Chapter 1

I been a queer from day one. I was always feminine and slightly built, and, let’s just say that, puberty did not make a man out of me! I lived in a small town, so I tried to stay in the closet, but gayness simply reeked off of me. I didn’t have friends my own age because no one wanted to hang out with a pasty little faggot. So I lived in my own world. I never knew my dad, and my mom was basically the town whore. She worked in a factory, and growing up, there was a succession of men living with us. Whenever I was alone, I would jerk off, often times wearing nothing but some of mom’s whorish red lipstick, and a pair of her sexy high heels! Eventually though, this wasn’t enough, and I began dreaming about going out and looking for - what? I wasn’t sure, but as surely as a salmon swims upstream to spawn, I innately knew what I wanted - NEEDED.

One night I was lying in bed naked, jerking off, and the idea popped into my head to take the bus into the city tomorrow, and just hang out there. I knew that queers hung out in the bus station area, and somewhere in the back of my head, I knew I should go there. I was a skinny white teen, slightly built, and I knew I looked younger than my actual age. So I put on a pair of shorts with no underwear, a tank top, and a pair of flip flops, and I caught the bus into the city.

I got there about 5 p.m. It was a really hot sweltering day, and so I just hung out in the station for a couple of hours, part of me scared to go outside. One of mom’s boyfriends used to talk about the bus station and how all the horny wolves would drive around there, looking for young snatch - meaning cute young bois. Finally around 7 p.m. I got up the nerve to go out. I began walking the streets around the bus station. It was a really ghetto area. Occasionally I would stop and lean provocatively in the semi shadows of a building. At one point a car with loud music playing and full of white teenagers came by and were screaming at me, calling me “faggot,” and “queerboy -” stuff like that. One of them yelled out in an effeminate sounding voice: “I WILL cut you, bitch!” and that kind of scared me, so I tried to stay in the shadows for awhile, but eventually my horniness drove me back out. This was my first time gay cruising, but I didn’t know the name for it then. I mean - I was only 16!

Well, not only my physical appearance, but the way I was dressed said all anyone needed to know. I was wearing these really short, raggedy cut jeans shorts - too short for a guy to wear actually - and an orange tank top that was so faded it looked PINK! Plus I had this thick shoulder length blonde hair, full pouty lips, and pretty green eyes. The more horny I got the bolder I got. I began swinging my hips and swishing my hands as I walked, eventually tying up my tank top just under my chest. Then I saw him. An older guy in a pickup. He went past me several times, more slowly each time. So I smiled at him. He rolled down his passenger window; “need a lift?” he asked. I didn’t answer, just slid in the seat beside him, displaying as much bare legs as I could.

As we drove he kept looking at me and down to my silky legs. He kept pushing the bulge in his cargo shorts, but I looked straight ahead, pretending not to notice. I was nervous and my tummy had butterflies! Then he reached over and put his big rough hand on my bare thigh. I stiffened. “You got some pretty legs, honey,” he said, running the calloused palm lightly up and down my leg. Then he said: “Check it out.”

I looked over and he had his stiff cock out. It was really big and thick, with lots of sexy blue mouth watering gnarly veins. He took my small delicate hand and placed it on the hot hard flesh, and my fingers wrapped around it and I gave it a squeeze. He groaned loudly and pulled over to the side of the street, and right there, in broad daylight, he leaned over and pushed his tongue down my throat, his hands up under my shirt. People were walking by, some of them looking, but thinking about it, I could have been a girl for all they knew. “Oh, BABY!” he said excitedly. I’m takin you HOME!”

He lived in a residential neighborhood. He said his name was Don. Turns out Don and I had something in common: we both lived with our moms. Only he was in his late 30s and his mom was really old. I guess she was used to Don bringing bois home because she barely looked up as we came in and went straight to Don’s room. We both stripped naked in the room, and Don posed for me, flexing his muscles. “Mmmm, so HARD!” I squealed, placing my fruity little hand on his hard bicep - just like a feminine bitch would do. I felt my own tiny penis jump. Suddenly Don swept me off my feet and held me in his strong arms. “Oh, Don - you’re so STRONG!” I exclaimed, nestling securely in his buff arms.