wasn’t pleasurable; he was rough and almost clumsy, but my body reacted as it always did when cock entered it—my own dick hardened again, my hips pushed up and out to accommodate the man, and I moaned. I wondered if her reaction had been the same—automatic, Pavlovian, almost—when he had fucked her for me.

When it was over, I felt as if I’d been battered, but my cock was rock-hard. She saw it. I almost felt ashamed.

She and I never spoke to each other. I didn’t learn her name. In a way I didn’t need to. We both knew each other for what we were, what we’d agreed to be, that afternoon: currency to be spent, to be passed between the man who held my bank book to the man who no doubt somehow held hers.


  1. This rates very high on the intensity scale, and higher yet on the disturbing scale. Gosh, buddy...

  2. RedPhillip,

    It seems as if a lot of stuff I write about the Earl years comes out on the disturbing side, to my readers.

  3. The experience you describe for yourself and what you suspect she felt coins itself, in my mind, as being numbed to one's personhood.

  4. Nick,

    I wouldn't disagree with you in the least.

  5. No matter how much I wish I'd had an Earl in my life - to some degree - I do agree with the assessment that this is disturbing, but not so much because of Earl. It is hard to pinpoint.

    There is a lack of personhood, but it seems less that you were lacking in personhood - you were just 15, and to some degree though you were afraid you were still becoming - but more so for the woman who had already become what she was.

    Knowing you as I feel I do, it isn't possible for me to imagine you demeaned in some way. Even if that was Earl's intention. Or maybe I see your life, no matter what bad experiences you've had, through a patina of rose because I know I see you through that same patina.

  6. Mr Steed, I guess the disturbing part, for me at least, comes from imagining myself in your situation and feeling like I would not have come through some - or most - of these experiences with anything resembling mental/emotional health. And yet you have manifestly come to your present self profoundly present to others, attuned to your self, possessed of great skills.

    Might I have worked my way through? Maybe so; after all, I survived my own childhood and youth - petri dish of psychopathology that is was - without successful suicide and at least somewhat capable of compassion, kindness, affection and maybe even love for fellow sentient beings. To explain many things I remind myself that the perversity of the universe tends to a maximum.

  7. I have no idea what to say...other than...well nothing comes to mind at the moment.
    ttyl dollface.

  8. It's not the 'first time' that I'd have wished for you - for you, I'd have wished something romantic, and passionate, and memorable for the joy it brought you.

  9. Extremely well-told- which may make how unnerving, how disturbing I found it all the more... distilled? Am looking for the right word.

    What strikes me as so unnerving is the lack of empathy on the man's part (and Earl's?); there's just some shards, from what I read, flickering between you & the woman, underneath what must be a rough history on her part.


  10. Yeah, "disturbing" is definitely a word that well describes my reaction to the experience you describe here. Heart-rending, actually.

    But as a writer - oh my friend, what a final sentence. You once again find the unimpeachably perfect image to perfectly capture the deep truth of this experience. The metaphor of the bank books is profoundly right.

  11. That was quite a post. It reminded me of reading the first chapter of Lovely Bones. The knot in my stomach and sense of fear for the victim, which no matter how willingly you participated -- was abusive. Was there a point afterwards that you began to take stock of your relationship with Earl? Did you confide with anyone at the time that offered you comfort or advice? I'm amazed that you had the coping skills to process all of this at such annually age and in many ways, am sorry that you had to.

  12. Meant to say early, not annually. Fucking alpha match software!

  13. Beautifully written were abused...Karma is gonna have a FIELD DAY with this 'Earl' creature...

  14. As usual, your descriptions and writing allow us to see more than just an abusive situation as an account in the newspaper but to help understand that sometimes, people are willing participants. This doesn't serve to release Earl or the large breasted man from any guilt they should have, it just adds to our understanding of that situation.

    It would be interesting to read the story from the female's point of view. I wonder if she has turned her experiences from those days into a a fairly normal life with a healthy sexual appetite for some lucky husband, or if the man with the short fat dick ruined her.

  15. Writer,

    It's tough to make a call of whether a 15-year-old is his own person, at that age. Or at least, what version of his collection of quirks and traits he's going to be. I think this excursion was valuable not so much for where it showed me to stick my dick, as for showing me an extreme I suspected I did not want to become.

  16. RedPhillip,

    I think we all have our own amazingly disturbing incidents from our childhoods that we've had to overcome in order to reach these particular paths on our journeys.

    I'd prefer mine, overall, to some of the more treacherous roads I could've been dragged down.

  17. Orodrigu,

    Much love, and thanks!

  18. Richard,

    No, perhaps not. But it was instructional.

  19. M.B.,

    At least the parts I meant to be disturbing, people are reading as disturbing. There's some consolation in that.

    I wish I'd been better able to integrate another point I wanted to make, which would have been that although often our will does not want to follow, our bodies betray us to a point that we become willing participants in things we might ordinarily eschew.

    Yes, I used the word 'eschew' at 9:15 in the morning.

  20. Jonking,

    Thanks. I think the metaphor works better as part of the overall Earl meta-story—which I began with 'The Bank Book' and which ends with his surrender of the bank book itself—than it did within this little episode. But I was trying!

  21. Loki,

    I am writing to you from beyond the grave, too! What a coincidence!

    I didn't seek comfort at the time because I wasn't really aware of needing it. I probably write these Earl chapters with an adult awareness of how one-sided the relationship actually was. At the time, I was aware of the imbalance, though I might not have acknowledged it.

    But I kept going back day after day for more when I didn't have to. On some level I liked—and got a lot of sexual satisfaction out of—the increasingly outre situations in which he put me.

  22. Itz,

    I am the last person to believe in blaming a victim, but in my case, much culpability lay with me as well—for consenting, for returning for more, and for allowing it to escalate. In some ways karma might've already had a go at me for my role in these things. I like to think I'm making atonement by shining the light a little more on these moments in the dark.

  23. JFBreak,

    Thanks for getting the point about willing participants, because that's certainly one of the many issues with which I grappled, here.

    Language is such a hefty beast to try to tame!

  24. Those are times when a young man just needs to get in touch with his inner-animal-for-stud. No point fighting it when people want to use you for obscene copulation (I always say). Pump a load and hope you don't get the strange lady pregnant. Or better, pray to God that the pervert top man secretly sucks out in the dark all of one's hot teen sperm before it gets a chance to swim too far up into no-tell motel twat.

  25. wow!
    i wish i could hug you right now.
    just to let you know you are not alone
    and to let me know i am not alone either.

  26. Very interesting. What an usual world we're living in... How old do you think the girl was?

    Nate S.

  27. Mr. GHJ,

    Funny, but contraception seemed to be the last thing on anyone's mind in that particular situation.

    Actually, I remember burning with shame and fear for about a week after the incident, worrying that I might have knocked her up and wondering how I'd explain THAT one to my dad. After what he already knew about me, though, the news might have come as some relief.

  28. Gingerbeard (your name always makes me hungry when I misread it),

    I would accept that hug. I think its purpose would be more to comfort you, though, at this point. Thank you.

  29. Nate,

    It's tough to say, when I didn't ask any questions.

  30. I know you post these bits about your past for our consumption and that baring ones history for the opinion of the (mostly) faceless masses of the internet is something I don't think I could ever be able to do. If the following commentary seems a little "off", I apologize in advance because, well... I don't really know what the protocol is for commenting on what sounds to be a traumatic experience for someone.

    It's the part where you and the girl were being treated like hunks of meat, simply to be passed around and used without any concern for your opinion and probably even less concern for your well being. That part for me was extremely erotic and turned me on like whoa. But that's the part of my brain that's trying to register it as fiction and that, in the end, nobody really had to "suffer" in the position of the characters in the tale.

    Alas, it isn't fiction, and therein lies my worry that my interest in you being treated the way you were by Earl is not what you were remotely hoping for.

    Long story short: I would've been willing to tolerate the terrible fashion sense that was inflicted upon the people of the 70's if I had an opportunity to be in your exact same position back then because, fuck, that was hot. Perhaps I'd regret saying that because I wouldn't have the same emotional/mental fortitude that you do, but never the less, I hope you don't feel offended about how this post made me feel.

  31. Daryl,

    I'm really kind of touched that you spent a lot of effort being diplomatic about telling me you found a post erotic.

    If I'd wanted to write a piece exposing the dangers and woes of human trafficking, I probably could've done so without the sex. But I was trying to get the uneasy combination of the sexual, the erotic, and the queasy. That you responded to them all only tells me I succeeded.

    So thank you. I think you would seriously regret having made that wish if you'd seen the maroon velvet bell-bottoms I wore in 1975, however.

  32. Finding this one kinda late, but it's not stale.

    Despite the fact that you survived the encounter, I think that it absolutely WAS an instance of gross abuse, and continued corruption of a minor. For a 15 year old to have sex on his own with someone he has feelings for is one thing, but this was entirely different. You and the woman were being used in a completely immoral fashion.

    You went along with it, but, heck, you were 15 years old with the hormones of a 15 year old. You bear no responsibility, in my opinion, for the tawdry way Earl and especially Earl's friend abused you.

  33. Pat,

    I get what you're saying. I don't disagree with you.

    At the same time, as one of the participants, it's tough to shake some sense of responsibility. I don't like to think of myself as a minor who'd been corrupted (and if you'd called me that in my teens, I would've resented it just as much).

    From a legal standpoint, sure. But it sounds so joyless, and my corruption then was a hell of a lot of fun for the most part, and I ran toward it with wide-open arms.

    However, joyless kind of sums up my own viewpoint about this particular encounter. I went along with it because Earl wanted me to, and because I knew he thought it would be good for me--and because I knew it would give him pleasure. The fact is, however, that I went along with it even though I could pretty easily have stopped seeing him without consequence. I can't be absolved altogether.

  34. So very mechanical, technical, such that 'technically' you lost your M/F virginity, but did you really? I would say not. You were not acting on your own and the both of you were simply tools to the other men's lusts. How can that really qualify as 'popping your cherry?'
    P.S. This just makes me think of lots of questions about Earl, too.