I had started 8th grade in Santa Monica and I should have been in the 9th grade when we moved to San Diego, but because of missed time in Santa Barbara between schools, I could not start 8th grade in the middle of the year and had to repeat the second half of 7th grade. Then we moved to San Diego and I was back in the 8th grade again. It was Lincoln Junior High, next to the San Diego Zoo, and I knew nobody. Not one friend, relative, or neighbor. But I had been to many schools and knew how to make friends pretty fast. I was certain that I would have some pals before long.
I was kind of an odd-ball kid; my hair was long and my light blue denim pants were old fashioned looking. My stepmother had insisted on those pants as a kind of uniform for school. I always wore them, had several pairs. My hair was shorter than it had been previously, but longer than most boys in that time period of the fifties. Within a few days of the start of school, I knew I had attracted the attention of some guys, a gang that ran around together and dressed alike. I found out at some point that they were kids from the Italian fishing community in San Diego and stuck together like some children's Mafioso. They liked to talk tough and bully people whenever they got a chance.
Their leader was a guy name Emilio who was obviously older and bigger than the rest, likely should have been in High School, maybe flunked 9th grade and got held back for a year or two. Emilio kept looking at me everywhere I went. He never talked to me, at least the first few days, just kept staring at me. It was getting very uncomfortable because he didn't smile or seem friendly at all, a kind of mean, hateful look all the time. His buddies watched him, saw him stare at me, so they stared at me too. But it was him who started it and him who knew what the fuck his brain was telling him that made me of interest. Nobody else was looking at me funny, only him, and his little followers, his suckups. At lunchtime, he would seem to follow me around and I would pretend not to notice. He was in my PE class and no matter what sport we played during that hour, I could be certain that he was watching me play. In the showers afterward, we would each pretend not to see each other but frequently glanced, just enough to know he was watching. That watching went on for two or three weeks. Then one day at lunch, Emilio came by himself, unusual for him to be alone, he came to where I was sitting by myself. I didn't know his name until that day. He asked my name and when I told him, he told me his name and we shook hands, something young men used to do. He told me he knew I was new there at that school, that I probably did not know who he was. I said that I didn't really know who anybody was, but he meant something different, he explained. He was, he said, the guy in charge of his people, the fishermen's boys, I think he said some Italian phrase for it, but I forget it now. I got the idea. He went on that they live together in their own neighborhood and don't take shit from anybody. You mess with one of them and they all mess with you. I assured him in my own boyish way that I would not be messing with anybody and hoped that we could all be friends. He smiled big and wicked, laughed, and said something like, "We gonna be good friends, you and me." That was pretty much the last time he acted friendly.
The next day he passed me in the hall, a couple of his little creeps with him, he stopped and said to me,
"My uncle says you are probably a queer cocksucker." When he said it, his eyes were intensely watching my face, which probably went very red.
"Why," I stammered, "why ... why would you think ...?"
Looking at my blushing face, "Yeah," he nodded, "I think so."
He and his boys laughed and walked away. I was standing there confused and embarrassed, thinking only that it was impossible for him to know, impossible for his uncle to guess. Only my long hair could give anyone such an idea and I was not that unusual, was I? Was I? My heart raced and fear gave me a cold sweat. What now? Would they start telling others? That was my fear, that with most of the school year yet to go, I would be publicly labeled as a fagot and have to endure taunting, name calling and general contempt by all the other kids. I was all for people just minding their own business and me keeping my past a total secret. Of course, you readers now want to know what past am I talking about. Suffice it to say for now that my uncle introduced me to cocksucking at the age of ten, I had developed a letch for it, and it seemed like people could tell. How? I had no clue. Maybe it was my long hair, which was truly abnormal for boys at that time. All that went through my mind, but I was optimistic enough to hope those Italians would move on to someone else and leave me alone. But Emilio was just getting started.
Within a few days after that, a certain pattern was established. Emilio and a few of his boys would corner me away from other kids, surround me and crowd in close, Emilio would put his face close to mine and command,
"Suck my dick."
He would repeat it several times, waiting for my response each time. Each time, I said nothing, just looked down and probably looked terrified, which I was, to a certain extent, then broke free from them and ran away. Each time I heard them laugh as I ran. My fear was that they would start hitting me because their hostility and disgust was obvious. They seemed certain that I was queer. Maybe I was, but I didn't think so. Their contempt for me showed on their faces. I watched for it. As such events took place almost every day, it was not long before I grew more calm about it and wondered that they did not grow tired of doing it. I began to lift my head up, instead of looking down in submission, and I began to look into the eyes of Emilio, trying to gauge his animosity or whatever was his motivation for hassling me like that.
"Suck my dick," he would say, like he expected me to just drop to my knees.
He watched my eyes as he said it. He said it confidently and quietly, but with authority, like it would just happen right there on the school grounds.
"Suck my dick," as if I could do it right that moment if only I would listen.
"Suck my dick," like if he said it enough, I would have to obey.
But the look on his face was not hatred, it was something more like pleading, like he was asking me to suck his dick. I was still afraid, but a little confused about his attitude. I got more and more cagey about avoiding those guys, finding new places to hide and different routes to take going home after school. My fear of them was not totally real because I knew they were just kids and I didn't believe they were capable of much in the way of violence or actual harm.
It was cat and mouse for a month or more until one day Emilio and two of his little gangsters fell in behind me as I walked home through Balboa Park. Lincoln Jr High is on the east side of Balboa Park and I lived on the west side. Normally I walked past the Art Museum, the Natural History Museum, across a bridge over a highway about a hundred feet below, then past a long stretch of densely wooded area before emerging into a broad grassy normal kind of park, then another block past the park was the apartment building where I lived. I was on the bridge when Emilio and his two suckass buddies got behind me; I took off running. I was pretty fast for a short distance, got way ahead of them but started getting out of breath when I got to the wooded area. Rather than slow down and let them catch me, I turned off the street and thought I would hide from them in the woods. I knew some parts with heavy brush and overgrown bushes that I could hide behind so I was trying to be quiet while breathing hard and to get sufficiently into the bushes so they could not see me. It worked for a few minutes. I think I was panting too hard to be quiet enough, but anyway they found me. It was a concealed place, a place where untold numbers of sailors had probably fucked hookers on beds of pine needles. The two flunkies pulled me over to Emilio who just looked at me for a couple of minutes while I caught my breath.
"Suck my dick," this time with such a commanding voice that it seemed a foregone conclusion that I would obey.
Nobody around to object or to stop them from attacking me if I refused. No class bells to ring making everyone hurry off to class. "Suck my dick," again with authority, just a note of ultimatum, unsaid but apparent, that I would get punished for my further disobedience.
My answer, "Make me!"
A nod from Emilio was followed instantly with a blow to my stomach by the larger helper, I fell to the ground, once again unable to catch my breath.
They rolled me onto my back. All three sat on me, one on each leg, Emilio on my chest, his knees on my upper arms. Keeping his knees on my arms, he straddled my head and unbuckled his pants, got them slightly down, and somehow extracted his cock. With one hand holding his cock and his other hand wrapped up in my long hair, he began sticking his prick in my face. I turned my head side to side, up and down, saying,
"No -- No -- No," but his grip on my hair made it increasingly difficult to avoid him pushing his cock between my lips. The wet tip of his dick was painting my face with his fluid, all around my mouth and chin as I jerked my head around to prevent insertion. My eyes were wide open and my mind was encouraging me to stop fighting it. Not only did it seem futile to resist, but his cock was very attractive to me. In only a few seconds, it had grown very stiff and straight. I dawned on me that my own little dick was also getting stiff, a fact that Emilio's two helpers noticed.
"Hey, Emilio, he's got a hard-on," one said. Emilio smiled and said,
"Open your mouth, you cocksucking little fag. I know you want it. My uncle was right about you."
His cock was all over my face and was rigid as a stick. I was cross-eyed looking at it. It was a young, strong and ample cock with good length and a nice shaped head, not too wide or mushroomed out. It somehow aroused me that Emilio was turned on by me, or my cunt face, or his little conquest of my faggot ass. My struggle to resist him just made him more forceful and more sexually driven. The realization hit me that I was excited and thrilled at being forced to do it. Emilio caught on immediately that I was suddenly cooperative, knew for a fact that his uncle was right about me.
I opened my mouth and Emilio's nice dick plunged into my hungry mouth and got the sucking he had sought for months. I watched his blissful face as he fucked mine and I did all the things my uncle taught me about stroking the head with my tongue and taking it down my throat. His friends watched us and watched for other people who might come by. Nobody said anything except Emilio who just kept saying,
"You're my cocksucker now, Baby." I think he said it twenty times, seemed like. It did not take long for him to cum. Emilio pumped his thick hot load into my mouth and I gulped it down, just like I was taught. The other two guys took their turns and I swallowed it all down.
Then we made a deal. I wouldn't tell anyone what they made me do, if they wouldn't tell anyone that I did it. Oh, and they could each get sucked off whenever they felt the need, but only one at a time in private. I kept my end of the bargain, but they got a couple more guys using me. I pretended they were forcing me. I always enjoyed being forced and they enjoyed the conquest. How sweet. I think men always value a thing or a victory more when they have to work for it, or defeat someone else for it. A sort of strong-arm seduction. Emilio tried to get me to come down to the docks sometime, but I knew his uncle would be there waiting for me. I was too scared to go. Years later I sometimes I thought about it when I jacked off. It might have been fun. Older Italian men often seemed to have big dicks. Remember Mauricio at the boat yard? Did I tell you about him?