I jerked suddenly and realized I was dreaming on the sofa in my living room. I glanced down at my pants. There was a large wet spot, soaking through my underwear and then through my jeans. I realized my cock was still completely hard from this part of my dream and knew that I had even managed to shoot a load in my pants. I was still excited thinking about it. It had been so many years ago, but here it was happening again. I had invited Mr. Ericsson over after Rob had fallen asleep for the night. I had wanted to see him so badly, I had just gone ahead and invited him over. I knew Rob wouldn't wake up or hear anything. I needed to hear Mr Ericsson's voice and to talk to him. It was always so relaxing and he was a good listener.
The dream was so real in my mind I had been floating down a river on a raft, the sun was so warm and I was very relaxed, enjoying just floating on the river. Then my raft ran aground and I was at the practice facility for the tack team in high school.
I joined the track team as a sophomore. I ran the middle distances. Relays and the 880. Most of the guys I ran with at that distance were older black guys, seniors in school. One guy was named Michael Johnson. He was the best at the middle distance so the coach often had him help us younger guys learn what to do and how to train. I don't think Michael liked me too much because he would sometimes call me fag under his breath, but he had to work with me anyway.
One day he let me borrow his sand filled leg weights that he used to train. They put more pounds on your legs, making them heavier and you could train that way so your legs seemed lighter when you actually ran a meet. I ran that day with them on, and then took them off for doing sprints. Somehow, I guess I poked a hole in one of them. I don't know how, but I must have. Michael got mad when he discovered it. He really went off at me.
"Asshole, you ruined my sand weights!" he screamed. "I should knock the shit outta you right now faggot. Those cost me a lotta money. What you gonna do about it?" He was pushing me there on the infield of the track, pointing his finger in my chest and I really thought he WAS going to beat the shit out of me.
I kept apologizing but he didn't seem to care. Other people heard him and he was telling them how dumb I was and how I ruined his weights, how I better replace his weights, and a lot of name-calling about me. He kept at it until we got to the locker room. I really thought he was going to beat me up. He kept saying he would, and he kept pushing at me. Pretty much all the friends I had on the team left me alone and were making me deal with it myself. I guess they were afraid of him too. Michael was a tall guy and real muscular, but with those thin sprinter legs. He was fast and strong.
I was scared so much that I kept an eye on him the whole time in the locker room. He started saying I was watching him in the shower and that I was queer and stuff. I HAD watched him but it was because I was scared. I knew better than to try to stare at a guy in the locker room. He made so much noise that eventually the coach came over and we had to tell him what was going on. I apologized again for ruining his weight and that I would get a new one for him. He was made to say that he wouldn't beat me up. He wasn't happy about it, but finally was quiet. I left as soon as I could and began heading home.
I walked to school each day. I lived across a park from the school. It took me about 20 minutes to get to school if I walked across the golf course and park, a little longer if I took the road through the park. So I was heading home and a car pulled up along side of me. I was ignoring it because I never knew who was going to be driving in the park. The car kept driving slow next to me and finally I heard someone calling my name. I looked over..
"Hey, Steve, you want a ride home?" It was Michael.
"No, thanks," I told him I didn't need a ride.
"Hey, I just want to apologize, I kinda went off back at practice. Let me give you a ride to try and make up for it."
"No, that's okay, Michael, I was wrong," I added. "I will get you a new weight, don't worry about it."
"Well, I was saying all sorts of shit and just wanted to kinda make it up to you. I really am a good guy. Why don't you get in and let me drive you home the rest of the way."
I looked up and Michael was smiling as he spoke. It made me feel better about everything, so I agreed and he stopped the car and I got in. It was your usual car for a teenager where I grew up, a big old American hoopty. The kind where you could actually fit three people in the front seat comfortably and still have room to stretch out.
I was quiet as usual and didn't say much after I got in. Michael asked where I lived and I told him.
"Okay. We'll get there in a minute but I gotta stop and take a piss, bad." He went off the road into an area where folks parked in the summer to use the picnic area. Since it was early spring no one was there. He parked, but then instead of getting out of the car to piss, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me over across the large front seat toward him. He was a lot bigger than me. I was still skinny and young, he was a senior and muscular. So when he pulled I was caught off guard and went that direction. He grabbed my head and pulled me down towards his lap. I was really scared and trying to get away.
"Now, I'm gonna get what you owe me bitch," he growled. "You wrecked my sand weights and I am gonna show you that you can't be messin with my shit and not think you owe me."
"P..p..please," I pleaded. "I said I was sorry, what are you doing?"
"I've seen you staring at me faggot. Not just today, but everyday, I see you staring at me in the showers. I know you are a fag, boy and I figure that is how you are gonna pay me for those weights. I need a little relief and you are the little bitch that is gonna provide it since you broke my weights."
I am sure I probably started screaming but the car was all closed up and we were away from the road, so no one heard anything. He held my head in his crotch, and told me to start licking him. I was really scared because he was holding me hard. I had tried swinging my arms but he blocked them or he slapped me. He told me to stop fighting and he wouldn't hurt me.
"No, please, I can't do this, I'm not a fag." I said it with as much meaning as I could. I knew deep down he was right, I HAD stared at him in the shower. He was beautiful. I couldn't seem to help myself even though I knew it was wrong to look. He was at least 6'2" and was well muscled. He had that runner's body, with tight abs, and his skin was a very dark brown like a dark chocolate color. He was also very well hung from what I could tell of his soft cock. Now that my face was being shoved into his crotch I was regretting my weakness and the sideways stares I had taken in the showers.
"Bitch, I'll pound your faggot ass if you keep fighting me. You know this is what you wanted anyway, so stop trying to get away." He was forcing my head into his crotch while holding my hands to keep from hitting him. He grabbed my head by the hair and lifted it up so I was looking at him in the eyes. He released my hands and slapped me across the face hard with his now available palm. The look in his eyes told me he wasn't joking. He WAS going to beat the shit outta me if I kept fighting him. I knew he could do it too, so I stopped struggling so much. The sting on my cheek was enough to settle me down.
Michael kept his one hand on my head and with the other hand unzipped his pants and pulled out his already hard cock. I didn't open my mouth quick enough for him, so he held my nose with his fingers and when I had to breathe he forced my mouth onto his rigid dick.
"Stupid bitch, you think you aren't going to suck my cock? I know you are a fag and that you want it. You owe me for those weights and this is how I am collecting the debt. Now work that mouth on my fat cock. Everyone knows fags suck cock."
He began pushing my head down further on his dick. I was scared because I knew there was no way to get out of this unless I sucked him so I started doing what I had never done before. In the back of my mind I thought about what he was saying, that he knew I was a fag and that fags did suck cock. I knew this too, but I had never ever done anything like this and had tried everything to hide the fact that I might want to do it.
"Fuck, yeah, this is what I am talking about. You know what you are doing, don't tell me you haven't sucked dick before faggot. You are better than my girlfriend at it."
He fucked my face for awhile. I gagged a lot. He was pretty big, probably at least 8 inches.
"You are going to be doing this a lot now, bitch. I need a cocksucker to get off with when I am horny." The thought of doing this more than one time had not occurred to me. Michael was going to make me suck him all the time. I started crying because I was gagging and trying to suck but fighting his forcefulness. I didn't want to be a faggot, I thought to myself.
"Stop whining, you little faggot. Worse than a girl, with your tears. Not gonna stop me from getting what I want anyway, so you might as well enjoy it."
As he continued to push my head up and down on his dick, and his cock continued to stretch my throat, I started relaxing more. Soon I noticed his dick no longer stuck at the entrance to my throat, it was just going in and out, and my gagging had almost stopped. It was beginning to feel good to me and I was thinking that maybe he was right, I was supposed to like cocksucking because it felt good and he seemed to be enjoying it a lot. Before I knew it my tears had dried up and I was mostly moving my head up and down on his black pole on my own. I noticed that my own dick was hard now. Maybe he was right, maybe I was a faggot. That made me think even more that I was enjoying this and he was right again. I wanted to be doing it.
"That's so good boy, you suck cock like a pro. I knew you were a little bitch, I could see it in your eyes. You need this as much as I do. You keep this up and I am going to shoot my load in your mouth."
Could he really see in my eyes that I was a fag? How could someone see this when I could hardly admit it to myself? What if my friends could tell? What if my dad could tell? I didn't want to be a cocksucker, I thought to myself, but yet, I was clearly enjoying now what was happening, my own hard cock wasn't lying.
I wanted more than anything all of a sudden to taste his load, to know I had sucked him well enough to have him cum. I got so excited that my own cock started shooting without even touching myself. I was moaning and my throat tightened around his cock as I began to empty my own balls into my pants.
"Fuck, girl, you are going to make me shoot. You throat is like a pussy, all tight and warm. FUUUCCCKKKK. Take it bitch, swallow it all." Michael was thrusting his dick deep and his first spurt coincided with the last of my own load dumping in my pants. He shot it directly down my throat then pulled back to finish emptying his cum into my mouth.
"Better swallow it all faggot, I know you want it bad. Take it... Ugh,... fuck you are a good sucker...take it all...swallow it...do it bitch."
So I did. I swallowed the rest of his big load and was licking his dick clean when he grabbed my hair and pulled my head up again, forcing me to look in his eyes.
"Okay bitch you listen and you listen good. You tell anyone I let you suck me, I will beat the shit outta you. You try to not suck me the next time I want it, I beat the shit outta you. Basically, you are my faggot now, and you are gonna give me head anytime I want it, just like a good faggot. You understand me?"
"Yes, Sir. I understand," I replied. Who was I gonna tell? My friends? My family? "Hey, I'm a cocksucker now"... not likely I thought.
When he finished explaining things to me he told me to get out of the car. He told me he would see me when he wanted more but not to come looking for him. I had to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way home. I was scared for a little while but then I thought about what I had done and it didn't seem like I was going to hell or anything. I was scared someone else would know I had sucked his dick and that it showed on my face that I was a faggot. He had said he could tell, I wondered if other guys could tell too. How come I didn't know? He made me suck him several more times that year; always in his car, someplace after track practice.
*** Mr Ericsson saw that my pants were damp. He was smiling at me in my dream.
"Good boy. You sucked that man's cock like a good boy. Just like we talked about last time, Steve. You are a good boy when you suck cock."
A warm feeling spread over me just like the warm cum had spread in my pants during my recall of that first experience of sex with a man. I knew that Mr Ericsson was right, I wanted to be a good boy.
"That man could tell you needed to suck his cock, Steve," Mr Ericsson continued speaking in his calming, soothing voice that I had begun to associate with my calmness of late. "You know he was right, boy. Men can tell that you are a cocksucker, boy. They can tell you are such a good boy. They know a cocksucker when they see one, boy."
What Mr Ericsson said made sense. Men always seemed to know, whether I said anything or not. Michael had known in high school, and others had known afterwards.
"Your friend Michael was just showing you what you needed to know boy. You needed to learn how to suck dick, boy, to learn how to please a man like a good cocksucker, boy. Such a good boy, learning to be a faggot, learning your place."
Mr Ericsson said everything directly and he always made sense to me. Even something like being forced to suck a man's cock was making sense to me as he talked to me.
"You are a faggot, boy. There is nothing wrong with being a good faggot, Steve. You need to suck cock for a man in order to be a good boy" Mr Ericsson gently placed his hand on my head and I could feel the heat from his body simply from his touch there. "You were made for sucking cock, faggot. These words are simply other ways for you to know you are a good boy. When you hear the word faggot or cocksucker, you will relax and know that a man understands you, boy. You will relax and accept that this is your place and your role for that man, boy. Do you understand what I am telling you?"
I knew that those words had always made me uncomfortable in my life. Just hearing them now in my dream caused me some fear that I didn't understand.
"You are a good boy, such a good boy. You are also a good faggot, a good cocksucker, boy. It is not wrong to be a good faggot, boy. You know you want to be a good faggot, don't you, do you understand me, boy?"
I knew I needed to answer Mr Ericsson. His hand on my head reassured me, and what he said made sense to me. I answered with as much conviction as I felt. "Yes, Mr Ericsson, I am a good faggot," I told him. As I spoke the words immediately I felt a release of tension flood my mind. It was okay to say it. I was still a good boy. I knew what I needed to do.
I sat up off the sofa and got on my knees. I looked up at Mr Ericsson as his hand held the back of my head. He smiled at me and I smiled back.
"Good boy," Mr Ericsson spoke reassuringly. "Now do what you were made for doing, boy. Do what makes you a good boy."
I reached out for Mr Ericsson's zipper. I undid his pants and pulled them down. He stepped out of his pants as they hit the floor and his cock was ready for me. I knew that I needed to suck it. I was a cocksucker. I was a faggot. I needed his load in me. I knew this now and I felt good about it. When I took the head of his dick in my mouth, I felt his calmness and energy come with it. I was relaxed.
"Good boy, that feels so good. You are such a good faggot, boy and you need this cock and my load." Mr Ericsson's voice was always the same, calm and direct. Soothing and confirming. "You will ALWAYS be a good faggot, Steve. You have BEEN a good faggot for as long as you have been sucking cock. Such a good boy, such a good cocksucker. Men can tell this about you boy. Men can spot a cocksucker when they see you"
Mr Ericsson's words poured over me as I devoured his cock. I knew he was right. I had been born a faggot. Men knew this about me and that was okay now. He held my head with his hand and he pumped his cock back and forth in my throat. He alternated deep thrusts with allowing me to lick his balls and the head of his beautiful dick. I rolled my tongue over and around his cock and took it until my lips were pushing against his crotch.
"You were made to be a cocksucker, boy. You were born a sissy and you will always be a sissy, Steve. You are such a good faggot. Your daddy knew it, your friend Michael knew it, and I know it, boy. I am sure others have known it too. You will continue to listen to the CDs I give you faggot. You will continue to follow the orders there. You will continue to learn your submission is good boy. You will accept that you have always been submissive. You have been raised to be submissive and obedient and this is good for you. You are most comfortable and relaxed when you are submissive to men, boy. You will continue to be a good boy. You will continue to need my cock and my load, because you are a faggot and crave a man's load, don't you boy?"
Mr Ericsson pulled his cock back and held it in front of my face. It looked so hard and so big right there in front of my eyes. I looked up at him and felt so good about what I was doing.
"Yes, Mr Ericsson," I answered him. "I am a good faggot. I need your load and I need to suck cock." The words were just what I needed to say and the confirmation he wanted to hear.
"Beg for it faggot," Mr Ericsson said gruffly. "Be a good fag and beg for it."
"Please, Mr Ericsson," I pleaded with an enthusiasm I felt deeply. "Please, I need your load, Sir. Please, let me have your load."
I must have done it well, because Mr Ericsson groaned deeply, just holding his cock in his hand in front of my face. He roared and the first spurt caught me off guard as it flew from his cock's opening across my cheek and nose. I quickly opened my mouth and tried to catch the rest of his load as it sprayed at me. I looked at Mr Ericsson's face and saw pleasure in his eyes as he stared down at me. It gave me a good feeling and I swallowed as much as I could as he pumped it out of his dick.
"Swallow my load cocksucker," Mr Ericsson said when he had finished.
I obeyed and began trying to lick the load with my tongue that had sprayed my face, so I would not miss any.
"Such a good cocksucker, boy. You look happy now. You look like a good faggot should"
I smiled and realized Mr Ericsson was right. I was happy here on my knees licking his load off my face.
My pants were wet from cumming in them. I got up from the sofa embarrassed about emptying my load there during a dream. I am sure Mr Ericsson saw me get up and go to change. That event had happened so many years ago and I had almost forgotten about it until this dream. This dream was just as real as the dream I had while I was at Mr. Ericsson's place. They seemed like they were happening today, not years ago. It seemed so real, so close in time. I mean I came in my pants just like I had done when it happened the first time. It felt like I was going through the experience again. I wondered if I would have more of these dreams.
I thanked Mr Ericsson for coming over and listening to me talk. I also apologized again for sleeping when we were together. It happened every time we got together. I hoped it would stop soon, or he might not want to come back. Mr Ericsson gave me another CD to listen to. He said that I had been good and was following all the suggestions that he had made for relaxing and de-stressing on the first CD so this was a new one to help me further on feeling better. I agreed that I had been feeling better since he had started talking to me and said I would listen to it later that evening.