Date: Thu, 2 Aug 2007 15:13:30 -0500
From: J.J. <jjjanicki@gmail.com>
Subject: Part 1- Getting Kicked Out of the House

Right now it really doesn't matter whose fault it was, but at age 14 I
was one very screwed up kid. And it looked like it could get a lot worse.
And no, I hadn't at that point looked up dissociative amnesia. Which is
really sort of surprising, in that from about the fourth grade on I'd
been looking up various diseases wondering which might be a best one to
catch. Some kids when faced with an intolerable situation hope to be
abducted by aliens, I'm wondering if it was still possible to get polio.
Or at least every now and then I did.

Dissociative amnesia. Yeah, that would have been a good one. The old
split personality routine.

Well, before dismissing the idea entirely, consider this: At 14 I was
hard at work on my first novel. (Delusions of Grandeur. Except I don't
suppose meglomania is really uncommon at that age, so we'll overlook
that.)

One part of my novel was nearing completion. That was the one written by
the me who really WASN'T gay, although he did realize some people might
get the wrong idea. Or at least at the very START he wasn't gay, only
then he really wasn't sure, then possibly he was just going through a
phase, then maybe there was at least some hope he might be BIsexual...

Then thankfully I deleted most of it.

Because at the same time ANOTHER novel was being written. In this case I
WAS gay, and proud of it. Only at 14 I made several false starts on that
one.

And finally; just for the heck of it; a THIRD novel had just been started
in which not only was I gay, I'd been that way since age 11. Hopefully I
was going to be discreet about it.

Not convinced? Well, consider this: My foster-parents were militant
Protestant fundamentalists. So with that in mind, you will at least admit
that dissociative amnesia was more probable than polio.

Although at least the two or three different parts of me were still AWARE
of each other, so that would eliminate the amnesiac part. And another
hopeful sign was that I was having a great deal of fun, no matter WHO I
was. When I writing, I was having fun. I wrote to entertain myself. And I
wasn't entertaining myself with tragedies, which is a very hopeful sign
indeed. (You really don't want to read a tragedy written by a
14-year-old. Not EVER.)

The first story I submitted (The Naked Amazon Headhunter and the
Missionary) was from novel #3. Which did seem to be off to a promising
start, but as I've just mentioned, I'd barely started it.

So OK. This next story is from uncompleted novel #2 in which I was kicked
out of my house and had to start selling my body to survive. Not that I
really WANTED to become a prostitute, what I WANTED was to be kicked out
my house and then be taken in by Aunt Esther up in Minneapolis. Which is
where Matthew lived. Who will be introduced eventually. But ANYway, it
started like this:



             Getting Kicked Out Of The House- Part 1
          (There's GOT To Be an Easier Way Of Doing This)


Travis lived in  my neighborhood and the first year after I moved to
Atlanta it seemed like his greatest joy in life was making me eat dirt.
Or giving me a pink belly. Or sitting on my face. Or sitting on my face
and farting. This was very embarrassing, especially since he's a year
younger than I am, but the problem was (and still is) he's a lot bigger
than I am. Travis is a rather large child. I wouldn't call him fat
exactly, but he is large. Even though it really is true that after about
a year of taking his abuse I finally fought back, but that was mostly
because I didn't have much choice.

You see, I was up in this blown-over tree, I mean WAY up there, a good
fifty or sixty feet, when he showed up, sat on the trunk of the tree down
below and announced that I was going to break my fucking neck if I didn't
get down from there.

So I just told him if he'd get his fat ass OFF the damn tree, I wouldn't
WORRY about breaking my fucking neck at which point he told me I'd better
HOPE I broke my mutherfucking neck because if I didn't he was going to
kick my little ass all the way home and back again and that was a
promise. Then he sat down at the foot of the tree and waited. Said he had
all day.

Now one particularly interesting fact about all this is those cuss words
that came out of my mouth that afternoon just happened to be my very
first EVER uttered in public. See, there were several other neighborhood
kids hanging around that day. And when I said what I did they all
laughed, but they weren't laughing at me, they were laughing at what I
said. And at Travis. So I'd gained face.

But of course if I stayed up in that tree until either the fire
department or my old man had to come get me down, then I would lose all
the face I'd just gained. And not only that, if my OLD MAN caught me up
in that tree then I was REALLY going to get it. So see, I didn't have
much choice in the matter, so I told him ok, I would fight him over at
the basketball goal if he would just PLEASE stay off the tree until I
could get down, at which point everybody (except Travis) laughed some
more, then I climbed down, went over to the basketball goal where he was
prancing around acting like he was expecting a ring announcer to
introduce us and hit him. Right on his nose. And it started bleeding.

Then I thought, "Oh shit! NOW I've DONE it!", only he damn near started
crying and said I hit him before he was ready. So I just hit him again.
Then he started blindly throwing haymakers, but emboldened by my
unexpected success, I danced around making like I was Muhummad Ali or
something and even though he did hit me a few times, it really didn't
hurt much more than being frogged, so I kept going bop bop bop until
finally he just turned and stalked off. He said he wasn't going to fight
me because I was dirty.

I yelled, "Well tough shit!" That day was one of my proudest ever.

But I suppose I really do have some fairly severe emotional problems
because the next day I saw him off by himself moping and I'll be damned
if I didn't start feeling bad about it, in fact I ended up telling him I
was sorry.

Oh I don't know, I guess because Travis never was all that popular around
the neighborhood I felt sorry for him. And sometimes it was like he was
the only person I could run around with. Neither one of us was worth a
damn when it came to playing sports, but I think he's worse than I am. He
seems to be inherently clumsy. So pretty soon we'd made up. And yes, I
felt good about it. Bless my heart! Then before too long he sat on my
face again. But no, I didn't bust him in his nose. I did not LIKE him
sitting on my face, but... oh how can I explain this?

There actually IS no satisfactory explanation, but most of the time when
he ended up sitting on my face or whatever, it started out we were just
playing around, even if after awhile I got the impression that basically
he was just beating the shit out of me, but at least whenever we started
playing like that there usually wasn't anybody else around.

Although at least after I bloodied his nose he didn't sit on my face
quite as OFTEN but then roughly a year later things started getting
slightly weird, only I wasn't ready for weird at that point. He started
grabbing me between my legs right often. And he said he could shoot off
when he hadn't even come close to starting puberty, in fact his was even
smaller that mine, but anyway, when I said he couldn't, he said if I
wanted him to he'd show me how.

Now I can think of several boys who could've showed me how and I wouldn't
have minded all that much, but not Travis. No way. So I started having
less and less to do with him.

Then one afternoon he showed me just what a red-eye was. And while he was
at it, he showed me what a brown-nose was as well. That fat son of a
bitch sat on my face, pulled his pants down and then, "Snuf, hedg thaff
kame.. Damn! Geth outh my fath! Cud it outh!"

Fortunately, he then got off of me. Only the damage had already been
done. "Oh shit!" he crowed, "I got you but good! Go look in a mirror at
your nose. I dare you!"

I didn't have to look in a mirror. I could smell it. Turned out it really
wasn't quite as bad as it smelled but even so, after calling him quite a
few names I got the hell OUT of there and really didn't have a whole lot
to do with him from then on. Until just recently, I mean.

Because aside from all that, the biggest problem with Travis was that
he'd gotten a reputation as a funny boy which in my neighborhood is
roughly one step removed from queer boy. So apparently he'd gotten weird
on other people as well. But at any rate, if labeled a funny boy you're
most definitely going to be looked at with great suspicion and it also
goes without saying that anyone who hangs out with you is going to be
looked at with suspicion as well.

So if it was somebody I liked I don't guess I'd care if I was looked on
with suspicion or not; at least not all that much I wouldn't, and if not
for my old man I might not care at all; but if it's somebody I do NOT
like then it's not worth it. Whenever I used my common sense that's
exactly how I looked at it, but every now and then I would get... well at
first I was merely curious. Just slightly.

Like for instance one afternoon I was out riding my bike going no place
in particular, when I saw Travis sitting on his front steps wearing just
a pair of red gym shorts and tennis shoes. So I would have totally
ignored him, but he yelled out, "Hey dumb ass, I haven't seen you around
lately. Where you been keeping yourself?"

So real cool like I peddled up to him and I said, "Who you calling dumb
ass?" then in case he got the impression I wanted to fight, I added,
"I've been around. So what have you been doing all summer?"

"Oh, this and that." That's about as deep as our conversations ever got.
But I couldn't help but notice that his shorts had rode down pretty far
on his chubby stomach, so I could see a good deal of his v and I just had
to wonder. Was he wearing anything at all underneath those shorts? It
sure didn't look like it. Last time I'd seen it, his penis had been
fairly small, but now it sort of looked like maybe it wasn't. So had he
started growing hair yet? If those shorts rode down just a little more on
him, it looked like I'd find out. Up until that moment I wouldn't have
wanted to see him even partially naked, but all at once I did.

"I got a paper route" I said wryly. "I ain't kidding you, it's a bitch.
You mowing lawns again this summer?" Meanwhile I was wondering if there
was a way to casually sit down on the steps slightly below him. About
three steps below him would probably work out fairly well, I thought.

"Nah" he answered in reply to whether he was mowing lawns or not, "It's
bad enough just mowing my own damn lawn. I just got finished. Man it's
hot! ..You want to ride around some?"

I shrugged and swung off my bike, then laid it over and casually sat down
on the bottom step below him. "Oh I don't know" I replied. "Maybe. We
going anyplace in particular or we just riding around for the hell of
it?" As it turned out, the view of his v was a lot better from up on my
bike and I really couldn't see UP his shorts all that much either. Even
so, I guessed it would look cooler if I remained where I was for at least
a minute or so.

"Well you know the old Horton place?" (Unable to remain perfectly still
while talking, his legs swung open briefly and HELLO I had a very
definite sighting.) "There's this sort of cave out back" he continued, "I
mean it's really cool. So you want to check it out? Nobody'll bother us.
There's not ever nobody around anyways. So you want to?"

Very innocently I said, "Oh I guess maybe for an hour or so, but I can't
stay gone too long."

Perhaps I enjoy chronicling the depths of my depravity. Sure does look
that way, but sneaking a peek up his gym shorts... now that's REALLY bad.
But I must admit I was intrigued. Because he WASN'T wearing any underwear
and while I didn't SEE any hair, it seemed a safe bet that he'd at least
grown a little because I DID see his dick and it was BIG. His nuts were
pretty large as well. And perhaps it was slightly erect or maybe it was
just the way he was sitting, (or possibly it's just that I am just
TOTALLY depraved) but it also seemed to be peering out inquisitively in
my direction.

But it was only a fleeting glimpse and then his legs swung closed again
and he said, "Well ok, wait for me out here then. I got to go put on some
more clothes. I'll be back in a minute."

So right then I was disappointed and it didn't get much better after we
reached our destination. I was hoping he'd get weird on me. Well, I
didn't want him to sit on my face again, but he could have started
wrestling around and grabbing between my legs, he could have tried to
pull mine out, at the very least he could have wondered if I ever jacked
off or how big mine was now, but he didn't. Although at least he did take
a piss without bothering to turn his back. So ok, that was nice of him,
since it allowed me to confirm that my first impression wasn't at all
exaggerated, it WAS big. But he DIDN'T have any hair. I swear he didn't.
When he fished it out, he pulled his fly wide open and he still didn't
have on any underwear so I got a fairly good look and he didn't HAVE any.
And I'm just sorry as shit, but I found it intriguing. Even though pubic
hair is very important to me. At times it's almost more important than
even the size of the penis. I mean you know, it's a bench mark.

But in spite of that, on my way home that day I stopped at Walgreens and
picked up a bottle of Nair. Why did I DO this? Why did I get an erection
when I made the purchase? And why did I become more erect when I actually
-GASP- smeared the stuff into my sparse bush? And not only that, the
longer I stood there letting it set in, knowing full well that with each
passing moment I was drawing closer to that point beyond which there was
no undoing it (at least not for awhile), the stiffer I became. And when I
got into the shower and saw just how well that stuff worked, I REALLY got
stiff. So naturally I whacked off and had a thunderous climax.

Then I felt guilty about it and at that point I thought to myself, "You
fool, NOW you have DONE it! WHY did I DO that? WHY? You are so stupid!"

But that is nothing compared to how I felt the next morning. At first I
was hoping it was a bad dream, but it wasn't.

Well, I guess I found the idea of a big dick without it's customary crown
to be sort of interesting and soon enough I started wondering how I'd
look without MY crown. And finally I got to thinking that maybe if he
found out I didn't have any hair either, he'd start acting weird with me
again. He might even suck my dick. Then I'd surprise him and return the
favor. Then after that maybe we'd TRULY get weird. Maybe one afternoon
he'd say something like, "You know what me and my cousins do sometimes?
We cornhole each other. You ever done that? You can do it to me if you'll
let me do you. You want to try it one time?"

So I'd say ok. I liked imagining him sticking it in me. I'd be beyond
shame, I wouldn't even be embarrassed if when he stuck it in, I cut a
loud explosive whistling fart.

The things I thought of the next few days while I tried to get up enough
nerve to ask him if he wanted to ride out to the old Horton place again,
the things I thought of to draw him out of the closet!! Weird things.
Unsanitary things. Truly disgusting things. Things that are in all
likelihood anatomically impossible.

You see, my old man also raises chickens and...(and you really shouldn't
get ahead of me here. Believe me, the chickens had nothing to worry
about)... and it is my job to feed them. Well, the feed barrel is a fifty
gallon drum set in a box which is on a platform maybe a foot off the
ground and when the feed starts getting low I have to climb up on the
platform and then lean over the edge of the box, then while trying not to
fall into the barrel headfirst, fill the feed can. And my feet are up off
the ground. So I began fantasizing about leaning over a counter about
that high in the Horton place and Travis whopping it in me. I guess he
would have to be standing on a chair. And I probably would have found it
pretty damn uncomfortable. It would have almost killed my stomach
muscles. But I still thought about it. I began thinking just how very
vulnerable I would be leaning over like that, that's all. But I guess in
such a position it would be almost impossible to relax the muscles I
should relax, in fact it probably would be impossible not to TIGHTEN
them, so I suppose it would be pretty uncomfortable at that.

At any rate, after three days I got up enough nerve to ride my bike by
his house. This was after I'd sneaked my old man's razor out that morning
and shaved myself again taking care of three or four stray hairs. And
when I saw Travis sitting morosely on his front steps I thought for sure
it was fate.

Which I suppose it was. Yes, he guessed we could ride out to the Horton
place again, he sure didn't have anything else to do.

So when we were riding through the woods, I fell off my bike into a mud
puddle. And "Shit!" I said, "Now I'm going to have to wash my damn
clothes off and let them hang up to dry for awhile before I can go home,
because if my mom sees them messed up like this, she'll KILL me!"

"You're kidding me" said Travis.

"No I'm not" I said. "You don't know her. Well, I guess I can wash them
out in that little creek behind the place. Then I'll let them dry out for
awhile. I don't guess I have any choice."

So when we got to that creek out in the woods, he swung off his bike and
said, "Well, do what you have to then." I wasn't entirely sure, but I
thought I detected an ill-disguised note of anticipation in his voice.

"Nobody hardly ever comes out here much, right? I mean you're sure about
it?" I didn't want to seem too eager about it.

"Shit, I don't know. I don't guess so" he answered. I guessed he didn't
want to sound too eager either.

"Well ok" I replied glumly, then for good measure I added a very rueful
"Shit!" then I sat down and started working on my shoes. In no time at
all I was down to just my pants, only at that point I hesitated. There
are just a few things it is hard to grow out of.

I laughed self-consciously and completely in character. "Maybe from now
on I ought to wear some underwear" I said and then with my back to him,
hurriedly finished undressing, squatted beside the creek and began to
earnestly wash my things out. I had only a slight erection. I was
relieved, actually. And by the time I my clothes were hung over a low
overhanging limb to dry, it was completely at ease. Then I sat down
cross-legged and acted almost normal.

Only he never made any comment about my appearance one way or the other.
No, he just said, "Well, I'll be seeing you around sucker" and as I just
sat there in stunned disbelief, he grabbed my pants and shirt and peddled
away. I had no idea he could move that fast. And he didn't just throw my
clothes in the bushes either, oh no, they were GONE.

I said, "Uh oh." No really, that's the first thing I said. I said it very
quietly. Admittedly my initial reaction was somewhat understated, but I
didn't want to scare myself. But I really was scared. I wasn't sure, but
I had a feeling he wasn't coming back. And he didn't. I waited and waited
and WAITED, feeling dumber and dumber by the minute but finally I had to
admit to myself that he REALLY wasn't coming back. It was hard not to
panic. (Yet another understatement.)

Still, believe it or not, after roughly thirty minutes of hiding in the
bushes hissing out obscenities directed mostly at myself I said, "Oh
fuck. I think I'll just whack off." But I couldn't get it up. I tried for
at least five minutes, and if anything, my dick just got smaller. So as
you can see, I was really upset.

So finally I guessed I might as well try to get myself home. I was fairly
certain I was doomed, but I had to at least try. I had a very strong
homing instinct. And anyway, it would have been at least in the wee hours
of the following morning before traffic would only be a MODERATE concern,
no matter HOW I went, so off I went. And for just a bit, there almost
seemed reason to believe things might not turn out as badly as I had at
first thought, because while trying to slip wraithlike through the woods,
I happened upon a plastic garbage bag partially buried in some wet
leaves. It wasn't in really great shape and had a small colony of ants in
it, but finally I managed to transform it into a sort of diaper, a bit on
the drafty side but still an improvement. Even if it itched like crazy.
Which is ANOTHER understatement. I shook it out as best I could, but ants
are very stubborn. A couple of times I almost said the hell with it. The
places I got bit, boy oh boy. Very strategic places. Made me hop up and
down and cuss.

Eventually I managed to reach the edge of the woods. There behind a bush
I paused, carefully looked both ways down a very busy street and then
said to myself, "Ok, now... OUCH! SON OF BITCH!... what?" Did I dare go
hopping down that street in broad daylight wearing nothing but my Nikes
and a brown trash bag? (I could tell you the name of the street, but
seeing as how there's only one Episcopal church on that street, I won't.
But trust me, it's a real busy street. Six lanes not counting the center
turning lane.)

What happened was, I looked across the street and saw this big Episcopal
church. Now mostly what I know about Episcopalians is that my old man
considers them to be very LIBERAL. He said most of them don't really
believe in much of anything. They have dances, play cards and go to
movies. And they don't have the church doors open even on Sunday nights,
much less on Wednesday nights.

So after thinking it over for a distressingly long time I guessed if I
went over there, just maybe I could talk to somebody and explain that a
gang of boys thought it would be a big joke if they stripped me naked and
left me that way, but they were my friends in a way and so I didn't want
to get them into trouble with the law which if my foster-father found out
about it they would be, because he wouldn't let well enough alone until I
told him who all was responsible which would only make things worse for
me because the only reason they did that in the first place was because
he was a fundamentalist preacher who was preaching at them all the time,
then just maybe whoever I talked to wouldn't ask too many questions and
just get me some damn clothes. I'd wait somewhere out of sight until they
could find some. They didn't even have to fit me. Just halfway fit, that
would be just about perfect. Yeah, if I could just get across the street,
then maybe somebody would help me out. So I took a really deep breath and
started to dart out from my hiding place, then panic stricken I thought,
"No wait a second! Here comes some fucking joggers! Just wait until they
pass. And the traffic clears a little."

About ten minutes later I guess, there were no pedestrians except way on
down the sidewalk and the traffic on my side of the street was clear for
at least twenty seconds, so I said to myself, "Now, damn it! Go!" and I
zipped out into the street, tightly clutching my trash bag in place with
one hand.

Usually when I do something I'm scared to do but I have to do it sooner
or later so I might as well get it over with, it's like I lose my
hearing. I get this big ringing in my ears and that's about all I can
hear. So that's exactly what happened. I zoomed out into the center
turning lane and then screeched to a halt waiting for the traffic to
clear in the opposite three lanes and for the most part all I could hear
was a loud ringing noise. But I did vaguely hear a whole lot of traffic.
I think I heard some horn honking. And raucous laughter. And I know a
truck passed right behind me. Almost blew my diaper off. I am serious. I
knew I still had the front in place but for a second or so I wasn't sure
if my ass was out in the open or not and I was afraid to look. I was
saying to the oncoming traffic, "Damn it! Come on! Hurry up! Please!
PLEASE!"

Finally I saw an opening, so frantically I took off again. Then OH SHIT a
car and a truck was bearing down on me much faster than I had anticipated
and self-preservation took over at that point and the deal is you can run
faster if you're madly pumping both arms. It seems like you can anyway,
and that's exactly what I started doing. Pumping both arms and the hell
with my trash bag. And some people think I'm suicidal and/or
self-destructive. Well, that should prove once and for all that I'm not.
But yes, I lost my trash bag just about as soon as I let go of it and
started running for my life. It's a wonder I didn't trip over the thing,
but no, one instant it was on, then all at once it wasn't. Oh, I noticed
right away, but I did NOT go back and pick it up.

My ears REALLY started ringing, but ZOOM I flew across the last two
lanes, across the sidewalk in one fairly amazing broad jump, and then I
discovered the gate was locked. The gate through which I needed to pass
in order to reach the church property. I mean the church was surrounded
by a 10 foot high wrought iron fence and the god damn gate was locked!

So at that point I just flat out panicked. I started crying. Hell, I'm
sorry, but I just couldn't help it. Now in retrospect, my best course of
action would have been to have just curled up in a fetal position and
waited for the police to show up; well shit, that's easy enough to think
of when you're fully in command of your faculties, but at the time, I
wasn't; so what did I do? Just took off blindly running down the
sidewalk. God, it was horrible. I have no idea how far I ran, although I
AM sure I didn't cross any more streets. Atlanta traffic is a BITCH, I'm
not kidding you. So I guess I was just circling the block hoping for an
opening into some sort of hiding place, but my ears were ringing and I
was crying and I had an acute case of tunnel vision, so it was kind of
hard to think, you know?

Then ... RRRRR, RRRRR, WHELP WHELP... a police car with it's lights
flashing and strobing and then someone was grabbing at me and someone
else was blanketing me and before I knew it, I found myself in the back
of a police cruiser and that took care of that.

At least until my old man picked me up all outfitted in a nice orange
jump suit that was a couple sizes to big for me.

First thing he said was "That convict suit looks kinda nice on you. You
might want to get used to it." Not the most promising start I could
imagine.

Then as we reached the elevator, he added, "Had a real interesting talk
with the officers who picked you up. Care to guess what we talked about?"

"It wasn't my fault" I mumbled.

"Oh, and why WASN'T it your fault?"

"Because... because..." Oh what was the use. "It just wasn't" I mumbled.
"Because-"

He cut me off. Which is just as well, I guess. "I suppose you get a kick
out of running down the street in broad daylight naked as a jay bird,
don't you? Get in the car!"

(Well, there were several long pauses during my attempt at explaining
things, so yeah, we were moving right along.) And in the interest of
moving this narrative along I will tell you one of the policeman told him
that when they apprehended me, I had an erection. Which I was completely
unaware of, and I wish they'd kept quiet about it, too. Dumb thing gets
stiff on me at a time like THAT??? What was it doing? Was it just
sticking out, or was it straight up? It's pretty noticeable either way,
but done gone vertical IS a bit more blatant.

Blatant, my ass. How about demon possessed? Tell you what, if that thing
had started pitching a tent in my jump suit at the very MENTION of it's
previous behavior, I just might have GONE for demon possessed. But it
didn't, right then it seemed to be thoroughly ashamed of itself.

And I could tell my old man was pretty ashamed as well. I mean, beyond
telling me that only fags ran around naked like that and enjoyed it,
(Which isn't true of course, but who was I to argue?), he had little more
to say driving home. So it was over and done with except for the whipping
and in the meantime I could wonder about some other things.

Like for instance, if the damn thing had THAT little self-control, then
why didn't it just go ahead on shoot off on the arresting officers? Well,
that might constitute an assualt on a peace officer, (it probably would)
so maybe it's just as well that it didn't.

Oh, and I could ALSO wonder how my old man was going to react when he
discovered my hair had gone missing. Now THAT was something to worry
about.

To be continued. (I'm fairly sure there's going to be some actual sex in
the next installment.) (I guess you might have been wondering about
that.)

But anyway, I hope you enjoyed this installment. Any NICE comments would
be greatly appreciated and may be sent to jjjanicki@gmail.com (Yes, I
changed my email address.)