This story is a sequel to Mark's Revenge. Read it first.
All right. Enough already. Everyone’s mad at me for the way I treated Mark and Bobby. I know you applauded when they got revenge on me. Right? Maybe I did treat them like shit. But they deserved it, didn’t they? They tried to have sex with me. They really weren’t anything but fags, and the world is supposed to hate fags. Right?
That’s what has been drummed into my head ever since I was small. Even when I thought that I actually might be gay, I tried to deny it. Maybe some guys can just say, ‘Hey, I’m gay,’ and not be bothered by it. But what do you do when your own father hates the sight of you because you are a fag? Huh? Then tell me what am I to do?
“You little fag.” My father grabbed me around the collar and lifted me off my feet. “Can’t you do anything but cry when I talk to you?”
“I’m not going to have a sissy for a son!” he yelled angrily.
I was only eight and he was mad at me because I’d spilled some milk on the kitchen floor. When I saw the anger in his eyes, I knew he was going to spank me again. He was always spanking me. He didn’t beat me, but my butt was constantly sore from his large hands hitting my soft bottom. If he was really mad, he’d use his belt.
And I didn’t know what a fag was, but he was always calling me one. I knew it had to be something bad.
He pushed me to the floor and threw a towel at me.
“Clean up your fucking mess!” he screamed. My mother walked into the kitchen and didn’t say anything. She never said anything. When I had cleaned the milk off the floor, I walked over to the sink and laid the towel down. My mother smacked me upside the head.
“Damn it, Scottie,” she said angrily. “You just wiped that on the floor, and now you’re putting it up on my clean counter.”
“I told you he was nothing but a fag,” my father remarked as he looked over his newspaper at me. “Must be from your side of the family,” he mumbled.
“Go to your room.” Mother pointed towards the stairs. “I don’t want to see you anymore today.”
That was my life. It had been like that since I could remember. I could never do anything right for them. And God knows I tried.
“Here, Mommy,” I said proudly as I handed her a Valentine card I had made in the second grade. I had spent all day pasting and putting pretty sprinkles on it. She opened up the envelope and jumped off the couch.
“What the hell is this!” she screamed as she brushed her dress off. “You’ve made a mess of my dress and I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.” Colored sprinkles were all over the black dress she was wearing. I had waited all day to surprise her with the card, and now I stood crying in front of her because she didn’t like it.
“Now I’ve got to go change my clothes.” She looked at me scornfully. “I’m going to be late to my meeting.” She dashed off to her bedroom and returned several minutes later with a new dress on.
“Go to your room,” she ordered. “I’m calling your father and telling him what you did.”
I went to my room and threw myself down on the bed and cried. I knew when my father got home I’d be spanked. I was. That time he used his belt.
My only comfort was that they were hardly ever home. My father was president of some big company. He was always bragging to his friends about all the money he had. We lived in a huge house in Phoenix, Arizona. It had a big swimming pool in the back yard. We also had a lower level that had a pool table, bar and exercise equipment. I was never allowed to go down there.
My mother worked for some department store. She ordered things around the country, so that they could sell the latest fashion wear. I can remember her always wearing some really pretty clothes.
The only time my parents wanted me around was when they were entertaining friends. They threw a lot of pool parties. Most of the people were old, like my parents. It seemed like the men were always much older than the women.
My mother would parade me around and show me off to her friends. She was always calling me her ‘pretty little boy.’ I had long blond hair that flowed down my face. She would make me wear bangs that covered my eyes because she said it made me cuter. I also had deep blue eyes. Occasionally, she’d put lip gloss on my lips to make them shiny. I hated it when she did that. Women were always grabbing me and saying, “Isn’t he just the cutest thing you ever saw?”
I would be the center of attention while the party was going on. My parents would brag about how nice a son they had. But once the last guests would leave, I would again become the bad son. They would order me to clean up the mess. Sometimes it would take me hours and I wouldn’t get in bed until late. If they got up in the morning and I hadn’t done a good job, my father would spank me.
I grew up hating my parents. Sometimes before I’d go to sleep, I’d imagine them getting in a bad car wreck and getting killed. Some of the gruesome scenes I imagined in my head would sometimes scare me. Most of the time I’d go to sleep smiling.
They were generous when it came to giving me things, though. They didn’t do it for me. They liked to brag to their friends that I had all the latest toys and gadgets. I was the first of my friends to have a laptop computer, Ipod, any video game that came out and a DVD player with a large assortment of movies. You get the idea. I couldn’t wait until I turned sixteen, because I was going to ask my father for a Lamborghini.
Things had always been bad, but when I was twelve my world came crashing down. I had suspected that I might like other boys. Girls didn’t interest me at all. I would try to avoid them if I could. I thought it might be because I was still young, but I had a fascination with other boys. I couldn’t wait until we had gym, so I could watch them undress.
Many times my little dick would get bone hard in the shower. I really didn’t care. Almost all the guys at one time or another would get hard. I just stayed hard. I’d be the first one in and the last one out. I would memorize the naked body of all my friends. All our bodies were hairless with small dicks. The ones I really liked looking at were the boys who were beginning to grow some hair down there. I still didn’t have any.
I never thought of doing anything more, until one night. One of my dad’s friends had a son my age. Actually, he was a year older. The party went late into the evening and Jimmy had fallen asleep in one of the lounge chairs. When it was time to go, he put up a fuss about waking up. His father took him up and put him in my bed.
I watched as his father undressed him, down to his white underwear and then tuck him in under my covers. He asked me if I minded if Jimmy slept there for the night. I couldn’t say a word. I just shook my head. I couldn’t believe another boy was sleeping almost naked there.
I went back downstairs and let my mother tell all her friends how pretty I was. Around 1:30 everyone had gone and I was left to my cleaning chores. My dick was hard thinking about Jimmy asleep in my bed. I couldn’t wait to get back upstairs. After about an hour, I had finally finished cleaning up and went to my room.
Jimmy was still asleep, snuggled deeply under the covers. I undressed and slowly crawled into bed beside him. He stirred a little as I settled in. My heart was pounding out of my chest. All I could think about was that he was almost naked beside me. I was only inches from his cock. I had seen the small bulge when his father undressed him, and I was dying to see more.
After about fifteen minutes, he still hadn’t moved. I figured he was asleep. Gasping for air, I let my hand creep under the cover and touch his cock. I could feel its outline through his underwear. I just rested it there, afraid any movement might awaken him.
Then I felt it begin to grow. Slowly, it went from a curled state and began to stiffen. My heart was pounding with excitement. I was actually feeling my first dick. It grew until it was completely hard. It must have been about five inches long.
Suddenly, he moved and grabbed my hand. I could feel piss starting to come out of my dick. I had been caught! Instead of getting angry, he started rubbing my hand against his dick. He looked over at me, but he didn’t say a word. He then lifted up and pulled his underwear down. In the dim light I could see it jutting upwards toward the ceiling. He had a small amount of brown pubic hair.
“Suck it,” he ordered angrily. “If you want it so bad, then suck it.” I tried to pull my hand away, but he had a strong grasp on me. He grabbed the back of my head and pulled me towards his hard cock.
“Suck it, fag,” he said huskily, “or I’m going to tell your dad what you did.”
He had said the magic words. He was going to tell my dad. I knew my father would probably kill me if he found out I was feeling on the son of one of his friends. This time he wouldn’t use a belt. He’d probably use a baseball bat.
He pushed roughly on the back of my head, leading me towards his cock. I whimpered, and then opened my mouth and took in the head of it. It had a musty smell, and I started to gag slightly.
“Open your mouth wider,” he ordered. He then thrust deeper into my mouth. I wanted it to end. It was nothing like I thought sex would be. I always thought it would be with someone who would tell me they loved me. Jimmy was mean. He didn’t care how I felt.
He continued thrusting harshly into my mouth. With each thrust, he would go deeper. Several times I gagged. Once I felt I was going to vomit.
“Yeah,” he moaned. “You’re a good little cocksucker.”
I didn’t hear the door open, but I was blinded by the overhead lights. I was on my knees with Jimmy’s cock down my throat. I pulled back and saw my father standing in the doorway. His face was red with anger and his fists were clenched. He stormed over to the bed and grabbed me around the waist and threw me off the bed.
“He made me do it!” Jimmy shouted. “Honest Mr. Olsteen. I was asleep, and I woke up and he was sucking me.”
“Get out!” He pointed to the door. Jimmy ran naked from the room. He didn’t even bother to gather his clothes.
I will not go into detail what he did to me that night. It is too horrible to tell, even today. I was out of school for two weeks because of the bruises he put on my body that night. When the school called asking where I was, he told them I was sick with a fever and the doctor had ordered me to stay home. When I finally returned to school, he had one of his doctor friends write me a note. He didn’t even examine me.
My life was a living hell for the next two years. He never let me forget for one day that I was a fag. I think he forgot my name was Scott. Anytime I talked to a boy, he’d ask if I was letting him fuck me. I didn’t have any friends come to the house because either he or my mother would say something about my sexuality.
I went so deep into the closet that for a while I even forgot I was gay. I’d get a quick glimpse in the showers during gym, and occasionally I’d go into a gay website and masturbate over some cute boy’s picture. But for the most part, I led a sexless life.
My friends talked about masturbating or getting blowjobs from their girlfriends, but for several years I lost all interest in sex. After the verbal and physical abuse I received from my father, sex seemed dirty and filthy.
To make matters even worse, things were no better at school than they were at home. Jimmy quickly spread the word that I was a cocksucker. The torment I received from my fellow classmates was relentless. I was pushed in the halls, my books were occasionally stolen, and on two occasions I was stripped of my pants right in front of the school. I’d have to go in with only my underwear on. I quickly became the target of any and all gay jokes.
My life took another whirlwind change when I was fourteen. It was turned completely upside down. My father was arrested by the police for some bad things he was doing at work. They also arrested my mother. I didn’t quite understand what was going on. We lost almost everything.
I learned that the government had seized his bank accounts and we had no money. I went from being the rich man’s son to the son of a criminal. The newspapers carried his picture for almost two years.
From what I could understand, he’d taken a lot of his friends’ money and kept it for himself. I think they called it embezzlement. No one came to our house anymore. It seemed like the only company we had was his and my mom’s attorneys.
It took two years for them to go to trial. In that time my life was agonizing. My father was always irritable, even more than he had ever been. One thing that happened, though, he didn’t seem to notice me being around. He also stopped hitting me. I guess he was too worried about going to jail.
I think he also was afraid that the media would notice if I had bruises on me, since we were constantly being followed by reporters. Anywhere we went, a camera was being thrust in front of my father’s face. It was almost like he was a celebrity in town; but I knew it was because he was a crook.
He was tried first. The trial dragged on for weeks and all the friends my parents had over for the pool parties testified against him. It appeared he had taken millions of dollars from them. It’s no wonder we lived so well.
A jury found him guilty, and he was sentenced to twenty years in jail. I never saw him again. I was too young to visit him in prison. In a way I was glad. I hated him.
My mother fell apart after his sentencing. Her trial would be a month later. She was being accused of helping him do stuff with the money. I guess she knew he was stealing it and she was opening bank accounts to hide it. A jury found her guilty. She was sentenced immediately, and I never saw her again either.
I became like an orphan overnight. It scared me. After all the years I had wished them dead, they were now gone out of my life and I didn’t know what to do. My mother had contacted her sister to see if she would take me, but she said she couldn’t. She was going through a divorce with my uncle and she couldn’t take on the added burden.
I was going to be put in state custody, which meant I’d have to go to a foster home. At the last minute, my father called his brother who lived in California and he reluctantly agreed to take me in. I later found out my father had loaned him the down payment on his house, and he forced him take me to pay off the debt.
So on June 16, I was placed on a plane and flew to my new life. I was going to live with my Uncle Roger and Aunt Theresa. I had only met them once, and I was very small then. I remember Roger as being a rather large and mean man. I think he only spoke to me once when he and my aunt visited us in Arizona.
They had four children, but they were grown and married. They lived in a small house. It was very different than the home we had in Arizona. They didn’t have a pool or even a basement. It did have a basketball rim on the garage. I was told one of their sons had been a big basketball star when he was in high school.
I knew things wouldn’t go well when they didn’t even meet me at the airport. I sat around for two hours before I finally called them to see where they were. Uncle Roger got upset when I told him I was here. He thought I wouldn’t be arriving until the following week. After a few harsh words, he hung up on me. I wasn’t even sure he would come to get me. After about an hour, Aunt Theresa finally arrived to take me ‘home.’ Yeah, right.
I knew I wasn’t welcomed the moment I walked through the door.
“Thought we got rid of all the damn kids,” grumbled Uncle Roger when he saw me walk through the door. “I can’t even enjoy my fucking retirement.”
“Hush, Roger.” Aunt Theresa was trying to come to my rescue. “He’s blood.”
“Yeah,” he spat. “The blood of that no good brother of mine. Good blood he’s got. His father is in prison.”
He ranted and raved for about a half hour. I was beginning to think that a foster home back in Arizona would have been a better option.
“Well, you’re going to earn your way around here,” he said as he drank another beer. I saw five empty cans sitting on the table in front of him.
“Yes, sir,” I responded meekly.
“Starting tomorrow,” he informed me, “you’re going to help me clean out the garage. I’ve asked the boy who mows my yard to come by and help you.”
“Yes, sir,” I said again.
This wasn’t going to be any better than the life I’d lived back in Phoenix. My only hope was that my uncle wouldn’t hit me like my father did. I looked over at him. He was sitting at the table downing another beer. ‘Yeah,’ I thought. ‘This was going to be fun.’
Uncle Roger woke me up earlier the next morning. I was still tired from the plane flight. I would love to have slept late. I can’t remember the last time I saw 6 in the morning. I hope he didn’t expect me to get up every morning this friggin’ early.
I walked sleepily into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I had thrown on a pair of shorts and a white wife beater.
“Bout time you got ur ass up, Boy,” he growled. “You ain’t in Arizona now.”
I sat down and poured a bowl of cereal. The only thing I could find was Bran Flakes. The stuff tasted awful. I can’t believe people actually eat it. I looked around for something else, like a banana.
“This ain’t ur house, Boy,” Uncle Roger said angrily. “Ask permission before you start nosing around.”
I sat at the table and drank some milk. I guess I was permitted to do that much. When he finished, he let out a disgusting burp and then rubbed his large stomach.
“Well, Boy,” he said. “Let’s get started on that garage. It’s not going to do by itself,” he laughed. I guess he expected me to find humor in the statement.
I followed him out of the kitchen to the garage. It was a mess! I don’t think it had been cleaned since they had moved in years ago. There were boxes, old paint cans, broken furniture and bicycles with flat tires. I couldn’t even identify what some of the other stuff was.
“All right, Boy.” He sat down in an old patio chair. “Let’s get busy.” Getting busy meant I’d do the work and he’d sit and drink a beer and order me around. I kept waiting for the other kid to show up so he could help.
I was having trouble putting a box in the storage area above the garage, so I asked my uncle to help me.
“I’ll give you a hand,” I heard a boyish voice say. I looked down and saw a boy my age standing on the first rung looking up at me. From where he was standing, I could tell he had a good view up my shorts. When I looked down he seemed to be blushing.
“Hand me those boxes over there,” I told him, “and I’ll put them up here.”
We worked for the next two hours together. He said his name was Mark. He was kind of cute. It had been a long time since I’d been interested in a guy. He seemed to be interested in me also. He was always staring at me. I could tell that every time I climbed the ladder, he’d look up my shorts.
One time I opened my legs wide so he’d get a good view. I even think my left nut was hanging out. I’m sure he was enjoying the show. We finally finished and Uncle Roger was actually acting nice. He told us to go clean up and he’d buy us some ice cream.
I headed into the restroom and Mark hung around outside. I told him he could come in with me. I had attended a boys’ school in Phoenix, so I was used to using the bathroom with other boys around.
As he washed his hands, I had to take a piss. I didn’t really think anything of it until he turned and watched as I peed. My cock started to get hard and I rubbed it until it reached its full length. I could tell he was having trouble breathing. He was getting excited watching me.
“You wanna suck it?” I asked him. He acted extremely shy and wouldn’t answer me so I asked him again more harshly. He nodded his head. All of a sudden I had images of my father taking off his belt. I didn’t want him to beat me again.
“Just what I thought, a fucking fag,” I said angrily. I couldn’t take another beating. If my father knew I was with a boy again, he’d kill me this time.
A startled look came over his face, and he fled from the bathroom. I knew then that I had to protect myself. No one here in California was going to know I was gay; even if I had to out other boys to protect my secret.