Dark Passenger: The Beginning of Me (#10)

Ending the fucked up relationship with my molester caused me to develop an appetite for sex. After all, I was a 15-year-old boy. While my friendship with the straight classmate couldn't endure school starting again, I had discovered the bathrooms at stores that would abate my sexual appetite.

Lucky for me, my parents went to "town" on a weekly basis — just like clockwork. Even better, the bathroom at the discount department store (a predecessor to modern-day Target) turned out to be frequented by cocksuckers.

So every week, we'd go and I'd wander through the store only to end up at the bathroom in the back. And usually every week, I'd get sucked off under the stall.

Weekly, this would happen. The quality of men turned out to be less than attractive. But even me — a thin, pimply-faced, geeky kid — got sucked greedily by men. I'd come to recognize different shoes of the frequenters there (one old man I would never forget and always avoid) and quality of suck jobs (some better, some worse).

Rarely would I engage in a conversation and, since I relied heavily on my parents for transportation, my only choice in these circumstances turned out to be the blowjob. As I think back, I don't recall having the desire to fuck ass or to suck cock in return. I used men, much the way I do now, but I didn't recognize it as "using."

I got off. Men wanted to suck me off. So I let them. In a way, I was a passive top. I got it hard and they could do what they liked. I still enjoy that scene on occasion — an aggressive bottom just using me as his play toy. My cock isn't as big as all those dildos from porn stars, but it's a helluva lot warmer and it spurts my own little joy juice.

And, in a way, I continued to be molested. I chose that path. I let it happen. Men continued it. Men wanted to. I wanted men to.