Dirty Little Secret

This story is a continuation of "Straight to Hell with a Smile on my Face". That story can be found in the "My Fantasies" collection.

The problem with guarding a dirty little secret is you view yourself through other people's eyes: you say things you think they want to hear; you act the way they expect you to act. You completely lose your own identity and senses of self-worth and confidence.

And, of course, it is impossible to grow and mature as a person if you live in denial of who you are; you can't properly embrace and nurture your inner self.

Besides that, my father said I'd go straight to hell if I ever had sex with another guy.

I became very good at denial.

At school, I blended in with the computer nerds, and joined them when they mocked the athletes and pretty girls who ignored and mocked us in return.

I quickly saw it for what it was: they were trying to soothe their hurt feelings and disappointment over not being invited to the important parties, and generally being shunned by the popular students.

It didn't matter to me, my 'un-natural' interest in guys made me a freak of nature and all I cared about was concealing that fact; if I could have gone to school and not associate with anyone at all that would have been fine with me.

The only things that mattered to me were getting good grades and my nightly journey on the fantasy side of the internet.

Just before bedtime, I would start at the original site Tony had shown me, peniscocksandpricks.com then move on from there. My entire sex education consisted of one night with Tony, and my pre-bedtime lessons on the internet.

I was a good student though, by the time I was ready for bed my dick was rock-hard and I'd stroke it to a wonderful orgasm. I always fell asleep with a smile on my face.

I got lucky at school: a plain, but friendly girl named Theresa sat next to me in one of my classes and we hit it off immediately. Conversation between us came easy. I had a genuine like for her, and I knew she felt the same way. We ate lunch together every day, and I soon found myself calling her just about every night.

I could talk to her about anything, well, most things, anyway, and she more than held up her side of the conversation. It was easy to see that she was just as lonely as me. We provided each other with much needed social interaction, and friendship.

One night at the dinner table I surprised my dad when I asked if I could use the car on Friday night.

He cocked a wary eye at me and said, "Why? Is there some half-ass computer seminar going on?"

"No," I said, "I want to take Theresa to a movie."

"Theresa?" he eyed me curiously, "that's a girl's name...is Theresa an actual girl?"

"Oh, stop it, Fred," my mother said sharply.

"Yes—she's a girl I've known for a couple of months...I like her—I want to go out with her..." I said. I saw a smile form on his face.

"Well-well, whaddya know," he said. "After all these years our pretty boy is finally going to bag his first girl..."

"FRED!" My mother shouted.

To be honest, comments like that from my dad were the main reason I decided to ask out Theresa. He'd never come right out and accuse me of being a faggot, but his snide remarks had been growing in both frequency and hurtfulness.

If I went out with a girl, maybe he would finally show me some respect or at least quit harassing me about my sexuality.

As Friday approached, my mother was all excited. She told me what I should wear; she taught me social etiquette; she told me things I should and shouldn't say to a girl...she was so nervous for me that she made me nervous, too.

When I knocked on Theresa's front door I had a severe case of cold feet. My mother had insisted I get out of the car and go into the house to meet her parents—I was terrified, but knew it was too late to change my mind and turn around and run.

Her father answered the door with a big smile on his face.

"You must be John—I'm Mr. Hanson—a pleasure to meet you!"

His strong grip hurt my hand and I was glad when he let go. We went inside and to no surprise their house looked similar to ours.

Mrs. Hanson greeted me very enthusiastically. She hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.

"Oh, John," she gushed, "it's so nice to finally meet you!"

I blushed. Apparently this date was just as big event for her parents as it was for mine.

When I looked at Theresa the first thing I noticed was her red face. She was as embarrassed over all the fuss as me. Then I saw something else—she looked beautiful!

The plain girl with big horned-rim glasses was a beautiful, blonde-haired girl I never knew existed. Then it surprised me even more when I saw she was wearing a skirt and pretty blouse. Girls at school almost always wore jeans or slacks.

After some small talk, and before we went out the door her mother whispered in her ear loud enough for me to hear: "Oh, honey—you were right—he really is cute!"

Once we were in the car it took several minutes for the awkwardness to wear off. She made a couple apologetic jokes about her parents and I told her what my mother had put me through.

We laughed and everything became comfortable and relaxed. We had a great time that night. It felt wonderful having someone you could talk to; someone who wouldn't laugh at, or belittle your thoughts and feelings.

Afterwards, when I walked her to the front door she was ahead of me and I found myself staring at her legs and slightly swaying hips. She abruptly turned to face me and thanked me for a fun night.

As I looked into her soft, blue eyes, I was suddenly overcome with a strange emotion and I gently took her by the shoulders and pulled her close and I kissed her lips; a soft and sweet kiss.

I was pulling away from her when she threw her arms around me and pulled me into her sweet smelling body and kissed me hard on the lips with a passion I'd only known once before in my life.

I immediately sprung a boner and it pressed hard against her belly; I knew she could feel it.

My face was beet-red as I abruptly turned away from her. I coughed then mumbled "I'd better get going..."

I took two steps then heard her softly say "Johnny...." I turned my head and saw the sweetest, most angelic smile I'd ever seen.

She breathlessly mouthed the words "Thank you" then went inside her house.

My heart was pounding on the drive home while my mind replayed the kiss and the throbbing erection it gave me over and over and over again. I was elated; a thought came to mind that gave me hope: Maybe, just maybe I am a normal guy after all.

My mother was waiting up for me. Reluctantly I answered her questions and told her the truth: we had a fun and interesting night. And when she pressed me for more, I admitted that I had kissed Theresa.

"Did you like that, dear?" she asked without a trace of a smile.

"Well, yeah...sure," I said. "She even kissed me back!"

Then she said something I'm sure she meant as a compliment, but more likely just to reaffirm her own beliefs, and it made me feel sad and uncomfortable that she had to say it at all: "Sweetheart, I knew you liked girls!"

In my bedroom I turned on the computer then put on my pajama bottoms. I sat on the chair and typed into the search engine: 'naked girls'.

Page one of two-hundred-and-seventeen million appeared on the screen. It shocked me to see such a high number of pages. I had scrolled to the third page when I saw a site that caught my eye: "Barely legal nymphets nude and exposed."

I clicked on it and a page full of pretty, naked girls appeared on the screen. I studied their breasts and nipples and butts, and found quite a few that I thought were beautiful, but when I stared 'down there', I couldn't see much: the girls were posed in such a way as to not really show anything between their legs.

I looked at several pages and felt disappointed. While I admired their beauty, and the shapes and curves of their bodies, I didn't spring a boner—'it' never moved at all.

There was a link titled "Teenage Pussies" and I clicked on it.

Oh my! A page full of photos showing nothing but close-ups of young girls exposing their 'pussies' appeared before my eyes. The girls looked normal and beautiful, but here they were showing their 'privates' to the world.

The ones with thick bushes of hair didn't appeal to me at all; I could barely make out the 'lips' of their sex, and it looked like a jungle down there--they kind of scared me.

I enjoyed looking at the ones that were bare; that had been shaved. I closely studied the elaborate network of wrinkles and folds they had down there, but it all looked so complicated!

A few of the girls were spreading their lips with their fingers—exposing their holes. I stared into their dark, yawning crevices and found myself thinking my mother has one of these, and I snapped out of it. That soured me on looking at 'shaved beavers', as they called them.

I clicked on a link called 'Sex with Young Nymphomaniacs'. It had pictures of good looking young guys and gals in various sexual acts and positions. I finally felt my penis stir.

I found my favorite photos and stared hard at them: girls on their knees with boners in their mouths; girls bending over with hard cocks in their pussies and assholes. I zeroed in on two particular pictures: a girl sucking a long and slender cock, and another girl taking a similar cock in her asshole.

My boner was rock-hard now and I opened my pajama bottoms and began stroking it. I stared at those pictures and my hand moved faster. Those photos really excited me.

I was getting close when the realization hit me like a ton of bricks: I was fantasizing that it was me in those pictures—it was me on my knees sucking that beautiful cock – not the girl; it was me bending over and getting fucked in the ass by that long and slender prick.

My boner exploded and I had to cover my mouth to stifle my cries of pleasure. Over and over streams of cum shot through my prick into mid-air and landed on my hand and belly and thighs.

When I was able to take regular breaths again, I cleaned myself, shut off the computer, turned out the light and walked zombie-like to my bed and flopped down on it. I lay on my back and stared into the darkness.

Tears formed in my eyes. My worst fears and nightmares had been confirmed. I had proven to myself without a doubt that I was a faggot.

The same thought played over and over in my mind as a crushing wave of self-pity enveloped me: Why can't I like girls? Why can't I be normal?

On Saturday, my mother wanted me to call Theresa to thank her and tell her I had a good time.

"If she had as much fun as you say, she'll be hoping to hear from you; don't make the girl wait—she wants to hear from you,"" she said.

I procrastinated most of the day then finally caved in Saturday night.

"I'm so glad you called—I was afraid you wouldn't," Theresa said. "I hope you're not embarrassed...I mean, well, you know, I thought it was real sweet when your...ah, that your 'thing' got hard when we kissed—it was the nicest compliment a boy ever gave me!"

I hadn't been embarrassed. I hadn't thought about it, but now I was.

"I really had fun last night," she continued. "Can you get your mom's car more often? I like it when we go places together...maybe next week you can show me 'The Bluffs'---I've heard other girls say how pretty it is there at night...."

Good grief! Now I was embarrassed—she caught me off guard. I was speechless for several seconds. 'The Bluffs' was a scenic area overlooking the lake. It was a popular place where students went to park and, well, you know....

I couldn't believe she was telling me to take her there. That meant she was ready to—that she wanted to 'do things' with me. As soon as I got off the phone with her I asked my parents for the car again on Friday. They both had strange smiles on their faces when they said 'yes'.

A couple months later I was in the living room when I overheard my mother talking with my dad. They must have thought I was somewhere else.

"Well, I hope you're happy now, Fred. The inside of my car smells like his bedroom..." she said in an accusatory tone. "Good God—his spunk is everywhere—it makes me sick to my stomach!"

"I'm sure it does..." my dad said in what sounded suspiciously like sarcasm. "Tell you what: his birthday is coming up; why don't I get you a new car---and we'll give him yours?"

It was then that I learned a person can be both thrilled and horrified at the same time: I was thrilled I was getting my own car, but I was horrified my mother could smell my jism in both her car and my bedroom.

A week later I acted surprised when they gave me the keys and title to the Honda. The first thing I did was give the interior a thorough cleaning. As for my bedroom, well, I began to notice there was a distinct odor in the air, but I found it rather pleasant. I figured if it kept my mother out of my room, I'd leave it like it is.

Theresa and I went out every Friday and Saturday nights. We'd have dinner then go see a movie, or go to the art museum, or someplace else, but we always ended up at The Bluffs.

She was very assertive when it came to sex; much more so than me. I think she was making up for lost time. Our first night at The Bluffs I was nervous and unsure of what to do.

Kissing her always gave me a boner, and that first night, when her hand brushed against the front of my jeans I thought it was by accident.

She suddenly took my hand and placed it on the warm, soft flesh of her naked inner thigh; she always wore skirts on our dates. Then she placed her hand on my thigh, very close to the bulge in my jeans.

Her hand began a soft caressing motion and I did the same for her. I imitated her every move.

When she pressed her hand on my prick, my body jumped but I continued on. I felt between her legs and pressed my fingers against the front of her panties. It surprised me how wet her panties were, my initial thought was that she'd peed herself, but then I remembered that I'd read when a girl gets sexually aroused, her vagina becomes lubricated to make it easier for a man to get his erection inside her.

Our kisses became heated and moist. She opened my jeans and her hand slid inside my briefs and boldly grasped my boner. We both gasped at the same time. I reached inside her panties and stroked her pussy-lips. Other than that, I wasn't sure what to do.

Suddenly, as she stroked my throbbing prick her other hand guided my actions. She had one hand on my prick, her other hand teaching me how to touch her, and all the while we kissed and moaned into each other's mouths.

It wasn't long before I cried out and my jism shot out of my cock while she more or less masturbated herself using my hand. I remembered how proud I was when she had her first orgasm with me. I laugh at the thought now because it was really her own hand that made her cum.

Over the weeks we moved to the backseat. She said there was more room, and she wanted to be naked with me. I went along with whatever she suggested. She was in control of our sex life.

The first time I came in her mouth I thought I'd died and gone to heaven, but then she wanted me to do the same for her. She taught me how to use my lips and tongue on her pussy, and I became pretty good at it and gave her great orgasms, but I only did it to make her happy.

I didn't like 'going down on her' at all. They say "once you get past the smell you got it licked", and truthfully, that's the way I felt, too, but there was something basically nasty and scary that made me hate it every time.

Oh well, at least I was making her happy.

A few times she wanted me to 'do her' first, but that didn't work out so well. Once she'd climaxed, we found that it was nearly impossible for me to achieve an erection. She worked hard on my prick with her hands and mouth but my damned penis just wouldn't get hard. So she always did me first then I'd do her.

One night, she suddenly took her mouth off my boner, threw her leg on the other side of me and straddled me, my hard prick mere inches from her pussy.

"Sweetie," she whispered in the darkness. "I want to feel you inside me--I want you to be the first...."

Her hand grasped the base of my prick and she lowered herself onto me; the moment my cockhead parted her pussy-lips my boner went soft. She groaned in frustration while waves of humiliation washed over me.

On three consecutive nights we tried the same thing with the same results. I was devastated. Up to this point, I still believed there was a glimmer of hope for me; that maybe I could live a normal life like everyone else, but this only further proved to me who I really was—what kind of guy I was destined to be.

She was sympathetic and very consoling. We were best friends and nothing would ever change that, she said.

One night after leaving the art institute downtown, she suggested we go for a ride to a nearby park. The hair on my neck stood straight and a cold chill ran down my spine. I knew what park she was talking about.

It was difficult finding a parking spot because of the number of apartment buildings surrounding the park. I suggested we go to The Bluffs, but she suddenly blurted out, "There's a spot!" So I parked the car and we sat inside.

We stayed in the front seat; my heart was pounding with fear and uncertainty. I moved next to her and we kissed. I fondled her breasts through her blouse. Her hand rubbed my thigh and when my prick became hard she squeezed it through my jeans.

"Sweetie," she said, "have you ever been here before?"

I was thankful it was dark so she couldn't see my red face.

"No! Ah...no, of course not...." I lied.

"Do you know what this park is called?" she asked; her hand insistent on my now-throbbing member.

"No...ah...what is it called?" I lied again.

"People call it 'Penis Park'...this is where men from all over come to meet other men...are you sure you haven't been here before?" Her voice was sincere; she wasn't trying to mock or embarrass me.

I had never felt such panic! It was obvious she knew my dirty little secret, or at least had made an educated guess. I didn't know what to say. She took her hand off my prick and leaned over and kissed my cheek.

"Johnny, you are my best friend in the world and I love you...I've never been closer to anyone...you can say anything you want with me and I would never-ever tell anyone else..." her voice was so soothing and calm it made me relax. Tears filled my eyes.

I was gripped with fear and loathing. Pressure kept building in my mind until I thought it would explode.

When a single teardrop rolled down my cheek she wiped it away with her thumb and kissed me again. I put my arms around her and we hugged. I clung to her and laid my head on her shoulder.

"I...ah...yeah---I've been here before...I never got out of the car though, but I thought about it...I've parked here---I saw guys walking around the pond on the pathway and thought about going down there to meet them...but I never did...I was too scared...that would be like admitting—well, ah, like accepting who I am...I can't do that...I didn't ask to be this way...I don't know how it happened...."

She stroked my hair as I softly cried into her shoulder. My erection was a distant memory. That would be the last time I ever felt her hand on my penis.

"Johnny...you don't choose your favorite color—you just know you like one more than the others...I know what foods you like and don't like—did you make a conscious choice to not like spinach and broccoli, or to love chicken and fish? No, of course not—you were born that way...."

"Maybe," I said, "but people won't threaten to beat me up or kill me if I tell them I don't like spinach...."

That comment caught her by surprise. She was quiet for a long while then said, "I know...it's awful--I don't understand it...I mean look at people in general...we meet thousands of people in our lifetime, and quite frankly, do you like them all? Do you want to be friends with them all—of course not!