Many years ago I was raped by a much older friend: I was not yet 16 and he was 34, or 35. He had played for the NFL for about 6-years until an injury when he was 31 forced him out, but he was a home grown man who had starred as a football hero in high school, then two years at a JC, and another couple of years with a local semi-pro team, before he walked in on open tryouts and got a job as a Running Back with the Los Angeles Rams. But all that was before I knew him, although I did remember him playing in the NFL as soon as I met him. After the injury, he made pretty good money just being the injured hero. He bought an old neighborhood grocery store, bakery, meat market, and small shop complex in my neighborhood and immediately tore out some studio apartments above the store and shops and built an immense loft style apartment. I met him while I was snooping one night at the work being done. I easily recognized him and used his name as if I knew him and he seemed okay with me being there, it was under construction, after all. He gave me a tour of where everything was going to be and what it would look like—treated me like an adult—and told be to drop by anytime. I stopped by a few nights later when I saw his car and we talked football and other stuff. When I was leaving he said maybe we could be workout buddies once he was moved in and had his gym set up. Oh yea, I say.



I was about 14 when I started going up to his place to work out and he had a really nice set up—a commercial bench, a smaller bench, wall pulley weights, and two big sets of cast iron weight—with everything he needed . . . he even had a large punching or body bag and a speed bag. I was only working with him about three months when I realized how much stronger I was. I added about forty pounds to my bench-pressing in that short time as the result of William pushing me and knowing how to max the results. He was always there to spot me, always pushing me, and always congratulating me when I advanced to a heavier weight. He was a good friend and a lot of fun to be around. He was black and had that black humor that can really be a riot. Always quick to point out a nice ass or great pair of tits, be she 14 or 40, white, black, or brown. One time he made a big joke out of me taking the blame if we got caught looking at some hot ass by a jealous husband, pissed-off father, or a Georgia Sheriff (we were in California, remember): I was to say something like, “looky here at dat dare great ass swinging around, Uncle Sambo”. The following fall I went to 3 or 4 Ram games with him, sat on the sidelines, even got on television once, and that’s about when the signs started and I missed every one of them. I don’t know if I missed them, or chose to ignore them in all honesty, though. I don’t know which came first, but the most significant was maybe one day when I was trying to bench around 175? (I had just turned 14 three or four months before), William was spotting me from behind the bench—holding—the bar in case I dropped it. I looked up to tell him it was way to heavy and there, less than 2-feet above me, was a very large, black penis hanging out of his gym shorts. I didn’t know what to do . . . what did men do in locker rooms? Did they feel any excitement? I wasn’t going to be un-cool, or act like a girl and say anything, but I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking looks, which he saw, of course. There were plenty of signs I ignored and I think I knew before it happened something wasn’t right. One time I was getting set to jerk a huge pile of iron and I told him that it looked like too much, and he said to just drop it if I couldn’t jerk it up cleanly, but just get out of the way. I was bent over, getting ready to lower myself, when he stepped in behind me, bent over me, and showed me where to put my hands. He was right up against my ass, he was hard as a bone, and he was humping me very slowly and softly in a way that if I said anything, I’d look stupid. Well, I was scared all right, but only of doing the wrong thing. Once again, I was a stupid kid in the presence of greatness and was afraid of offending him and there was that little tingle of excitement again. Something was wrong, but I thought it was me. I thought if I said something, he’d think I was gay, so I said nothing. Oh, he started patting me on the ass alot and sometimes I thought it was more of a rub than a pat. Not too long before he violently had his way, he was once again spotting me while I struggled with some heavy iron. This time he straddled the bench in front of me and stooped down a little as if to help me, but his black cock was hard again and it was mere inches from my face—my mouth. To be honest, I nearly kissed, or licked it, because there was no doubt what he wanted me to do. I ignored the impulse to make him happy and ended up thinking later that I was imagining this stuff anyway and glad I didn’t do something that probably would have gotten me thrown out a window and lose a friend. I could handle it, just as I had been doing. These sort of things continued to happen. He offered me a pro rub down and I said yes. When I laid down on my stomach he jerked off my shorts and started rubbing oil down and across my back and shoulders—it felt so good—then he started rubbing and sqeezing my ass (I got an erection and was horrified) and he spent a lot of time on my ass before he moved down to my legs, along the inside of my thighs, where he barely, sort of like a soft whisper, ran his fingers along my balls and cock. He told me to roll over, but I still had an erection, so I ignored him. He just laughed and said he would be right back. I was trying to get my shorts on when he returned, but he told me to lie back down on my back, so he could finish. He actually gently moved my cock over a few inches like it was no big deal, as he massaged my thighs. Higher and higher to where my balls and cock were nestled. I was now hard again and could see lube forming on the head. I was so embarrassed, but he finished, looked at my cock for a few beats, then told me to go take care of that and walked off.



In the early days of my fifteenth summer, about 4 months before my sixteenth birthday, my parents had to go east on an emergency in my dad’s family. I declined to go, because early, non-formal football practice was beginning and I just didn’t want to go. It was arranged with neighbors to keep an eye on me. Everyone—parents, neighbors, teachers, my buddies, etc—knew I spent a lot of time at William’s place, so not being around didn’t mean I wasn’t close. On the day my parents left for the East coast, two buddies and myself went out, I think it was a Thursday night, and managed to steal a fifth and a pint of rum, which we saved for the next night. We got together the next afternoon in a stand of eucalyptus trees above that girls open-roofed locker room, where generations of boys had seen their first tits and snatch. By the late afternoon, both of my friends were sick and sloppy drunk so we just sort of split up and headed for home. I wasn’t drunk, but I was nice and high, could still navigate and think, and didn’t feel sick. The fifth still had a couple of inches in it, so I finished it, stuck the pint in my pants, and started home. Fifteen minutes later as I neared the house I knew I was having trouble walking, one step forward, two back, and was a little worried about getting in the house with so much daylight left and was using every ally between me and home and thinking of where I could hide out for awhile, when William pulled in the ally right in front of me, got out of his car, and nearly broke my arm dragging me to his car. He appeared very angry and was yelling and screaming at me for drinking and whatever else it was I had done. He took me to his place, took me to his cave—it was a large shower, probably about 4 feet, by 8 feet, or larger, like a locker room shower. He stripped my clothes off and put me in the shower under freezing water and left to make me coffee. When he came back, I was sitting on the bench in the shower, and he was naked. He turned on the hot water and washed my face with a wash towel and then started giving me a hand job . . .washing me by hand. From my neck to my lower back, from mid-thigh to my feet he washed every square inch of me. Then he went back and started washing my ass, the crack of my ass, and finally he was gently washing my asshole with his finger, then my thighs, and my balls and cock. He laughed at me, because he said I so drunk I couldn’t get a hard on. He handed me the soap and told me to wash him, I said no, but he grabbed my shoulder and squeezed me very hard and told me, “wash!” I washed him, but where I was soft, he was hard, hard as steel and very large, and I clearly remember not being able to quite fully encircle his cock in my fingers. I was drunk, but I was wide-awake now, very aware, and very scared. He abruptly pushed me down on the shower bench and stuck his cock up to my mouth and told me with a thick voice to kiss it. I told him, “fuck you”, and he slapped me pretty hard and told me he’d throw me down the stairs and break my neck if I didn’t start kissing and licking his cock. It was then I realized, he wasn’t even paying attention to me, he was just talking to himself about waiting for two years for this and it wasn’t getting away from him. Drunk, or not, there was that electric thread of excitement running down my spine and out to my cock. Then he looked at me and told me if I threw up or spit his cum out, he would break my neck, and then he grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and shoved into my open mouth. I remember it was like having a super-sized, giant marshmallow (man, I loved that marshmallow) in my mouth, I could barely move my tongue and he started making little pushing moves, took my hand and told me to stroke him, which I did. Within a minute or two, he was gushing into me. He grabbed my nose, to start me swallowing, and then let go. I was swallowing him, and sucking cum up into my nasal passages as fast as he could shoot. He was now stroking his cock and pumping his cock back and forth in my mouth, with several spasms of cum being blown in. I was scared and confused, maybe a little angry, and certainly felt betrayed, but I was excited, too. William was keeping up a steady stream of raunchy talk now, about how I loved giving him a blowjob, how I was going to get some more, and he was going to get a piece of tail, at which he laughed as he said it. He dried us both off and dragged me out to his bed and threw me on it, then got next to me. I passed out with him spooned against me rubbing his cock on me. Some time later, he woke me up and gave me a water glass that was about half full of whiskey and I took a big gulp of. It must have been getting late because it was very quiet and still even though his bedroom windows were wide open. He was about to start round two of his horror show, but I thought he was being nice. He asked me if I liked the taste of his jism, thinking fast for being drunk I thought, I said yes, and he said good. With that he dragged me over his leg and told me to suck his cock. So there I was kneeling between his legs, and once again his cock was engorged and throbbing, and once again I said no, only to have him force my mouth down onto his cock, which I knew he would do and I think I wanted. He pushed it in to my mouth and then on back into my throat. He held the back and both sides of my head in his hands and actually was fucking my mouth, pushing his cock a little further each time. There wasn’t any room, but he kept pushing and the mushroom seemed to be going down my throat. He started my hand working on his shaft, and was telling me how much of a load I was going to get. I must have given up, because all I knew is that I was slurping, pulling my mouth off his cock to lick and kiss it, and then trying to deep throat him again, and he kept humping. Man, my hand started moving faster, my slurping got louder, I heard myself squealing, and soon he was squirting a cup of cum down my throat. He shot off more the second time than the first and I got most of it in the mouth and sucked up into my nasal passages. Before I swallowed the last of it, he actually made me savor it, roll it around on my tongue. He reached down and found my cock and then told me I still wasn’t hard and did I see what booze could do to you. But I felt very horny now . . . I had enjoyed sucking that huge black cock and getting William off. I went to sleep with his semen clogging my voice box, sucked into my nasal passages, and coating my mouth and throat and talking with what William called my cocksucker twang, sure I must be gay. I woke sometime later and needed to pee. When I got back to bed, I finished the whiskey and then went looking for the bottle. I found my bottle of rum, but it took awhile to find the whiskey, so I poured an extra large glass and as I drank it, I thought about what had happened. On one hand I was angry and scared, and still felt betrayed and confused. On the other, I felt a little excitement: Some of the things he had said about me were flattering in a crude, raunchy way. All in all, I did not feel good about me. I finished the whiskey and headed back to bed—it was almost three in the morning according to the kitchen clock. I got in bed, turned the lamp off, and almost immediately passed out. When I next awoke the lamp was on and William was kneeling between my legs with his forever-stiff cock. I thought he was now going to suck me off, so in gratitude I reached out and gently stroked his cock and then sat up to kiss it, but he pushed me back down. As soon as he did I felt his thick, long finger shoot into my ass, lubricating it. I screamed NO! NO! NO! PLEASE DON’T! and tried to fight back, but he was twice as strong as I was, even when I was sober. I remember telling him he was too big, but I knew I lost when a few seconds later I felt a blunt pain in my ass and he started moaning and whispering. He had mounted me missionary, slowly and not too deep, then deeper, and then a little more. I remember the first thing I said was something like, “you’re fucking me, you bastard”, but all that got was an extra inch or two. He was very serious looking as he carefully stroked in and out of me I’m sure trying not to hurt me. Years later I thought whatever lube he used must have included a numbing agent, because except for the first bite, I don’t recall any hurt and he was very large. I do, however, clearly remember freaking out, I don’t really understand what happened next, or why it happened, but I lost all control and started fucking him back . . . humping like a main street whore fucking for tips. He was talking dirty to me, telling me that I was the best piece of ass he’s ever had from either a woman or man and that my young ass was better than pussy. He kept that sort of talk up the whole time he was in me, and in a sick way, I liked hearing him tell me that stuff. The blow jobs he’d force me to give him must have helped him control himself good, because we went on and on, and he stopped very briefly to put a gob of joy jelly on his fingers and I felt him applying it to his dick and around my ass hole. I didn’t know what was going on, but my cock hurt and the head itched—itched on the inside—when he abruptly stopped and told me not to move an inch. DO NOT MOVE YOUR ASS ONE INCH! he screamed in a whisper. I found myself with both of my hands gripping his lower back, his big cock buried up my ass, and my cock hurting and itching like crazy, so I reached down and tried to scratch the head of my cock and it was bone hard (20-minutes before I couldn’t even get it to move and it had been dead since the previous evening). Scratching didn’t take care of the head itch, or the pain I was feeling in my dick. I don’t know what possessed me, but I put my hand back on his back, slid both down to his ass and pulled him into me as I arched towards him. Three or four strokes like that and I started blowing cum all over him and me, and few strokes later he was screaming for god and collapsed on me. We didn’t move until he pushed himself up, looked at me and said that was fine pussy or something like that . . . I said nothing. The first thing he did was finger-scoop a large glob of my cum off my chest and stick it in my mouth, telling me to swallow. Five minutes later he got up and when I tried to he pushed me onto the bed on my hands and knees and locked on to my ass to play fuck me, while saying he was going to horse fuck me next, and acted as if nothing had happened.



I was still a little drunk, but hung over too, as he drug me back to the shower and did a complete scrub down of me and of course I washed him and when I was finished washing his cock and balls, I started licking his cock, but he stopped me. I don’t think I had eaten anything in 24 hours and only had drunk a little coffee and a lot of whiskey and was tired. He told me to get dressed because we were going out for breakfast. We drove across town and ate at a greasy spoon, but the food and coffee were great. On the way, he pulled into Griffith Park—it was still pretty early, not much after daybreak—parked and we walked back into some large rocks right off the parking lot where he forced me onto my knees had me blow him. I was getting good at sucking large cocks I could tell and when he erupted this time, I was cheated, because I only got a little in to my mouth, the rest went in my face and hair, and dripped onto on my shirt. I sat back on my haunches and started finger-spooning his cum off of my face and neck and sucking it into my mouth up into my nose. While I was doing that I looked up and there was a woman on horseback watching us from about 50 feet away and it made me hard to know I had been caught, by a woman no less.



I could smell the sex above the grease in the air, and could tell others could also, and also knew it had dried on my clothes and me. I was William’s well marked with cum, property . . . his trophy boy and he didn’t mind anyone there knowing about it. That wasn’t the end of my relationship with William. We went back to his place, slept for a few hours and woke the same as I had earlier with William lubing me up and then plunging in. No, he did not horse fuck me, he did me missionary style, because, “you’re such a hot fuck this way”. It was almost an exact replay of the rape that took my cherry. He talked dirty, I got hard, the head of my dick itched like crazy, I arched and bucked uncontrollably, he started calling “oh god, oh fuck” again and again, and I came—he came. The truth is I was calling out to god myself. It hurts to admit this, but I liked the way he talked to me, I liked him referring to my ass as a snatch, pussy, or cunt. I guess I liked being wanted so much, for so long, that the guy took me even though I had screamed no many times. I did not quit going to William’s and I told myself it was so no one would get suspicious, but it was to see what would happen. When nothing happened, I was disappointed, he never asked, or manipulated, he always forcefully took me, so it was easy to tell myself I was raped, and I was, but I put myself there. William was more of an oral freak, so I spent more time on my knees than my back, so to speak.



I went through the next 10 years not know if I was gay masquerading as a straight, or a straight playing at being gay, or if simply bisexual. I loved women, and loved pussy—playing with it, licking it, and fucking it—liked plying with their tits, and although not very successful, loved to butt fuck those willing to let me; usually divorcees in their thirties or married gals looking for looking for something different, or raw excitement. While I was doing that I made a handful, or two, of men happy along the way—almost always Black men, by the way. I don’t know what it was, it didn’t occur very often, I could be stone cold sober, but usually it happened in a bar, some Black guy would come along who could read the sign I wore that said, “Likes to fuck and suck hung black men. Pat on ass for free sample”. The truth was, I was 6’-3” tall, weighed 190, blond and blue, well muscled, yet slim, and I often wondered if those old movies made about Africa were true. The natives would kidnap the blonde women from safaris and make them queens. I was just so easy for them and except for their ages they were all of the same type. I went home with every one and every one was fairly hung, some more than others, but there is more to it than that. We’d get to their place and I’d start acting the whore, we’d get naked I would play at sucking their cock, tell them I wanted to be fucked and then tell them they were to big. All but two of them said okay, just lick my cock, jack me off, just okay, or something like that. They didn’t get visibly angry or excited, just cool with it, but I wanted them, wanted them to want me, so eventually they got what they wanted, and I got a rollicking fuck and gave my best to deep throat 8 to 12-inch, very thick cocks. One of the exceptions was this well built, rugged looking, older man, with snow-white hair and mustache who asked me if he could sit at my booth table with me. The place was crowded so I told him okay. We both got another drink and then he leaned into me and said, “you’re very sexy, I want to fuck you.” I just looked at him, reached over to his lap and found an extra large and hard cock running down his leg and I squeezed it and asked, “your place of mine” We drank our drinks down and took off for his place in his car and weren’t out of the parking lot when I had his cock out playing with it and licking him. He lived close so I barely got his head in my mouth and we were there. We sat in front of his house while I was trying to get as much of his cock down as possible. He said lets go in to bed, so in we went and straight to his bed. I was swallowing about half of his rock hard root, yea, he said he was 64 and he was as hard as a cock could be. He had this a magnificent bone, when I slurped off and told him, “you’re too big Robbie” and the next thing I knew he grabbed a handful of hair, pulled my head back, pushed his cock back in my mouth while telling me to, “watch your fucking teeth”, twisted us onto our side, and started fucking my mouth with slow, ever deepening thrusts, until he shot his tiny load. Then he said something like, “perfect fit and it will fit your ass just right”. Bobby rolled over and went to sleep and soon I dozed off. I don’t know what time it was, but he was spooned behind me trying to shove his hard cock up my ass. I rolled over and said, “no Bobby, you ARE too big to fuck me”, but he started twisting my arm so hard I rolled with the twist and came up on all fours and he was on my ass like white on rice. I tried to tell him to fuck me missionary style if he had to try, but he had me where he wanted, and soon I was kneeling on the edge of the bed and he was standing between my legs that stuck over the edge and he was fucking my brain loose and as usuall I lost control of myself. I tried not too, tried to be a dead fuck to see what would happen, but either my mind or body made me respond and I was fucking him as much as he was fucking me. Soon he was saying those things I loved to hear: I was a whore, a slut, a great fuck, better than pussy, tight cunt, so when I came it was a huge blast. I went downstairs to make a drink and when I got back, he was sleeping. I got in bed, then got up, got dressed, found his keys on the table, and drove back to the bar. Since I didn’t clean up it wasn’t a secret what I’d been doing and I left his keys with the bartender and went home.



It wasn’t like I didn’t try white guys, but it wasn’t the same and had nothing to do with their equipment. I met a white guy in his thirties, an Italian, Anthony, from Boston, just walking down the street one day, got a cup of coffee with him, and went up to his place just to hang out. I let him seduce me, because he was bold in his words and the way he checked me out visually. He had a good size cock, was good looking, clean, was fun to be around, and the sex was pretty good and exciting, probably made that way by the apparent lack of experience I feigned. I think Tony forced himself to spectacular performances because of my supposed innocence. I was about 22 when I met him and maybe 23 when I met an older white a guy in a nice, really high dollar bar/restaurant one night. He was about 50 and he suggested we go to his place for some good booze at a reasonable price. When we got in his car, a new Caddy, he grabbed my joint, I let him play with me, moaning and groaning for his pleasure, until he lost any control he may have had, pulled my cock out of my slacks, and went down on me right there in the parking lot under a big light, so I threw in louder moans and groans, and started bucking and face fucking away, until I shot my wad. When we got to his house I found he wasn’t lying about his booze: It was all first cabin stuff and his house was a completely updated, large 1920s built Spanish style house, in a pretty ritzy neighborhood. He asked me what I wanted and I asked for an Irish whiskey and he had it and poured me enough Jameson to get two of me drunk. He shoved a twenty across the bar top for the blow job and then counted out what was in his wallet, $240 if I remember correctly—equivalent to more than $1600 today—and shoved it over to me and asked me if I could spend the night with him, which I did. It turns out he was quite wealthy and was a very big Vice President for the Santa Fe Railroad. The money was very good, he almost always only wanted to suck my cock, mainly wanted me to sleep naked in the same bed with him, and go to parties with him. I saw him for nearly two years and yes, I sold my ass to some of his friends I met, too. All of my Black lovers were right about me being a whore, a very high priced whore who they got to fuck for free. I never intended to sell myself, but rich, older white guys reached for their wallet almost automatically and always immediately, and anyway, to sell your ass can be pretty exciting, especially for that kind of loot.



I was on my way to breakfast one Saturday morning and I know it was before 8:00 AM and I stopped at a Chevron station to get gas. I was pumping gas when I FELT something rubbing my ass, so I spun around and there was a Black guy gassing his Camaro about 15-feet away who had been x-raying my ass and was now doing the same to my crotch. I was instantly excited and got an instant hard-on and he saw it then let his eyes meet mine and there was nothing there, but lust and danger. He was very good looking, about 6-feet tall, very black, with maybe a 34-inch waist, wide shoulders, deep chest, and one of the thickest necks I ever saw. His eyes were smoldering and I was both excited and a little scared, so I put the pump on auto and nearly sprinted to the bathroom and thank god it was empty, because as soon as I got in there I locked the door, hauled out my cock, and started stroking. While I was jacking off, he tried the door, knocked on it, then rattled it again, and asked if anyone was there just about the time I was shooting my 6-foot stream of jism. I headed back out hoping he was gone and hoping he was still there, thinking of that wonderful package he had on display in his 501s but his car was nowhere to be seen and I immediately regretted not opening the door, although I knew he wanted me then and there and would have taken me. I opened the door to my truck and there was an 8.5 x 11 sheet of blue line on the seat. It had a nearby address on it, a phone number, and, “Call now”, and it was signed Gino. I got another erection just because he left the note, so I drove to the little cafe I was going to eat breakfast and called him from a pay phone in the back. He answered and I said, I’m about to have breakfast at Sternberger’s and he was there almost before I sat back down (his place was about 6-blocks from the cafe and about 6-from mine. He had the same smoldering and appraising eyes, same demanding attitude, but as on the phone, he had a very soft voice. We ate and he invited me over to his place and remembering the disappointment an hour earlier, I willing followed him home. On the way to our cars, he dropped behind me and gave me a low whistle, then caught up and patted my ass and said very nice. It was broad daylight and I was embarrassed, but liked the attention at the same time . . . my truck was parked on the street a half dozen spaces before his and when I stepped out into the street to open the door, he was right behind me and as soon as I stooped to unlock it, he moved up and rubbed his hard cock on my ass. Oh boy, I was really embarrassed now and couldn’t wait to get to his place, but I still felt the color rush into my face. We weren’t there 30-minutes and we were buck naked, he laying on the couch and me kneeling next to him working his cock, when I pulled the, “you’re too big”, routine and he backhanded the side of my head so hard, I saw stars. He was glaring at me and said something like, “You’re a great cock sucker. Christ! You love sucking my Johnson, so get fucking busy. And I did, he started cuming and I didn’t think he would stop, but when he did stop he was still hard and I didn’t dare stop. He came again and I was swallowing and sucking it up and some cum actually was coming out my nose because I had sucked so much up into my nasal passages. About then I heard some noise and turned around to an open front door, although it did have a screen door, and people were walking by not 20 feet away, so they had to have heard my loud slurping, squeals, and whimpers as he shot into my mouth, not to mention his screams of oh god, of fuck. Like me, he lived in a U shaped court of 7-units built back in the twenties or thirties. I doubt if it was 10:30 AM yet and I wasn’t even sure Gino was his name, but I had drank a two week supply of his jism already and advertised it to his neighbors. We only put clothes on twice that first weekend, both times to get food and buy some liquor. The rest of the weekend we were in bed, on the floor, on the couch, on a table, in a chair, and on his back steps Saturday night. He wasn’t opposed to sucking cock either, but he was loading me up with his sperm either fucking me in the mouth or ass fucking me. Exhausted I went home Sunday night with a swollen asshole and a bruised mouth. My new friend Gino had worked me over quite well with his magnificent cock.



The following weekend we spent at my place and Gino brought me some things to wear, that I didn’t want to, but I remembered seeing stars the week before. He found me a pair of high heels I could wear, some racy panties that fit perfectly, hose, a smoke colored see through top, and some matching hose and garter belt. I put the garter belt and hose on, the top and put the high heels on and tried to promenade for Gino, but was awful clumsy. But my short blonde hair was little spiky like a dikes and being slim made me look okay in the cunt clothes. To prove it, Gino pulled me into my bed and fucked me deep and slow causing me to cum twice before he shot his load up my ass. Gino was dangerous and either got his way or just took what he wanted with men or women and I think I liked that about him—at least how it worked for me.







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