His nickname was "Millie Maytag". I heard him called this name by gay men that I'd meet years later. He was at least 6 or 7 years older than me and even once lived nearby in an old apartment house on Harker Street. Meeting him at Bruce's house had been a very pleasant surprise. It was also the first time I had ever been fucked.
I don't hate this rapist as much as the old man that would contact me a few months later. Mr. Maytag was kind, young, and handsome. We met just the one time at Bruce's house and I wouldn't see this man again for almost another decade.
In retrospect, Millie Maytag was the first "adult" to abuse me. I never seem to remember this fact as the experience with "Dave" was so horrific. But, before my memories fade from existence I'll write something about those experiences and the men that contributed to them..........
Friday, December 4, 2015
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Experimentation
Bruce and his family moved into our neighborhood the summer before we entered the 7th grade together. He was tall, red-haired, and boisterous. He impressed me as being a little strange, but who wasn't? We quickly became friends and seemingly just as quickly, we started sexual experimentation.
It started as a game. We soon progressed to the point where we didn't need a game penalty or other excuse to willingly and enthusiastically discover the joys of oral sex. We met in secret and usually we hid away in the attic space in the garage behind Bruce's house.
We had many interesting encounters over the next year. We found ourselves in the dead of winter having sex in the fishing shanties along the river. We also played in the closed bath house at Lakeside Park. It seemed that whenever we got together it was for one thing only.
Bruce once confided in me that he was involved with an adult but never explained about those experiences. I was never sure whether he was telling the truth or not. I discovered in school that Bruce was enrolled in a special education program. He was bright, intelligent, and emotionally impaired. And, at this point, as I look back, Bruce must have been involved in social services, the juvenile court system, or other child and family centered agencies. It must have been through one of those contacts that he met the rapist to whom he gave my name and telephone number.
Within two years of moving into the neighborhood, Bruce's mother divorced his step-father and moved Bruce and some of the blended family members to a house south of the Black River. Bruce called me to come over and see the new house. When I got there, I discovered that the intent all along was for me to meet and have sex with Bruce's new "friend".
I'm not certain if I ever told anyone about this man. He seemed to be 19 or 20 years old and the experience was not at all unpleasant. But, by definition, it was rape. And, this young Miller was the first person that my so-called friend, Bruce, pimped me out to......
I don't regret the exploration of sex with Bruce. We were both gay kids and we were eager to discover a few things. I will forever hate the fact Bruce betrayed me to adults that wanted to use and abuse young kids. That's the tragedy here as well as the decades of shame and anguish.......
It started as a game. We soon progressed to the point where we didn't need a game penalty or other excuse to willingly and enthusiastically discover the joys of oral sex. We met in secret and usually we hid away in the attic space in the garage behind Bruce's house.
We had many interesting encounters over the next year. We found ourselves in the dead of winter having sex in the fishing shanties along the river. We also played in the closed bath house at Lakeside Park. It seemed that whenever we got together it was for one thing only.
Bruce once confided in me that he was involved with an adult but never explained about those experiences. I was never sure whether he was telling the truth or not. I discovered in school that Bruce was enrolled in a special education program. He was bright, intelligent, and emotionally impaired. And, at this point, as I look back, Bruce must have been involved in social services, the juvenile court system, or other child and family centered agencies. It must have been through one of those contacts that he met the rapist to whom he gave my name and telephone number.
Within two years of moving into the neighborhood, Bruce's mother divorced his step-father and moved Bruce and some of the blended family members to a house south of the Black River. Bruce called me to come over and see the new house. When I got there, I discovered that the intent all along was for me to meet and have sex with Bruce's new "friend".
I'm not certain if I ever told anyone about this man. He seemed to be 19 or 20 years old and the experience was not at all unpleasant. But, by definition, it was rape. And, this young Miller was the first person that my so-called friend, Bruce, pimped me out to......
I don't regret the exploration of sex with Bruce. We were both gay kids and we were eager to discover a few things. I will forever hate the fact Bruce betrayed me to adults that wanted to use and abuse young kids. That's the tragedy here as well as the decades of shame and anguish.......
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
Seduced
In 1969, he called me on the telephone. He said he knew Bruce and wouldn't it be fun to get together. I knew what was implied. I was only 14 but I had some experience with so-called experimentation and Bruce had been a gifted lab partner. We made a date to meet in the parking lot of the nearby laundromat.
He was older than I expected. Decades older. He had a young face, red hair, and wore a dress suit. His patter was perfect and the adrenaline rush from the entire experience fueled my curiosity and drive. I was easy prey.
He drove me to a road "out in the country", away from the lights of our small town. He pulled the car over. There was no traffic. No one. It was a very dark night.
After the first time, he called me about 3 more times. He usually just took me to a motel. Once we drove downriver from Port Huron to The Little Bar where everyone seemed to know him. That was the only time that a meal was involved, as if we were on a date. There always was alcohol. And.......
I realized on the last night of our encounters that I was being used. He pretended to reciprocate but clearly only wanted to fuck me. From the first it was all about him and what he clearly wanted. So, I decided to ask him for money.
He dropped me off for the last time on Stone Street between the Blue Water Bridge and the laundromat on the corner of State Street. Besides pissing him off with a money beg, I had pissed him off earlier when I called him by the name I saw on papers in his briefcase. I peeked at them while sitting in the car waiting for him to open the motel room. He admitted to having given me a false name. It seems he was someone important. He may have been a judge, or lawyer, maybe someone involved in the juvenile justice system or special education or counseling? ..... somehow there is a link to Bruce.....
So, I knew he was Dave something...... Gray or Grey or something..... And the request for any dollars that he could spare must have been what finally soured him on my very very young ass.....
Very few people know about what happened to me that Fall. Only one of the half dozen counselors that I've spoken with over the years ever clearly said the word rape. The man was at least 30 years older than me and is probably long gone from this life. And, he raped me.
He called me on the telephone once more in 1979. He sounded drunk and desperate to see me. He offered me money...... I reacted badly and never heard from him again.
He was older than I expected. Decades older. He had a young face, red hair, and wore a dress suit. His patter was perfect and the adrenaline rush from the entire experience fueled my curiosity and drive. I was easy prey.
He drove me to a road "out in the country", away from the lights of our small town. He pulled the car over. There was no traffic. No one. It was a very dark night.
After the first time, he called me about 3 more times. He usually just took me to a motel. Once we drove downriver from Port Huron to The Little Bar where everyone seemed to know him. That was the only time that a meal was involved, as if we were on a date. There always was alcohol. And.......
I realized on the last night of our encounters that I was being used. He pretended to reciprocate but clearly only wanted to fuck me. From the first it was all about him and what he clearly wanted. So, I decided to ask him for money.
He dropped me off for the last time on Stone Street between the Blue Water Bridge and the laundromat on the corner of State Street. Besides pissing him off with a money beg, I had pissed him off earlier when I called him by the name I saw on papers in his briefcase. I peeked at them while sitting in the car waiting for him to open the motel room. He admitted to having given me a false name. It seems he was someone important. He may have been a judge, or lawyer, maybe someone involved in the juvenile justice system or special education or counseling? ..... somehow there is a link to Bruce.....
So, I knew he was Dave something...... Gray or Grey or something..... And the request for any dollars that he could spare must have been what finally soured him on my very very young ass.....
Very few people know about what happened to me that Fall. Only one of the half dozen counselors that I've spoken with over the years ever clearly said the word rape. The man was at least 30 years older than me and is probably long gone from this life. And, he raped me.
He called me on the telephone once more in 1979. He sounded drunk and desperate to see me. He offered me money...... I reacted badly and never heard from him again.
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