 |
|||
|
|
This is the somewhat-true, somewhat-embellished story of my perverse sexual life. Some of the activity was probably illegal, though all was consensual except for the episodes in Chapter 1, "Pink Belly," and Chapter 2, "Co-Op Candy."
I certainly don't condone pedophilia, though we in the United States have an unnatural fear of childhood sexuality and much more is healthy and normal than we let on. How many of us had sexual experiences as kids that we would NEVER tell our parents about, and perhaps that, even years later make us blush--and make us hot as we remember? Most of us, I imagine.
When I was a kid, say from the age 9 or so, I was turned-on almost constantly. It was as if my whole body were a sexual organ receptive to sensual stimulation. Freud called this "polymorphous perversity," and I was (and am) certainly a Perv.
1) PINK BELLY
My earliest sexual memories revolve around innocent childhood sadomasochism--and sadomasochism is the prevailing theme of this story. In my neighborhood on Long Island we engaged in a practice known as 'pink belly'. Oddly enough, for all my years of reading bondage and S&M erotica on the web, I've never seen or read any reference to it. Administering a pink belly entailed two or three or four boys capturing another boy (I can't remember any girl victims; maybe at that age--about 8 to 11 years of age-- we just had nothing to do with girls outside of school.) The victim would be wrestled to the ground and held immobile by several of the boys. A boy who wasn't on limb-constraint duty would pull up the victim's shirt and pull down his trousers to bare the tenderest part of his belly. Then the tormentor would start slapping the victim's belly, at first gently but then with ever-increasing intensity. Soon the victim's howls of protest would turn to howls of pain as the belly-spanking started to smart. The slapping might go on for several minutes--until the victim's belly had turned hot pink. Then the flushed, humiliated and sore victim would be released from captivity. Sometimes he would go off in a huff, maybe even crying. Sometimes he would join with the rest of the mob in spontaneously assaulting another victim. Interestingly, I can't remember parents ever being told about the pink belly assaults, as if we all knew it was somehow shameful and forbidden and not to be talked about; very much like female rape victims for years did not talk about their own suffering; for Pink Belly was a kind of rape.
For me the times of the Pink Belly carried a particularly delicious ambiguity. I loved administering a good Pink Belly, but I also loved receiving one. I loved the attention, the humiliation. I loved being stripped, held down and hurt. I was a very big and strong boy, larger by far than all my friends. Probably at any time I could have broken away from my assailants and done some real damage in self-defense. But I never did that. I always allowed myself to be taken and tormented. I had for years been teased for being overweight, and maybe that made my stripping all the more exciting--my skinny little playmates could see my shamefully-jiggling flesh, and the slaps of their hands rang through the neighborhood with my fat body as an oversized soundingboard. In fact, because I was so fleshy the boys often extended my pink bellies all the way up my chest to my large, soft breasts. They would twist my nipples, call me a girl and wail away. I would often rise up in tears from one of these punishment sessions, but I was also secretly proud of my suffering and of the fact that my friends showed me so much attention. I couldn't run as fast as they could or climb as high, but I could suffer better than most, and suffering physical torment became my specialty (along with administering torment, of course--because I was the big guy I was also one of the primary tacklers and holders of other victims.) The Pink Belly era continued until I was about 10. It overlapped by about a year the summer of the Co-Op Candy incident; and soon thereafter began the glorious years of "Naked T."
|
|
|