by Ned Williams
To sum up – I was about to enter a world where real fears added sauce to a diet of suspicion and hysterical glee.
And, if you will forgive a small observation; for as long as I could remember, I knew there was something ‘different’ about me – even before my father decided to use me as his personal sex toy. Let there be no mistake about that! I was fully aware of my natural desires from as far back as I could remember. With my father, what upset me was not what I was forced into doing with him – quite the reverse. I felt completely comfortable and at home with the actual act. It felt so natural. What I did resent was the fact that I was doing it with my father. This is what I knew was wrong and it discomforted me. My father didn’t turn me ‘gay’. I will never be convinced of any argument to the contrary. What he did manage, however, was to rob me of any chance to grow up and to realise my own sexual proclivities. I was denied the opportunity to choose my lifestyle in my own way and in my own time. He robbed me of my innocence. It was for this reason that I found it difficult to forgive him. This, I believe, was the greatest sin he committed. I should have been guided in my search for identity and not forced into accepting gay sex before I was ready. I should have been given the time to explore and enjoy my childhood – to discover, gently, my feelings but my father decided otherwise and denied me this priceless gift. Indeed another ten years had to pass before I could bring myself to treat him with civility.
Yes, I deliberately sought revenge for what my father had done. I wanted someone – anyone – everyone, to pay. All my naïve thoughts became naïvely obsessive. How, I wondered could I achieve it? I had no idea – until, a chance encounter.
By now I was about twelve years old. Although my voice had yet to break – I was in the school choir as a strong alto – I could manage a mild sexual thrill from masturbating. (Old habits are hard to break – especially pleasurable ones.) Come to think of it, it’s a wonder I wasn’t put off sex for life. Trying to equate love–making and illicit intrigue could have wrecked any chance for healthy, loving relationships and ruined my whole future. Perhaps this might have been my fate if it hadn’t been for a dear family who helped me more than I can say. But, more of them later. Let me turn to the event that gave me the clue in assisting me in my determination to exact revenge.
A First, Tentative Step
The circumstance of my first sexual encounter, away from home, came like the proverbial bolt out of the blue. I was out on one of my many solitary rambles. On these jaunts, I tended to mind my own business – in a world of my own. It was a self–sufficient world, known only to those kids without brothers or sisters. I was neither looking for, nor thinking about, anything in particular. There was certainly no expectation that fate was about to cast a hulking great big boulder into my placid little pool. When it did, the ripples it caused gave me the vital clue for that which I had been searching. This intervention of fate has been the pattern of my life ever since. When I am looking for something or someone, it or they never arrive – but, when I am engaged in urgent matters or just plain short of time, all the opportunities of the world consort happily together to find me out. I am sure you know exactly what I mean. It seems to be the way of the world – ‘Sods Law!’
Now, I don’t intend this account of my life to be a series of detailed sexual revelations to titillate and drool over, but I should recount this first encounter in some detail – not that there are too many details to be had. It was a very ‘Brief Encounter’, but it taught me what could be achieved once I knew the score. There is also another interesting nugget of information to be gleaned from the experience, namely, the clarity of the event. I shudder to think how many people I have been with. Most of the names, faces and places, merge together into an homogeneous whole, thus making it difficult to disentangle most of them. There have been so many, I have forgotten far more than I could possibly remember – but this – I will carry every detail, every scrap of it, to my deathbed.
It was a baking hot day and my jaunt had taken me into the surrounding countryside. There was a particular spot, which I loved. It was an arcane medium sized, thickly wooded copse of decaying vegetable matter whose age forced the massive trees to give a densely canopied half light. Even so, there were plenty of scattered clearings to be found, each fringed by low shrubs. Very few people visited the place as it was a bit of a walk from the main road. There was one particular pool of light that I favoured. There I would sit for hours in this blissful spot, listening to the birds singing and watching the squirrels playing their elegant games. Whilst I watched these animals, I indulged in flights of imagination. I pictured myself as the observed animal, wondering what it would be like to be that creature.
On this particular afternoon, during my school summer holiday, I was parked in my clearing and sitting on my favourite log. I was surprised when the pair of magpies I had been enjoying, launched themselves from the floor of the wood, and settled in a nearby tree. I hadn’t made any sudden sound or movement and wondered what had spooked them.
I waited, straining my ears to catch any unusual sounds. Nothing. There was no noise except the clattering of a distant tractor and, out of sight, a gang of crows having a spirited argument. The magpies seemed reluctant to return. All was still. The wildlife appeared to have gone on a sudden sabbatical. I watched the magpies fly further up into the tree cover. Still, nothing happened – then – I heard a deliberate movement in the undergrowth. At first I thought a cow, belonging to the local farmer, had broken down the perimeter fence and wandered into my little sanctuary. This often happened. Many times I had my childhood meditations rudely interrupted by these bovine clowns. There was another noise. I listened. The crunching sound and movement was too deliberate to be my lowing friends. The noise stopped and I strained to hear more but everything was silent. The next thought that crossed my mind was that another person had entered the wood. As this was an exceptionally rare event, I dismissed the idea almost immediately as being too fanciful.
“It’s a nice day,” came a disembodied voice from behind me. I started at the sudden sound and jumped to my feet. Turning to face the direction from where I thought the voice emanated, I tried to see who had spoken. I felt a little angry. An alien had invaded what I considered to be my private domain.
“Who’s there?” I called, trying to show my irritation. A man came out of a particularly dense clump of bushes to my right. Because of the leaf and tree cover, the exact direction of the voice had fooled me. I thought he was terribly old – although he could have been no more than about twenty–five. Well, let’s face it, to a twelve year old, anyone over fifteen was pretty ancient. He had a mop of straight black hair and was clean-shaven. His large eyes were smiling and kind. This was the sort of person who would have put anyone at their ease the moment they flashed a smile. And so it was with me. I succumbed to that smile and was put warmly and totally at ease.
He must have seen my look of surprise and annoyance. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” I was still attempting to recover my shattered composure. When you think you’re alone you are inclined to do stupid things like talking to yourself, clowning around, or making strange, silly noises. I was desperately trying to remember if I had been so compromised and if he could have been standing there long enough to observe. His next remark made me even more at ease.
“I was just passing when I wanted to have a piddle. I saw this wood and I was looking for somewhere private to perform.” He smiled that special smile again. His teeth were so white. “I was just as startled at finding someone here as you seemed to be at being discovered.”
“That’s all right.” His whole manner made me feel completely relaxed. I grinned back, which seemed to please him.
Resuming my seat on my log, I told him that the place was very quiet and he could relieve himself without fear of interruption. (This is a paraphrase of my remarks. I, naturally, didn’t use such a sophisticated vocabulary.) He nodded his head in agreement and thanked me. I watched him as he walked to the edge
of my private clearing and was a little puzzled when he didn’t continue out of sight. In full view, he made himself ready to perform his duty. I must confess to being rather shocked. I didn’t know where to look. At that moment the crows must have decided to declare all out war, for they began kicking up such a racket, even my new–found friend commented on their rasping conversation.
“Noisy little buggers, aren’t they?” He was busy looking down at himself as he relieved his bursting bladder. As he appeared to be engrossed in his bodily functions, I used his preoccupation to turn my head for a reply and have a quick gawp at his private area. The only adult penis I had seen up until that moment was my father’s and I was curious as to whether all grown–ups had large ones. He still wasn’t looking in my direction, so I stared longer than would have been considered seemly. I discovered that, if what I now saw was true, all adults appeared to have very big ones. The one I now surveyed, even in its current flaccid state was larger and more bulky than my father’s. I felt inadequate. Mine was still unformed. His piddle–trickle was beginning to run down and I watched it stop. He suddenly turned his head and looked directly at me. He must have caught my inquiring stare at his crutch. For one of those interminable split seconds, our eyes locked. (How familiar that eye lock was to become – that look which spoke silent volumes of recognition!) Yet again, there came the easy smile. I hastily looked away. Had he seen my curiosity? I felt embarrassed.
“It’s a nice place here. Is it your favourite spot?” He spoke these words with natural warmth. I could almost see the charming smile on his lips but I kept my eyes averted in case he saw me staring.
I ventured another swift glance in his direction. “It’s one of my very…” I never finished the sentence as I saw that he hadn’t moved from the edge of the clearing and was gently rubbing his exposed member. I watched, trying to be a little subtle about it. I failed spectacularly. He turned his face towards me and this time, my unabashed staring could not be hidden. Yet again, I quickly turned away. Once he had registered I had seen his blatantly growing excitement, he apologised, and made a production number of putting it away and zipping up. This was plainly for my benefit.
“I always get an erection when I have a pee,” he grinned. “It’s got a mind of its own. One day, you’ll have the same problem. Anyway, sorry, again.”
“That’s all right.” I said, having quite enjoyed seeing his knob growing.
He came over towards me. “Mind if I sit down?”
I moved to one side of my log to make room for him. “No.”
There then followed a long conversation, which centred on my interests and me. He was totally absorbed in my everyday, mundane life. Naturally, I left out my sexual experiences. This man was the first person that had ever shown any interest in what I did, had to say or how I thought. I opened up to him and told him many things I’d never mentioned to anyone else. My favourite toy, my favourite radio programme, my favourite school lesson – things of that kind. He was brilliant. Asking all the right questions, he even managed to extract from me my most memorable nightmare. He laughed with me and became angry at what upset me. Yes – he was perfect. Too perfect!
I now know he was doing a great seduction number on me, but I didn’t understand at the time. His earlier predicament seemed to have been forgotten. No mention was made of it either by him and, certainly not me – I was too embarrassed to utter a word about it although the memory played on my mind. To cut a rather long, tedious story short, he eventually brought the conversation around to sex. (Surprise, surprise!) Remember that this was at a time when sexual ignorance was almost compulsory until mid–teens at least, so he must have picked up, fairly quickly, that I wasn’t exactly an innocent. Eventually he expressed an interest in comparing our two sizes. As I could see nothing wrong with this because it was part of my upbringing, I agreed. We compared our lengths, which should have been declared ‘No contest’, because, as I said before, I was still sporting the size and proportions of a boy. This mismatch didn’t seem to bother him in the least. In fact, quite the reverse – he seemed most interested – so much so – he wanted to see if I could get mine hard. At this point I said, “No. I’ve got to go home for me tea.” I hastily began to pull up my trousers but I stopped short when he offered me a pound if I would honour his request.
I thought long and hard before answering – well, at least ten seconds. A pound! In those days, it was a fortune – especially to a twelve–year–old.
I did as he asked and began to manipulate myself to become erect so that our sizes could go in competition. He was certainly far more impressive than my dear kinsman. I must say, at no point, did he touch me, although, from my experience so far, it was fully expected. It didn’t take long for him to shoot his load – and a very impressive display it was, too. My father’s used to, sort of dribble but this was like a water pistol. ‘Wow,’ I thought. When it was over, he gave me the pound note and asked if I went to the woods often.
“Quite often,” I replied.
“I’ll probably catch you again,” he smiled.
And then he was gone.
I never saw him again. To this day, I still wonder whatever happened to him. Many times after that, I returned to my wood. Well, there was a new reason for my visiting. As you can guess, I had the vague hope of continuing our arrangement. In a strange sort of way, I had enjoyed myself and the windfall was a useful bonus.
I can only assume he must have shit himself at getting involved with such young gaol bait and steered clear of my haunt in case his opportunistic encounter should ever be discovered.
But what he had given me was more than a ‘Note of the Realm.’ He had given me a way to get my revenge on the male population for my father’s incestuous attentions. I had something for which older men would pay. It had also given me a delicious feeling of power. The young man, after the deed was done, looked guilty. His smile was still there, but it had become a little strained. Now, I realise he was trying to calculate whether I was the sort who snitched. He needn’t have worried but there was a trace of fear in his face. I loved it.
And that was that – my very first encounter. This intimate dalliance was the first I was to have with many thousands of strangers. The meeting had proved lucrative and it invested me with an arrogance born of the power of having a real hold over someone. All this, I felt instinctively. My path for my next seven years was set.
There are two interesting post–scripts to this event. First, I never told my father about my little encounter – why should I? It was none of his business. And second, the scene of my first voluntary sexual experience is no longer there. Sad to say, the delightful, antique little wood of my childhood is now a bleak and barren industrial park – now there’s a contradiction in terms.
A Semi Regular
Ihad now created a real problem for myself. How could a twelve–going–on–thirteen–year–old school boy suddenly and miraculously get a pound note when his weekly pocket money was the princely sum of a single shilling? How could I hide my ‘little extra’ from an ever prying mother? I searched for and found a little niche in my bedroom where I could stash my immoral earning. I just prayed my mother wouldn’t take it into her head to leaf through the modest collection of books that were housed in my minuscule bookcase. If she did come across the money, she would probably convince herself that it was hers and simply help herself. Even so, there would be questions – many, many questions. I knew I had to be careful. I couldn’t spend it too quickly or she would get suspicious.
Not only that, but I was also facing another dilemma. My discovery of this pleasurable way of making money, coupled with a complete change of attitude to life – an irreversible alteration – made me ponder my situation. Where, for God’s sake, could I find another encounter? I had learned there was money to be made, and I had organised a hiding place for any ill–gotten gains, but what now? The snag was; I didn’t know where to find the action. I had discovered I had a jewel to sell, but I didn’t know th
e location of the pawnbroker.
I quickly worked out that there must be many people walking the streets who would have the same desires as my father and my friend in the wood. I began to watch people as they ambled past. It soon became a fascinating hobby. I was hoping to recognise some tell–tale sign, but found nothing. Or at least, I didn’t spot any returned signals. There must have been a few men with gay proclivities who must have thought that they were seeing things. No one showed any sign of responding.
So, for about two months, I slowly spent my pound on chocolate and modest toys and began to give up the hope of ever earning more. It seemed my first wage packet was destined to be my last. Then, all of a sudden…
‘Sittings’ for school dinners were, on the whole, pretty dull stuff. The food, like the company, was a game of chance. All were tasteless and something to be endured and without much hope of winning a prize. I, as always at this time in my life, tended to keep myself to myself. However, one day, I overheard a conversation which made up for all the mundane sessions with the overcooked cabbage and robust custard.
Two lads on my table, from the sixth form, were talking in slightly hushed tones and, to judge from their constant giggling, they were obviously deriving great joy from the information being imparted.