Date: Sat, 23 Aug 2008 10:33:24 -0700 (PDT)
From: callibrn <callibrn@yahoo.com>
Subject: understanding my submission part 3

I jerked suddenly and realized I was dreaming on the sofa in my living
room. I glanced down at my pants. There was a large wet spot, soaking
through my underwear and then through my jeans. I realized my cock was
still completely hard from this part of my dream and knew that I had even
managed to shoot a load in my pants. I was still excited thinking about
it. It had been so many years ago, but here it was happening again. I had
invited Mr. Ericsson over after Rob had fallen asleep for the night.  I had
wanted to see him so badly, I had just gone ahead and invited him over. I
knew Rob wouldn't wake up or hear anything. I needed to hear Mr Ericsson's
voice and to talk to him. It was always so relaxing and he was a good
listener.

The dream was so real in my mind I had been floating down a river on a
raft, the sun was so warm and I was very relaxed, enjoying just floating on
the river. Then my raft ran aground and I was at the practice facility for
the tack team in high school.

I joined the track team as a sophomore. I ran the middle distances. Relays
and the 880. Most of the guys I ran with at that distance were older black
guys, seniors in school. One guy was named Michael Johnson. He was the best
at the middle distance so the coach often had him help us younger guys
learn what to do and how to train. I don't think Michael liked me too much
because he would sometimes call me fag under his breath, but he had to work
with me anyway.

One day he let me borrow his sand filled leg weights that he used to
train. They put more pounds on your legs, making them heavier and you could
train that way so your legs seemed lighter when you actually ran a meet. I
ran that day with them on, and then took them off for doing
sprints. Somehow, I guess I poked a hole in one of them. I don't know how,
but I must have. Michael got mad when he discovered it. He really went off
at me.

"Asshole, you ruined my sand weights!" he screamed. "I should knock the
shit outta you right now faggot. Those cost me a lotta money. What you
gonna do about it?" He was pushing me there on the infield of the track,
pointing his finger in my chest and I really thought he WAS going to beat
the shit out of me.

I kept apologizing but he didn't seem to care. Other people heard him and
he was telling them how dumb I was and how I ruined his weights, how I
better replace his weights, and a lot of name-calling about me. He kept at
it until we got to the locker room. I really thought he was going to beat
me up. He kept saying he would, and he kept pushing at me. Pretty much all
the friends I had on the team left me alone and were making me deal with it
myself. I guess they were afraid of him too. Michael was a tall guy and
real muscular, but with those thin sprinter legs. He was fast and strong.

I was scared so much that I kept an eye on him the whole time in the locker
room. He started saying I was watching him in the shower and that I was
queer and stuff. I HAD watched him but it was because I was scared. I knew
better than to try to stare at a guy in the locker room. He made so much
noise that eventually the coach came over and we had to tell him what was
going on. I apologized again for ruining his weight and that I would get a
new one for him. He was made to say that he wouldn't beat me up. He wasn't
happy about it, but finally was quiet. I left as soon as I could and began
heading home.

I walked to school each day. I lived across a park from the school. It took
me about 20 minutes to get to school if I walked across the golf course and
park, a little longer if I took the road through the park. So I was heading
home and a car pulled up along side of me. I was ignoring it because I
never knew who was going to be driving in the park. The car kept driving
slow next to me and finally I heard someone calling my name. I looked
over..

"Hey, Steve, you want a ride home?" It was Michael.

"No, thanks," I told him I didn't need a ride.

"Hey, I just want to apologize, I kinda went off back at practice. Let me
give you a ride to try and make up for it."

"No, that's okay, Michael, I was wrong," I added. "I will get you a new
weight, don't worry about it."

"Well, I was saying all sorts of shit and just wanted to kinda make it up
to you. I really am a good guy. Why don't you get in and let me drive you
home the rest of the way."

I looked up and Michael was smiling as he spoke. It made me feel better
about everything, so I agreed and he stopped the car and I got in. It was
your usual car for a teenager where I grew up, a big old American
hoopty. The kind where you could actually fit three people in the front
seat comfortably and still have room to stretch out.

I was quiet as usual and didn't say much after I got in. Michael asked
where I lived and I told him.

"Okay. We'll get there in a minute but I gotta stop and take a piss, bad."
He went off the road into an area where folks parked in the summer to use
the picnic area. Since it was early spring no one was there. He parked, but
then instead of getting out of the car to piss, he grabbed me by the arm
and pulled me over across the large front seat toward him. He was a lot
bigger than me. I was still skinny and young, he was a senior and
muscular. So when he pulled I was caught off guard and went that
direction. He grabbed my head and pulled me down towards his lap. I was
really scared and trying to get away.

"Now, I'm gonna get what you owe me bitch," he growled. "You wrecked my
sand weights and I am gonna show you that you can't be messin with my shit
and not think you owe me."

"P..p..please," I pleaded. "I said I was sorry, what are you doing?"

"I've seen you staring at me faggot. Not just today, but everyday, I see
you staring at me in the showers. I know you are a fag, boy and I figure
that is how you are gonna pay me for those weights. I need a little relief
and you are the little bitch that is gonna provide it since you broke my
weights."

I am sure I probably started screaming but the car was all closed up and we
were away from the road, so no one heard anything. He held my head in his
crotch, and told me to start licking him. I was really scared because he
was holding me hard. I had tried swinging my arms but he blocked them or he
slapped me. He told me to stop fighting and he wouldn't hurt me.

"No, please, I can't do this, I'm not a fag." I said it with as much
meaning as I could. I knew deep down he was right, I HAD stared at him in
the shower. He was beautiful. I couldn't seem to help myself even though I
knew it was wrong to look. He was at least 6'2" and was well muscled. He
had that runner's body, with tight abs, and his skin was a very dark brown
like a dark chocolate color. He was also very well hung from what I could
tell of his soft cock. Now that my face was being shoved into his crotch I
was regretting my weakness and the sideways stares I had taken in the
showers.

"Bitch, I'll pound your faggot ass if you keep fighting me. You know this
is what you wanted anyway, so stop trying to get away." He was forcing my
head into his crotch while holding my hands to keep from hitting him. He
grabbed my head by the hair and lifted it up so I was looking at him in the
eyes. He released my hands and slapped me across the face hard with his now
available palm. The look in his eyes told me he wasn't joking. He WAS going
to beat the shit outta me if I kept fighting him. I knew he could do it
too, so I stopped struggling so much. The sting on my cheek was enough to
settle me down.

Michael kept his one hand on my head and with the other hand unzipped his
pants and pulled out his already hard cock. I didn't open my mouth quick
enough for him, so he held my nose with his fingers and when I had to
breathe he forced my mouth onto his rigid dick.

"Stupid bitch, you think you aren't going to suck my cock? I know you are a
fag and that you want it. You owe me for those weights and this is how I am
collecting the debt. Now work that mouth on my fat cock. Everyone knows
fags suck cock."

He began pushing my head down further on his dick. I was scared because I
knew there was no way to get out of this unless I sucked him so I started
doing what I had never done before. In the back of my mind I thought about
what he was saying, that he knew I was a fag and that fags did suck cock. I
knew this too, but I had never ever done anything like this and had tried
everything to hide the fact that I might want to do it.

"Fuck, yeah, this is what I am talking about. You know what you are doing,
don't tell me you haven't sucked dick before faggot. You are better than my
girlfriend at it."

He fucked my face for awhile. I gagged a lot. He was pretty big, probably
at least 8 inches.

"You are going to be doing this a lot now, bitch. I need a cocksucker to
get off with when I am horny." The thought of doing this more than one time
had not occurred to me. Michael was going to make me suck him all the
time. I started crying because I was gagging and trying to suck but
fighting his forcefulness. I didn't want to be a faggot, I thought to
myself.

"Stop whining, you little faggot. Worse than a girl, with your tears. Not
gonna stop me from getting what I want anyway, so you might as well enjoy
it."

As he continued to push my head up and down on his dick, and his cock
continued to stretch my throat, I started relaxing more. Soon I noticed his
dick no longer stuck at the entrance to my throat, it was just going in and
out, and my gagging had almost stopped. It was beginning to feel good to me
and I was thinking that maybe he was right, I was supposed to like
cocksucking because it felt good and he seemed to be enjoying it a
lot. Before I knew it my tears had dried up and I was mostly moving my head
up and down on his black pole on my own. I noticed that my own dick was
hard now. Maybe he was right, maybe I was a faggot. That made me think even
more that I was enjoying this and he was right again. I wanted to be doing
it.

"That's so good boy, you suck cock like a pro. I knew you were a little
bitch, I could see it in your eyes. You need this as much as I do. You keep
this up and I am going to shoot my load in your mouth."

Could he really see in my eyes that I was a fag? How could someone see this
when I could hardly admit it to myself? What if my friends could tell? What
if my dad could tell? I didn't want to be a cocksucker, I thought to
myself, but yet, I was clearly enjoying now what was happening, my own hard
cock wasn't lying.

I wanted more than anything all of a sudden to taste his load, to know I
had sucked him well enough to have him cum. I got so excited that my own
cock started shooting without even touching myself. I was moaning and my
throat tightened around his cock as I began to empty my own balls into my
pants.

"Fuck, girl, you are going to make me shoot. You throat is like a pussy,
all tight and warm. FUUUCCCKKKK. Take it bitch, swallow it all." Michael
was thrusting his dick deep and his first spurt coincided with the last of
my own load dumping in my pants. He shot it directly down my throat then
pulled back to finish emptying his cum into my mouth.

"Better swallow it all faggot, I know you want it bad. Take
it... Ugh,... fuck you are a good sucker...take it all...swallow it...do it
bitch."

So I did. I swallowed the rest of his big load and was licking his dick
clean when he grabbed my hair and pulled my head up again, forcing me to
look in his eyes.

"Okay bitch you listen and you listen good. You tell anyone I let you suck
me, I will beat the shit outta you. You try to not suck me the next time I
want it, I beat the shit outta you. Basically, you are my faggot now, and
you are gonna give me head anytime I want it, just like a good faggot. You
understand me?"

"Yes, Sir. I understand," I replied. Who was I gonna tell? My friends? My
family? "Hey, I'm a cocksucker now"... not likely I thought.

When he finished explaining things to me he told me to get out of the
car. He told me he would see me when he wanted more but not to come looking
for him. I had to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way home. I
was scared for a little while but then I thought about what I had done and
it didn't seem like I was going to hell or anything. I was scared someone
else would know I had sucked his dick and that it showed on my face that I
was a faggot. He had said he could tell, I wondered if other guys could
tell too. How come I didn't know? He made me suck him several more times
that year; always in his car, someplace after track practice.

*** Mr Ericsson saw that my pants were damp. He was smiling at me in my
dream.

"Good boy. You sucked that man's cock like a good boy. Just like we talked
about last time, Steve. You are a good boy when you suck cock."

A warm feeling spread over me just like the warm cum had spread in my pants
during my recall of that first experience of sex with a man. I knew that Mr
Ericsson was right, I wanted to be a good boy.

"That man could tell you needed to suck his cock, Steve," Mr Ericsson
continued speaking in his calming, soothing voice that I had begun to
associate with my calmness of late. "You know he was right, boy. Men can
tell that you are a cocksucker, boy. They can tell you are such a good
boy. They know a cocksucker when they see one, boy."

What Mr Ericsson said made sense. Men always seemed to know, whether I said
anything or not. Michael had known in high school, and others had known
afterwards.

"Your friend Michael was just showing you what you needed to know boy. You
needed to learn how to suck dick, boy, to learn how to please a man like a
good cocksucker, boy. Such a good boy, learning to be a faggot, learning
your place."

Mr Ericsson said everything directly and he always made sense to me. Even
something like being forced to suck a man's cock was making sense to me as
he talked to me.

"You are a faggot, boy. There is nothing wrong with being a good faggot,
Steve. You need to suck cock for a man in order to be a good boy" Mr
Ericsson gently placed his hand on my head and I could feel the heat from
his body simply from his touch there. "You were made for sucking cock,
faggot. These words are simply other ways for you to know you are a good
boy. When you hear the word faggot or cocksucker, you will relax and know
that a man understands you, boy. You will relax and accept that this is
your place and your role for that man, boy. Do you understand what I am
telling you?"

I knew that those words had always made me uncomfortable in my life. Just
hearing them now in my dream caused me some fear that I didn't understand.

"You are a good boy, such a good boy. You are also a good faggot, a good
cocksucker, boy. It is not wrong to be a good faggot, boy. You know you
want to be a good faggot, don't you, do you understand me, boy?"

I knew I needed to answer Mr Ericsson. His hand on my head reassured me,
and what he said made sense to me. I answered with as much conviction as I
felt. "Yes, Mr Ericsson, I am a good faggot," I told him.  As I spoke the
words immediately I felt a release of tension flood my mind. It was okay to
say it. I was still a good boy. I knew what I needed to do.

I sat up off the sofa and got on my knees. I looked up at Mr Ericsson as
his hand held the back of my head. He smiled at me and I smiled back.

"Good boy," Mr Ericsson spoke reassuringly. "Now do what you were made for
doing, boy. Do what makes you a good boy."

I reached out for Mr Ericsson's zipper. I undid his pants and pulled them
down. He stepped out of his pants as they hit the floor and his cock was
ready for me. I knew that I needed to suck it. I was a cocksucker. I was a
faggot. I needed his load in me. I knew this now and I felt good about
it. When I took the head of his dick in my mouth, I felt his calmness and
energy come with it. I was relaxed.

"Good boy, that feels so good. You are such a good faggot, boy and you need
this cock and my load." Mr Ericsson's voice was always the same, calm and
direct. Soothing and confirming. "You will ALWAYS be a good faggot,
Steve. You have BEEN a good faggot for as long as you have been sucking
cock. Such a good boy, such a good cocksucker. Men can tell this about you
boy. Men can spot a cocksucker when they see you"

Mr Ericsson's words poured over me as I devoured his cock. I knew he was
right. I had been born a faggot. Men knew this about me and that was okay
now. He held my head with his hand and he pumped his cock back and forth in
my throat. He alternated deep thrusts with allowing me to lick his balls
and the head of his beautiful dick. I rolled my tongue over and around his
cock and took it until my lips were pushing against his crotch.

"You were made to be a cocksucker, boy. You were born a sissy and you will
always be a sissy, Steve. You are such a good faggot. Your daddy knew it,
your friend Michael knew it, and I know it, boy. I am sure others have
known it too. You will continue to listen to the CDs I give you faggot. You
will continue to follow the orders there. You will continue to learn your
submission is good boy. You will accept that you have always been
submissive. You have been raised to be submissive and obedient and this is
good for you. You are most comfortable and relaxed when you are submissive
to men, boy. You will continue to be a good boy. You will continue to need
my cock and my load, because you are a faggot and crave a man's load, don't
you boy?"

Mr Ericsson pulled his cock back and held it in front of my face. It looked
so hard and so big right there in front of my eyes. I looked up at him and
felt so good about what I was doing.

"Yes, Mr Ericsson," I answered him. "I am a good faggot. I need your load
and I need to suck cock." The words were just what I needed to say and the
confirmation he wanted to hear.

"Beg for it faggot," Mr Ericsson said gruffly. "Be a good fag and beg for
it."

"Please, Mr Ericsson," I pleaded with an enthusiasm I felt deeply. "Please,
I need your load, Sir. Please, let me have your load."

I must have done it well, because Mr Ericsson groaned deeply, just holding
his cock in his hand in front of my face. He roared and the first spurt
caught me off guard as it flew from his cock's opening across my cheek and
nose. I quickly opened my mouth and tried to catch the rest of his load as
it sprayed at me. I looked at Mr Ericsson's face and saw pleasure in his
eyes as he stared down at me. It gave me a good feeling and I swallowed as
much as I could as he pumped it out of his dick.

"Swallow my load cocksucker," Mr Ericsson said when he had finished.

I obeyed and began trying to lick the load with my tongue that had sprayed
my face, so I would not miss any.

"Such a good cocksucker, boy. You look happy now. You look like a good
faggot should"

I smiled and realized Mr Ericsson was right. I was happy here on my knees
licking his load off my face.

***

My pants were wet from cumming in them. I got up from the sofa embarrassed
about emptying my load there during a dream. I am sure Mr Ericsson saw me
get up and go to change. That event had happened so many years ago and I
had almost forgotten about it until this dream. This dream was just as real
as the dream I had while I was at Mr. Ericsson's place. They seemed like
they were happening today, not years ago. It seemed so real, so close in
time. I mean I came in my pants just like I had done when it happened the
first time. It felt like I was going through the experience again. I
wondered if I would have more of these dreams.

I thanked Mr Ericsson for coming over and listening to me talk. I also
apologized again for sleeping when we were together. It happened every time
we got together. I hoped it would stop soon, or he might not want to come
back. Mr Ericsson gave me another CD to listen to. He said that I had been
good and was following all the suggestions that he had made for relaxing
and de-stressing on the first CD so this was a new one to help me further
on feeling better. I agreed that I had been feeling better since he had
started talking to me and said I would listen to it later that evening.