Date: Fri, 10 Jun 2005 10:49:27 -0400 (EDT)
From: T Chase <survivalgame@excite.com>
Subject: Chronicles of Mark Sasson 01

The following story is a work of fiction set in the format of reality. Any
resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature, and is not
meant to accurately reflect persons in towns, cities, or governmental
areas, in which the story is staged. If sexual scenes involving male to
male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story.
Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most states and
countries, you are not allowed to read this by law. This is fiction. Don't
forget, in real life, to think about 'sexual safety matters'; got condom?

"Chronicles of Mark Sasson" 01 (M/t oral first time bdsm)
wriTten by T. Chase McPhee

(Author's note: For the first segment of the 'Chronicles of Mark Sasson',
the storyline is of gay discovery between two young adolescents. The bdsm
begins in segment two. If you do not enjoy reading about bdsm, or related
topics, then quit after segment number one. It'll still give you a jolt!)

%

As I look back over the years, there is nothing that I regret, which
happened as a result of any actions, whether predetermined or coming about
as a result of a careless thought or desire. At times, thinking on an
incident at various stages of my life, I tend to experience a 'hard'
reaction, as grand as the day an experience took place. Being 'gay', I
found became commonplace in the thinking of my personality, as a trait, at
an early age. However, I hid it, keeping in the closet until hitting my
latter high school age, with the exception of that one important
individual, in which I shared everything. That had been just the tip of the
iceberg, as I would go on to discover more about my sexual identity. I'll
try to outline my developmental years as best as I can recall. I wish I had
kept a journal. Being twenty-eight and trying to remember back to my teens
or even earlier puts my brain on overtime. Oh well, here goes. I hope you
can get the gist of how I became the way I am.

Around eaight years old, I knew I liked only the male of the species;
human, that is. My cousin, Aron and I, met for the first time, arriving
with his family from Israel. Being raised in New York City, with English as
a first language, Hebrew second and Aron the other way around, even I had a
tough time sometimes deciphering the thick accent. But with time, those
differences faded.

At first we lived a distance apart, my parents making the trip to upstate
New York, from the city at least once a month. However, when our mother's
were killed in an accident, our dads saw fit to pool resources. So, we
wound up living together in a country setting.

A couple of years passed and our relationship as cousins blossomed into
more geared as if we had been born brothers. It wasn't til we both hit our
preteen years that Aron and I saw an attraction in each other, that made
that heartfelt decision wane.

At first it had been the handshake. Then we'd pal around, arms over each
other's shoulders. Having long arms, mine would wrap around Aron's neck,
leaving my hand draping over his chest. On ocassion my fingertips would
swipe over his pectoral region, strumming his nipmeat. I didn't feel
conscious at first, however I soon began to notice something peculiar about
the arrangement of the front of his pants.

"Um, Aron, mind if I ask something?"

"Remember we're cousins. No, more like brothers, Mark? You even said it
yourself."

"Right. I know I did, Aron." I figured, 'here goes nothing' and spit out,
"Aron, I've been taking notice lately that whenever we... well, whenever
I.. I..."

Without completing the inquiry, Aron summises, "Yeah, I know, Mark."

"You do. I mean, you do? Know what, Aron?"

"Like when you and I pal around, your touch makes me feel different."

"Touch?"

At this point, I embarked on the inquisitive end, giving the floor to Aron
to unload his thoughts.

"Yeah. It's like now, with your arm over my shoulder."

I suddenly sensed the obvious and retrieved my arm from caressing Aron's
neckline and placed my arm back against my midsection. My other hand
scratched the top of my head to help the thinking process!

"Heee heeee..."

"What?"

"You can leave your arm there, Mark."

"Well, uh..."

"No. C'mon."

With a bit of anxiety, plus a tinge of embarrassment, I blushed when Aron
wound his hand around my wrist and with the other hand lifted my elbow,
arranging my arm over his shoulder, back in it's place like so many other
times it's been there. The real surprise came when Aron purposefully made
my hand sway so that my fingertips grazed his chest, brushing right through
his shirt.

"Aron!" I more or less scolded, withdrawing my arm once again.

"What, Mark?" He tried playing dumb.

I stood there with my hands on my hips, now turning to face him. First his
eyes, then mine followed, shooting our visions down towards his crotch.

"It's true," I deduced, picking on my favorite way of summing up a
situation by rubbing my chin, as if stroking a goatee.

"Yep," came Aron's reply, glancing up, catching my face at intervals of
looking down, then up, then down, then up.

Finally my gaze came to rest staring Aron straight in the face. More
astounding, I gasped when Aron reached out and touched me down yonder.

"Aron!" I said, taking his wrist with my hand.

However, instead of acting on the impulse to pull away, my brain dictated
'leave it there'.

"Hee heeee..." came Aron's response.

Mine? My hand remained clenching his wrist, yet I let Aron's fondling of my
cock carry on, as I looked up at the perfectly blue sky and white clouds,
that at times blocked the sun's rays.

"Feel good, Mark?"

I suddenly realized that the 'feeling good' part wasn't the key to our
conversation and then detached his hand forcefully from it's tantalizing
play with my organ.

"Aron, I..."

If either of our dads ever caught my next remark, both of us would have
been in deep shit!

"Dammit, Aron!"

"Hee heeee.." came the exasperating, goofy laugh from my cousin.

"Aron, this isn't funny!"

"Yeah, but you liked it, didn't you, Mark?"

At this moment I couldn't deny the facts, as my khaki shorts showed the
truth, as clear as day and night. This time Aron took up looking downwards
and revealing the truth we had just discovered about him. With a devious
grin, he broke the hold I had on his wrist and returned his fingers to the
area around my zipper. My hand, instead of diving back into retrieve Aron's
wrist, fell to my side. Again the goofy giggle echoed through the
cornfield's edge. Then, abruptly, I broke off the stroking action.

"I thought you liked it, Mark?"

"I do, Aron. I do, but if our dad's catch us?"

Like a finger touching a hot iron, Aron's hand hit the rebound.

"Oh man, can you imagine, Mark?"

I recall around this time, my dad and Uncle Seth having a big
disagreement. It wasn't the 'sensitive body' issue that raised the
question. Aron had done something wrong in school. The precise incident
escapes me, but it threw Uncle Seth into a terrible fit of rage.

On that day that will go down in infamy, in the minds of Aron and I, his
dad took him out to the barn. My dad wouldn't let me follow. At first I
heard the sound of cracking, like that of a leather strap when dad or Uncle
Seth struck the horse pulling the plow in the fields. Following that sound
came a dreadful scream, wailing loud enough to send the crows scrambling
from the cornfields. Out of whatever emotion, it compelled me to run to the
barn door, to gain access. However, the ketch had been set from inside,
barring entrance. A lull followed, picked up by shouts of my dad screaming
out loud at Uncle Seth. Even though our dads prohitbited Aron and I from
using vulgar language, that day I heard every 'word in the book' escape
from either my dad's or Uncle Seth's lips. Then it happened again. The
crack and Aron's crying out. Next a lull and a repeat performance of that
vulgarity.

After that pause, I backed away from the barn door as I heard the ketch
released from within. Part anger and partly due to my father's love for me,
after he slammed the barn door shut, he forcefully heralded me away towards
the farmhouse. I broke loose from his hold when that crackling sound
announced the screaming, as if a banshee.

"Daaaaaad, we've gotta....."

"No!" Is all my dad said, reaffirming the grip of his hand on my arm,
pulling me along up the porch stairs.

I remember breaking out in an uncontrollable crying, as the cracks of the
lash became more frequent and the screams pitched from within the old
wooden fortress of torture. Even with the front door secured closed and
sitting at the kitchen table in the back of the farmhouse, we could hear
the faint whine. My dad retained his grip on my arm, like a leash, as I
cried uncontrollably.

"Why aren't you stopping him, dad?"

"Believe me, son. If it be in my power, I would, but unfortunately we all
don't agree on everything. Uncle Seth is doing what he think be best for
his son. Me? I would never treat you as such... such an animal!"

I could tell the sincere effort my father tried to convey. His acts of
pacification didn't run by me as sensible and I knew he didn't believe it
himself, what he tried to run by me as practicle.  After a period of maybe
a half hour, my dad rose from the kitchen table. My arm felt numb from his
choking hold. He opened the backdoor. All remained silent, except for the
usual late afternoon sounds of nature. He didn't beckon me to follow, nor
did my dad prohibit my following him outdoors. I proceeded to keep up, as
he strolled through the backyard gate and into the front yard of the wooden
farmhouse. Right away he noticed the pickup truck gone and the barn door
opened. At this point his slow walk became a gallop. The light jog turned
into a fast paced run. As I ran along, I almost caught up to his side. When
we entered the barn, it remained silent, except for the sound of sneering
horses. It's then I saw the most revolting scene of my entire life.

"Aron?"

It's also the only time I can remember that my father never scolded me for
using the same vulgarity that he warned me not to use.

"Oh shit, Aron!" I cried out, upon seeing his half nuded body slung over
the slab of wood in the barn.

Dad didn't turn around quick, like he normally would. Instead he rushed
forwards, totally ignoring me and tended to the red-covered, still body
that didn't flinch nor move. I hadn't an inkling as to what to do but
freeze there in place. There Aron lay, his shirt ripped in two, like a
filleted fish. Some of the tatters had asorbed the blood caused by the
seething welts across his back. I could visibly make out three or four
intent marks caused by the strap across Aron's back.  Other than the maybe
seven or eight screams I heard, I had no idea how many times Uncle Seth
struck Aron. Another revelation is I didn't realize how strong my dad had
been until he picked up Aron, slung him over his back, like a sack of
potatoes and darted from the barn to the house. One of the reasons I
remember this so vividly, other than the graphic violence incurred, is the
fact that bits of the blood got on me when dad hefted Aron to his shoulder.

All along the trail I pestered dad, "Is Aron going to be okay, dad?" Or,
over and over, "Aron's going to be okay, isn't he dad?"

I didn't get an answer, but I could still see the initial anger on my dad's
face. Proceeding up the staircase, dad instructed me to go to the jon and
soak a towel in cool water. When I returned to my dad's room, he had Aron
completely stripped and lying faced down. Tears stained my face as I strode
into the room, quickly handing the moistened towel to my dad. My nerves on
end, I began praying to God that Aron pull through, promising to do every
good deed under the sun, just to make things right. Before administering
the wet cloth to Aron's tormented back, dad spoke his first words of
encouragement to me.

"Aron's a strong boy."

With those few words of hope, I rested my case with God and began believing
that my dad's words as an answer from the Man upstairs. Funny thing is, I
believed so intently that I stopped my lunatic crying and wiped my tears
away. Taking Aron's arm, I stroked it and began babbling words of
encouragement, as if he could hear every word I said to him. Even though
Aron didn't respond, at first, I winced when I saw how my father sopped up
the remnants of the torturous punishment. As the real scars of the whipping
became evident, with the removed of the red stuff, I saw more and more
evidence of the lashing across Aron's back. Those few lines turned into
eight, then nine, then twelve stripes. I don't know what made me count
them, possibly out of nothing else to do, but wishing Aron good health, in
light of his predicament. With the towel now almost completely saturated
with the red body dye, my dad lit out for the jon. Not having any first
hand experience at witnessing such an act and being the inquisitive type, I
reached out and placed my hand flat across several of the welts. It quickly
rebounded when I heard a gasp. Jumping back I thought both regret and
thankfulness. My hand shone thin, red lines, but my instant response became
to pet Aron's hair, as if comforting a spooked horse.

"You're going to be alright, Aron. I promise."

The only response I got is a grunt, plus Aron trying to move a bit on the
bed. Upon hearing a commotion downstairs, I left Aron momentarily to stand
at the top of the stairway. Hearing three succinct voices, I recognized two
familiar ones. The word 'doctor' spelled more relief than that of the
others.

As the doctor ascended the stairs, I heard him say, "I suggest you men
handle this outside!"

At that, our family physician, Doctor Abel bounded up the stairs. Taking
some stairs two at a time, the twenty-eight year old, totally fit specimen
ascended to the top landing in no time flat.

"Where is he?"

"In here, Doctor Abel," I replied, leading the way.

The two dads' voices became distant, however at this moment the most
important issue remained that of Aron's welfare.

"Oh my. This is bad. Very bad!"

My prayers and hope instantly deteriorated, however my faith in Doctor Abel
remained stronger than that of my own dad.

"But he's going to be alright, isn't he Doctor Abel?"

I know my mind and eye sight should have been focused on that of my
'brother', but it wandered profusely. You see, as far back as I can
remember, deep into the fifteen years I've been here on earth, I've had
this secret crush on Doctor Abel. Seems like every time I've been examined
by him, for real or prefabricated reasons, he's always had his shirt
unbuttoned halfway down. For a young doctor I wondered why he had so much
chest hair, equivalent to that of my dad's or Uncle Seth's chests. Often I
would think how Aron's or my body would look when we got older and if we
would have hairy chests or not. Those thoughts often would expand to
include Uncle Seth's hairy stomach or that strip of dark hair that ran down
my dad's stomach, in lieu of Uncle Seth's hairy mass crossing his
belly. They both had thick tufts of hair bellowing out from their
armpits. I also sought an answer to whether my chest hair, if I had an
humongous amount, would cover my nips, like dad's, or surround my nips, as
Uncle Seth's.

"Sorry, Aron, but this is going to hurt!" Doctor Abel said in a calming
voice.

Whether Aron could comprehend the feelings preceeding the turning over of
his body or not, didn't matter, as Doctor Abel flipped Aron easily over
onto his back. I'm sure dad's sheets and even his mattress would have some
staining. Regardless, Doctor Abel pulled Aron's eyelids open and shine a
light into his eyes.

"Well, that's good, at least," he replied.

"He's going to make it, Doctor Abel?"

It's then that I looked up just in time to see Doctor Abel glance down at
Aron's crotch. I mean, vital signs usually come from the pectorals up, not
from the navel and downwards, don't they?

Like a jerk I asked, "Everything look okay, Doctor Abel?"

Even in dire straights, he cracked a smirk, along with a brilliant red tan
on his face and replied, "Yeah."

Going back to his tending, he turned Aron back over. Reaching into his
fix-er-up black bag, he brought out bandages, tubes of stuff and other
paraphenalia to doctor up Aron. I didn't hear anything from our dads, so
figured the three of us alone. Seeing that Doctor Abel's diligent methods
caused Aron to respond favorably to the treatment, I loosened up on the
conversation.

"Doctor Abel?"

"Hmm?" He responded to me, cutting through a piece of gauze.

"Did you like looking at Aron's crotch?"

I know. It's a stupid thing to ask a doctor who's working over a patient in
desperate need of help, but when else would I get to spring a question like
that on Doctor Abel? My dad always accompanied me into his office for
visits.

At first he looked up and smiled and then stopping, replied, "You are an
inquisitive fifteen year old, no?"

"Aron and I talk about stuff like you know."

"Does your father or Aron's father suspect? Or have you said anything?"

"Huh?" My limited intelligence questioned. "About what?"

"That you two boys like each other, as opposed to liking to look at girls?"

"Look at girls?"

What do two youths, fourteen and fifteen, know about that?

"Yes. From your inquiry I am sensing that you and Aron like each other very
much."

"We do, but what do you mean about looking at girls?"

"Think about it, Mark. Do you like girls?"

Man, Doctor Abel threw me for a loop there. I had to stop and think for a
moment. What a revolting discovery.

"Wow! Come to think of it, Doctor Abel, you're right!"

Smiling, with a giggle blown out of his nostrils, his head moving up and
down to signify, 'yes', I got the drift of his actions.

"How do you know so much, Doctor Abel?"

"I will tell you a secret and I will keep your secret as long as you keep
mine. Is that a deal, Mark?"

"Um. Yeah, sure. Of course."

"This is very serious. You must swear never to tell anyone or else my
practice as a doctor will be in ruins."

"Oh, you can count on me. Aron too. We can be trusted."

"I see," Doctor Abel replied, referring to the lacerations on Aron's back.

"Oh, well. I don't know why Aron got whipped by his dad, but it wasn't
probably because he told a secret to somebody that was meant to be kept a
secret," I replied, trying to be convincing.

"Very well. I am a homosexual."

"A homo-what?"

"Homosexual. For a short way of saying it, we can call it gay. Maybe you
have heard the word, 'faggot'?"

"Oh sure. All the time the guys call other guys faggots!"

"Do you know what the word faggot means, Mark?"

"Sure. It means a guy's a faggot!"

Doctor Abel snorted out another giggle, but went on explaining away.

"Well, being a homosexual means a man likes to be with only a man."

"Wow! Just like Aron and me!" I belted out in awe of Doctor Abel's
description of the perfect 'us'.

"Do you look at men, Doctor Abel?"

Before he could respond, footsteps could be heard stomping on the steps.

"Dammit!" I called out.

Doctor Abel didn't mind the curse at all.

"This interests you, does it, Mark?"

"Sure does, Doctor Abel."

"Well, you can come talk with me anytime about it."

"But my dad is always with me."

"Hmm... then I will make a time to see you when I do not have office
hours. You and young Aron can both come and see me with your questions."

"Gee, Doctor Abel, that's nice of you. Um, is Aron going to be okay?"

Our focus became settled back on the affairs of getting Aron back to
rights. When our dads entered the room, Doctor Abel didn't seem alarmed,
but I sure reacted. Uncle Seth and my dad had bruises about their faces and
their shirts torn open almost as if they had done it deliberately. Strange
though, Uncle Seth acted in the opposite mode than in the barn an hour
ago. Instead of the raging monster with the strap in his hand, reigning
down onto Aron's bare back, he morphed into a gentle lamb, taking up part
of the bed and soothing his son like an angel lulling a person to rest.

"How is he doc?" Uncle Seth asked Doctor Abel.

I might have picked up on some of Doctor Abel's answer, however my main
focus had been on the subject of being a homosexual.

%

That fall, born a year apart, but in the same month, November, Aron turned
fifteen as the turn of the seasons boosted my age to sixteen. Aron's three
days' absence from school took it's toll on me. Doctor Abel's words stuck
in my brain, on total recall when necessary. True to his diagnosis of me, I
did prefer to look at boys, rather than girls. In fact I voided them
completely, unless accidentally coming face to face with them. Another
revolting development, I caught myself on more than two, three, four or
even five ocassions, sneaking peeks at guys in the gym lockerroom. Either
they had nothing on from the waist up, or totally disrobed, showering or
standing there, rubbing their stomachs with one hand or unbuttoning their
shirt, which seemed so, so moving to me. I don't know why, but it looked
cool. Being on my best behavior, I found ways to look at guys from all
angles and not get caught. For instance, Jim Packer. One day I pretended to
sit on the bench and tie my sneaker.  At the same time have my head close
enough to his cock that I could smell that pungy smell, like the ripe smell
of a guy's pits. Only, the odor from his lower area permeated my senses
with sweetness, instead of foulness. Funny thing is that it kind of made my
tongue water and I didn't know why. It's one of the questions I stored up
in my brain for when Aron and I would go see Doctor Abel. After all, when
we met for this one special time, I wanted to throw out all and any
question I had about this homosexual stuff.

Back to the lockerrom, though, even in the showers I would do my
investigative work into what part of a guy's body turned me on and my
deductions to decipher the 'why'. Another thing with being around a lot of
mostly sixteen year olds is the degree of hair on their bodies. Some had
hairy armpits, other's very light coverings of hair on their chests. I'd
venture to guess that out of twenty of the gymguys, eighteen had some type
of little trailings of stomach hair either entering their navels, or below
their navels. Some even had some hair around their cocks. One Spanish kid,
Juan, had really black armpits and his line below his navel was real dark,
almost like painted with a magic marking pen. He also had curly black hair
around his cock. I couldn't even begin to think why it made me want to
taste the hair. Weird, huh?

%

When I returned home, I delivered Aron's homework to his bedroom, I always
reported my astonishing information. What began to develop is the more we
talked about one or more of the guys, our cocks began to inflate. Soon it
became synonomous with our hands falling to our crotches and emcompassing
out cocks, which we stimulated like crazy. Keeping with the action, there
had been times that we gasped out loudly, as our cocks shot forth it's
milky goo. Like we did something ultimately guilty, we'd grab tissues and
wipe it up before our dads got wind of the dastard deeds!

"For sure I don't want to get what you got, Aron."

"Yeah," became Aron's only reply.

"Oh man, Aron, I thought you were a goner for sure."

"Yeah, well."

"Well what? Your dad had some temper that day. My dad tried to stop him,
you know?"

"In a way I'm glad he didn't."

"What're you fuckin' out of your gourd?"  I cursed, then hushed back into
silence from the verboten word.

I got up immediately to shut the bedroom door, after the fact.

"Right. I know I'm being weird, Mark."

"Weird, Aron? Weird is 'not' the word. Fuckin' 'sick' is more like it!"

"Wait a minute, Mark. Isn't it you that's always saying, 'hear me out'?"

"Well yeah. Okay, you have my attention," I replied, sitting up straight,
taking on the stance of our gorgeous science teacher, Mr. Dodge, arms
folded across my chest.

"Hee heee.."

"Hmm..." became my reply, with a smirk, getting ready for a typical
explanation from Aron.

However, this did not materialize into a typical response.

"I know you're not going to understand this, Mark, but when my dad whipped
me, my cock kept on hitting up against the table and instead of feeling
like he was beating the shit out of me and all that pain and stuff... well,
I actually got off feeling him beat me."

Sitting there like Chief Sitting Bull at a powwow, I knew I felt like
hearing the bull from Aron's lips.

I thought outloud, "Yeah, Aron, we've got to see Doctor Abel and soon!"

Right then and there I went to the phone while our dads sequestered away in
the barn or fields, rounding out their daily grind.

%

mightly peculiar boy, I'd say.....  continued.........

       Copyright 2005 T. Chase McPhee All Rights Reserved.

	    www.assgm.net www.nifty.org

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       this story to any PAY site, nor any site
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