I'm not sure why I never published this piece, which I received in 1989 from a man who at the time would have been 63 years old (and would be 90 today). I suspect it was because the writer's introduction to bondage, at the age of 16, was at the hands of a much older man—his uncle, in fact—who essentially raped him, even if he himself did initiate the physical action and obviously enjoyed it enough to remain with his uncle voluntarily for the next three years. I've seldom avoided publishing stories of child abuse, unless the experience described was written by the abuser. But if that's wasn't my reason, I can't think of any other for failing to publish this fascinating bondage bio.
As I've said before, something I've never understood is why so many of the letters I've published from Minnesotans over the years have their victims putting on lipstick; the lipstick practice seems unique to that state, although young Minnesotan bondage acquaintances I've asked about it have almost unanimously denied ever having heard of that particular fetish in their state. I've entertained the idea that all the pieces I've received from Minnesotans were written by the same writer, but while one anonymous writer may have sent me more than one letter, there have been too many others with very different writing styles. If any readers out there are from Minnesota, please share your thoughts about this.
Disclaimer: The photo below doesn't really illustrate the story, although the model, like the writer at Uncle Howie's, is wearing longjohns. I just think he's hot (and I like his boots).
MINNEAPOLIS, MN, 1989. Talking with my bondage buddies I got the idea that I’m a rare old bird because I enjoy top and bottom positions equally. I was born in ’26 which would make me a white-haired old fart of 63 if I didn’t go bald in my forties and have shaved my head totally since then. Thought you might like to know some of my favorite memories of B/D. What the hell, you might put me in your magazine which I buy at Brother’s Touch in Minneapolis.
In ’42 both mom and dad got jobs in the war industry, working weird hours. They sent me to live with my Uncle Howard who at 35 owned his own farm. I idolized Howie, “a confirmed bachelor.” Being 16, I was expected to work a full day in the summer and after school. The hard work and diet put lots of muscle on me and Howie noticed it every time we bathed. He’d grab a handful of tit and squeeze until I cried uncle. As winter came we sealed off my porch bedroom and began sharing his bed. I enjoyed waking up with his hairy body tangled up in mine.
One morning I woke early and studied his handsome face and kissed his mouth. He woke suddenly and slapped my face so hard he split my lips. I began bleeding and he pressed his blue bandana to my mouth. “If any queering is going to be done around here, I’m going to do it.” He removed the bandana and when my lips continued to bleed he pressed his lips to mine, licked them with his tongue.
Howie pressed me to the bed and I could feel his hard-on bound up in his long johns rubbing against my crotch.
“Like that, honey?” I was hard too and mumbled yes. “Maybe you’ll like this.” He bit my hairless chest, then zeroed in on my erect nipples. It hurt like hell and I screamed. “Shut the fuck up!” He shoved the bandana in my mouth and held his rough hand over it until I stopped struggling. “Now, you lay here, nice and quiet, or when I come back I’ll knock you the fuck out.”
I was terrified and horny as hell at the same time. Howie came back with a coil of rope which he tossed over the exposed beam and, grabbing my wrists, cinched them tightly together and hauled me up so I was barely standing on the bed. Another bandana was tied so tightly that my eyes felt like they were going to bulge out. Howie began beating my ass with his belt. My dick got harder and harder. He began chewing my dickhead through my union suit and I came. He let me down and bound my knees and ankles together, feet to the foot of the bed. Using a knife he split the seam on the ass flap and raped me.
I became devoted to Howie and I lived with him til I was drafted in ’45.
Because of the excellence and abundance of male pussy I stayed in the army til ’49, then went to college on the GI Bill. Most of my classmates were just kids to me by now. All of my sex in the army had been vanilla and the gays I met in classes were after the same.
My church at school got a new pastor, a butterball of a guy in his 50’s, white haired and prissy as you can find. At get-togethers I found myself strongly attracted to his plump rear end. He called himself a confirmed bachelor. I offered to mow his lawn and made sure to wear nothing but the briefest legal swimsuit I could find. I could see him looking out the window, his eyes glued to my well-developed body. It was hot and I took a break, asking him for iced tea. When he brought it I asked him to put suntan lotion on me. With trembling hands he coated my back. I was a good six inches taller than he was and when I turned and said, “Now the front,” I looked down on a very red face. As he rubbed my chest I moaned appreciatively. He could see the bulge in my swimsuit jutting out. “Now my legs.” He got on his knees and slowly began on my thighs. I rubbed my bulge on top his white topped head. I thought he was going to pass out when I said, “My face.” He was shaking so badly that when he finished my lips and I kissed his cheek and said Thanks, he could hardly squeak out, “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me if you need anything.”
“I need a lot, but it’ll wait till I finish the yard.”
I took my time finishing, put everything away and had another glass of iced tea before I locked the door and went upstairs. Henry was lying naked on his bed, pretending to be asleep. He had shaven. I ran my hand over his huge buns and he rolled over. He had put lipstick on his lips. “Don’t hurt me, please. Don’t use my ass, I can’t take the pain.” He kissed my sweaty, oiled nipples and then my lips, leaving a red stain on them.
I opened his closet and pulled out a handful of neckties. As I tied his wrists and ankles to the four corners of the bed, he pled softly with me not to harm his ass. When he was thoroughly stretched out, I slid a pillow under his ass, lifting it. His dick was so hard, bubbles of pre-cum popped out with each new knot. I skinned my swim suit off and stuffed the whole thing in his prissy mouth, two neckties to keep it in place. I poured suntan lotion on my cock and balls and fingered his asshole, getting his tight rosebud nice and slick inside. As I entered him I was glad to have done such an effective gag. He screamed into my bathing suit and chewed at the neckties violently. About halfway through he relaxed and I began kissing his nipples and gagged mouth. As I came, I bit his shoulder.
After pulling out I oiled his dickmeat and slowly brought him off with a hand job. I cleaned him up and untied him. He embraced me tightly and muttered thank you, bathed with me in his tub and took me out to dinner where he invited me to room with him. We lived together until I finished school.
The most memorable time I’ve had since, was in Turkey. My company stationed me there for a year. I was given money for a cook. I prowled the gay bars for several weeks before I found a beautiful gay boy of 26. He was poor and sent every bit of his pay to his family.
Khaya was a great lover and didn’t object to me shaving his mustache, pits, asshole and crotch or being tied to the bedposts standing up while I fucked him. He loved silk gags and used eye makeup and a clear lip gloss in bed.
About a month after I’d trained Khaya into service, his elder brother (38) showed up, out of work, needing a place to sleep. The minute I saw him I knew I was a goner: liquid brown eyes, dark skin, a bushy black mustache and silky hair. He slept on our couch in a white bikini brief that glowed since his body was covered with thick black curly hair. When Khaya went to market the next day, he came into our bedroom. I was still in bed, naked. He looked at the silk drapery cords tied to our bedposts and the jar of Vaseline on the table. He stared at me and inexplicably I reached for the silk gag I’d used on Khaya the night before and started to tie it between my teeth.
He sat on my bed and finished the job. Fascinated by the rings in my nipples, he tugged me out of bed by them and positioned me between the bedposts, binding my arms straight out and feet wide apart as I’d done for a month to Khaya. His fingers massaged inside my ass with Vaseline. I opened up for him eagerly. Stepping out of his bikini, he made love to my ass while jerking me off at the same time. After coming I called in sick and lay in his hairy arms.
When Khaya found us that way he cried, fearing a loss of job. I found his brother a job with my firm and the three of us worked together until I returned reluctantly to the States. By that time his brother was making enough to support them.
Plan to retire in two years with my lover of six years, who is 68. He’s a bit of an opera queen who likes drag, dildoes, tight ropes and tighter gags. I’m into leatherwear and gear now, which satisfies his need for domination. We are monogamous with the exception of several times a month I enjoy paying a fellow leatherman to put me in bondage for a weekend.
Comments