Date: Sun, 17 May 2009 23:21:28 -0400 (EDT)
From: Clark Building <clarkbldg@earthlink.net>
Subject: Auto Mechanics for Certain Boys

When I was fourteen, my divorced parents arranged for me to spend half of
summer vacation with my mother who worked all day leaving me to hang around
the house all day, five days a week.  There was a neighbor down the street
who worked nights at Douglas Aircraft where he was some kind of engineer.
During the day he was rebuilding the engine of a Jaguar XK120 sportscar in
his garage.  I wandered in one day and started asking questions, getting in
the way, and generally making a pest of myself, but he made the effort to
be very, very nice to me.  I handed him a tool once in awhile, or wiped up
oil or grease.  I returned each day, having little else to do. I wasn't
much help really.

In those days, I was kind of a loner kid, slender and fit and a little
swishy.  Having lived with my Swedish grandparents from infancy to about
age ten, I was allowed to have long hair, not really common for boys in
those days.  I liked it because frankly it was lovely to look at, a straw
colored blonde lightened on top by the sun.  I was often mistaken for a
girl, a fact that bothered me not at all.  My grandparents seemed to treat
me like a girl and to prefer that I was a girl. I was kind of girl-like in
other ways as well.  I kept myself clean and neat, more so than ordinary
boys my age, my fingernails always clean and properly trimmed.  I was still
in the peach fuzz stage, without facial hair to speak of.

Anyway, after a few days of my idle chatter, my engineer began get more
friendly and to touch me now and then in a friendly way, mess my long blond
hair, stroke the side of my face, hug me quickly across the shoulders.  I
sometimes touched his arm with my hand or put my hand up his sweaty back
under his loose t-shirt as he was bent over the fender of the car.  I saw
the way he looked at me when I did something like that and I knew the
little wheels in his head were turning.  He liked to be touched by
effeminate little me.

One day I got into his car and sat in the drivers seat trying to reach the
pedals with their odd backward slant, typical of XK Jaguars.  It was a very
strange car and I wondered if I might someday get a chance to drive it.
After a few minutes of my messing around in the cockpit, what a name, he
got into the passenger seat and started making idiotic small talk about
whether I liked his car, did I think I would like to drive one like it when
I was older, stuff like that.  As usual, I was wearing shorts.  He stroked
my leg, making some inane comment about me getting tan from the summer sun.
He kept stroking my leg, watching my face for some sign, of protest, I
suppose.  Instead, I closed my eyes and my breathing increased as my little
cock got stiff and I imagined he was about to touch it.  He did not, but I
was certain that he noted my reactions.

The very next day, when I came into the garage, he looked up and down the
street, apparently to make sure no one was watching my arrival, then closed
the garage door.  He invited me into the adjoining house, through the
kitchen and into the living room.  He instructed me to watch the TV while
he took a quick shower and to help myself to Cokes in the fridge.  I opened
a Coke and turned on the TV to some mindless daytime show, sat back on the
couch and kicked off my sandals, feet up on the coffee table.  In a few
minutes he came out in a robe, smelling of soap, still dripping, but mostly
dried off and fresh.

Without a word, he took the Coke from my hand and pulled me over to sit on
the ottoman.  Him tall, me short, he straddled my legs and pushed his
crotch toward my face and opened his robe then closed it around my head.  I
was face to face with what then seemed like a very large penis, certainly
much larger than my own, and I was really scared, or just excited.  I
thought that I had no idea what to do, or say.  His dick was limp and
dangled in my face for a brief time when my hot breath apparently affected
its state of arousal. It began to rise and point at my face.  I was not
even tempted to pull away, as I recall, but frozen in my confused and
ignorant excitement.  I knew something great, but nasty and forbidden, was
happening to me.  My little cock was instantly bursting with joy.

As his dick became perpendicular, I was cross-eyed looking at it when he
opened his robe and took his stiff cock in his hand.  It was, like mine,
uncircumcised.  He pulled back the foreskin and began drawing the wet tip
across my face starting on my forehead.  I closed my eyes and pushed my
face forward for my sissy boy anointment.  I was thrilled but scared.
Scared that he would quit or that we would be discovered by someone else
and get into trouble.  I was basically an obedient child and tried to avoid
getting into trouble.  But I was willing to do whatever he wanted with
me. By his hand, his wet cock went back and forth covering every pore of my
face, into my eye sockets, all around my nose, my lips, my chin, and down
my neck, then back up.

After a few minutes, he said, "open," and I opened my eyes.  "Your mouth,"
he said.

And I opened wide.  It was the most natural thing imaginable to me and to
this day I remember being shocked at how much I enjoyed feeling and tasting
his cock in my mouth.  So big and smooth and firm, my tongue flicked and
rolled about the head and crest and he made approving throaty grunts, you
can tell when men like it.  Cock sucking is pure pleasure for both parties,
I am certain.

It also seemed somehow familiar to me as I began bobbing my head, taking it
in and out of my little face pussy, my lips milking the shaft.  Only then
did I remember that I had been forced by my uncle and my cousin about four
or five years earlier to lick and suck their cocks during the year that I
lived with them. I had repressed the memory, maybe because I was sworn to
secrecy. More about that later.  My forgotten cocksucking past was coming
back into my consciousness just about the time my pedophile engineer
ejaculated into my mouth.  It was a taste I knew from long before, and I
had no gag reflex, but took several swallows to get his big load down.

What had changed in the intervening years was that my own sexual arousal
had matured and, whereas at age ten, I just did what I was told, by age
fourteen I was eager and hungry for it.  For the next week, not much work
was done to the Jaguar, as we were indoors messing around.  I especially
liked to have him fuck me in the ass.  It was painful but left me feeling
sexually used and powerfully girl-like.  To have a man's cock up your ass
is really something special.  For him to get his rocks off in your rectum
is very, very sexy.  You should try it.