Unworthy...no More!

The man in the suit bent down to ask me: "Is that okay with you?" He need not have bothered, for my fate was sealed and I knew it - at the age of seven I knew I was done for. Unworthy.

My parents and I had been in his office for a while and they talked about my school experience...about my age...about my handwriting...about stuff. I sat on a small stool or chair while they talked. I would stay back a grade: "for my good." He bent down and asked me...I said: "I guess so." Do you get it?! Do - You - Understand?! I was not to go forward - not with classmates, not with anything. Their words were unspoken, but I knew. I knew I was unworthy and by God, I would prove them right...good little boy that I was.

Stacy was jubilant. It was summer and I dressed in a casual short-sleeved dress shirt and slacks - never could stand to wear shorts or a pullover 'polo' shirt - the kind with no collar. Never. Never! We had not seen each other in years - decades, actually, and we rushed to catch up. I don't remember when we met - no, I do. We moved next door to her family when I was two. We became fast friends. I called her mother by her first name - hardly the thing to do in those days, but that was before I became unworthy, so my natural spirit prevailed. I was happy then - a spirited boy with the whole world to play in. She and I caught Japanese beetles and we ate honeysuckle flowers with abandon.

"Do you remember Mrs..." I said no to a series or reminiscences. Told her I have only a very few memories of my early school years. I have an excellent memory in general. I have no idea what I did or how I acted out, but there were always written punishments to do, at home, and on the chalkboard at school. I was not meant to fit in, so I must have excelled at that.

I do remember the solitary task of being a milk and cookie monitor. Going down the hallways by myself was empowering. Did the position earn me respect? I don't remember. Then there was the cruelest method of dividing up guys for sports teams - by popular choice of ones peers. Standing on the field, last to be chosen, by default...must have done wonders for my already shattered ego. I remember the 'coach' who told me to: "Just get out there and play" when I had gotten up the courage to ask for help, saying I knew nothing about the rules of basketball. Very helpful. I remember the cutest guy in my class with Miss Hugdia, I do remember that. His name was...it was Will, Willy, Willy Abate. I was about nine then and he was my crush. We had to do the Presidents' Fitness Test at school and I could barely do one pull-up. Willy did them all. He was cute - handsome - strong - his smile lit up my heart. Was he my friend? Hardly. I had none. Unworthy.

I grew into a young adult without much fuss. Never did alcohol or drugs. Even had a best friend in high school. We would walk there every day and I slept over his house on occasion. His mom never let him forget my highly polished shoes...so I made sure they got a fresh buffing every time I went over there. He did not invite me to his confirmation. Unworthy. Said something like they had enough people...was too expensive...whatever. Then I got to go, somehow. His mom asked me to do up the buffet salads...so I did some work, but at least I was there. His name was Donald.

I felt...I felt something for Donnie. We were 18, and sleeping in his twin bed downstairs. His mom was delighted to have us sleep together; was there a message there? I was delighted, too. Take your pants off, Donnie. "No." That was that. Uneventful. Unworthy. Never brought it up again. Good thing there was Dale. Damn - just remembered something. One day, still living next door to Stacy, I woke up and adjusted my askew briefs that I had slept in. I heard laughter outside my open window. Several girls giggled and ran away when I came to the billowing curtains. I felt humiliated. Again. Anyway, Dale had a 'ducktail' haircut of light blond locks, and a winning smile, and a hot young body, and we were friends. We were all in senior year, 18, and eager to explore.

Those juices started to flow for Dale and me about the same time. How did we begin? Well, it just happened one day. We were watching TV at my house and having a snack, and he asked if I had ever jerked off. The conversation lead to us sitting legs-out on the floor and leaning up against my bed while the TV was still on. We unzipped and stroked ourselves. He leaned in and got in a quick kiss before I turned away. I turned away! I could hear the guys at school adding my name to the list of 'homos' they gladly teased on a daily basis. Oh, no! I would not go there.

Dale and the guys - we were all naked or nearly so in the locker room at school. Devin grabbed Dale by the arm and pushed it into his pants, laughing and grinning. Devin was the muscular jock type and Dale just stood there... sheepishly grinning with his hand in Devin's pants. "knock it off Dev."..and he did. But rumors started anyway. And the rumors were correct. Dale wasn't just stroking with me. He wanted sex with guys and he went for it. He even got thrush in his mouth one time. He was cocky. He was selfish. He was Dale, and I ...I needed him, and he knew it. We graduated to pants-on mutual shared masturbation. That led to pants-off masturbation at both our houses. Total nudity came next. He liked to take my dickhead into his mouth - just the head...wiping off the precum with a tissue whenever it leaked out. It leaked out a lot.

Whenever we were at his place, I would always get him off first, and then he wanted nothing to do with me. Unworthy? Told me to do it in the toilet, so I spread out a bunch of toilet paper and creamed there every time. What is that saying about expecting different results from the same behavior? It just never occurred to me to get off first! One day, at my place, we were naked on the floor and he was enjoying my dickhead as usual when he told me to go down on him. I just couldn't. I did nuzzle it with my cheek, though, and it felt really good. "Put it in your mouth" I couldn't. Pieces. Pieces of our bodies. I did not want pieces. I wanted him...Him! He wanted guys - lots of them. "I like sex", he told me proudly. Dale rolled over onto his belly and I mounted him. We were still naked and I fake fucked him by letting my hard-on trace the crack of his ass. Back and forth it went. Back and forth. Felt amazing. "Stick it in!" I couldn't. I just couldn't.

My cousin Noah got better grades than me. He always finished his assignments. I almost never did. Even when there was a reward to be earned...he got it, and I gave it up. Quit. Always did. My Aunt told me I had a higher IQ than Noah. I also got a higher yearly test score. Noah achieved. I was not meant to. I never understood the nature of the loser dynamic. Never questioned why I would stop going to the gym just when I started to see good results. Noah was a good kid and became a good husband and father and provider. He balded and got fat. I kept my hair and my slimness...and my loner status as well. Was I born to lose? Was I born to like guys? I had accumulated lots of unasked questions by the time I turned fifty...but no real answers.

There were lots of half-hearted attempts at 'friendship with benefits'. When in college, I roomed with a straight stud named John and we got along fine. He took sick once and I took care of him...wanted to do more, but just couldn't. He was always asking for my help with tiffs and stuff he had with his girlfriend. We were kind of tight in a masculine way. He excelled at his studies, Summa Cum Laude. I got an 'A' in one or two courses that captured my imagination. I failed the rest and spent a lot of time in bed and at the local theater watching the latest movies. Summer school was necessary for makeups. Never should have gone to college. I was smart enough, but I was damaged somehow and...just couldn't manage. John got sick and tired of seeing me waste myself so he decided to room with someone else after that first year together. It hurt. It hurt terribly. You know the word by now. Then I was 'uninvited back' to school. Our country was two weeks away from having a draft lottery for military service.

Sarge worked for my dad. Sarge was a hunk of solid manhood - densely packed muscle mass everywhere, yet in a 'normal' physique - not all puffed up or anything. He had a great smile. I got sweaty whenever I stood near him. He radiated his manhood and it went right through me. The three of us talked about my options - I had a feeling my 'number' would be up for the draft. "Go into the service - volunteer and you do four years...but you get more respect right from the start. I spent twelve years in the Air Force and loved it." I secretly loved Sarge, so I went down and enlisted. Just like that! BTW - draft lottery numbers that were low all went oversees to war - my number was 29.

Enlisting was the best thing I ever did. I really was treated better than inductees right from the start. A room full of naked hot guys told to "bend over" for the finger-up-the-ass prostate test. We could hear the 'snap' of little finger condoms they kept changing between pokes. Mine came and went...I liked it. No one dared to crack a joke - the tension of the place was smothering. I felt good. I felt good for most of my four years of service, too. Here was a place and tasks that were tightly structured, and I excelled. At boot camp, the seasoned men called out 'ping' to us newbies with close-shaved heads. Ping was the sound that hair was supposed to make as it grew in! How silly! I managed to slip up with some minor infraction and was summarily marched down to the barber for punishment. By that time, my hair had grown in nicely. I sat in the chair. Told the barber to cut it all off. "No" said the surprised leader - "you don't have to do that." Take it all off was my reply. I earned some balls that day. I won, and it really felt good. Now I am crying as I think of that time long ago. Control and follow-through were never my strong points, yet there I was doing both. I was in charge. Damn straight!

How did I manage to go four years surrounded by the hottest of men and not reveal my 'tendencies'? Fear. Fear ruled my life and fear ruined it as well. I could not face even the possibility of intimate rejection. I was respected in the service - did my job well. Spent my time working in a military hospital in California. A bunch of us rented a small dilapidated farmhouse shack out in the country. We had a blast and it was a good time for me. I did things like bake amazing fruit pies that got rave reviews...and wonderful cheesecakes that I shared with the secretary ladies at work. I know I felt appreciated and possibly even accepted...some of the time.

Several of the guys - friends of mine - got vacation time and decided to go to Hawaii. I had vacation time, too. I could go. They told stories when they returned. I felt empty, but listened politely. Needy people do not need to be around happy people very much - we are tolerated, yet ultimately unwanted. One guy made me melt whenever I was near him. His name was Jake. OMG, he was a beautiful man! Long flowing hair, classically handsome face, a body to die for, and a gentle and loving personality. Jake and I were alone one time and although I had smoked weed on occasion with my friends, his request to drop something stronger took me aback. I was completely torn - wanting to be alone and tripping with him, yet not wanting to do 'drugs'. I said no, and he did it by himself. I was strong - and devastated. Nothing worked for me. Nothing.

When it came time to leave the service, I was one of the first to do so. On the day I left, my friends gathered and Jake came up and gave me a real big bear hug. I froze on the spot. I turned to stone. Once again crying at the memory...I never had hugs. This was terrifying to me. But I rose to the occasion and hugged the rest of my friends and left for 'home'. When I got there, I gave my father a big hug and...he froze. Message received. Now I do understand that I was loved as a son...but between understanding and demonstration there can be the biggest of voids. We watched old home movies one time at a relatives house. I was a kid and we all were at a theme park. My father held my hand as we walked. As I watched that (without remembering the day), tears flowed readily and steadily and I knew why.

My mind is a good one. I am a funny guy and people seem to like me. My body is...adequate, and possibly even attractive. I always felt skinny and weak, but really was not. The Law of Attraction gives us what we believe we deserve. I got very little in the way of love. At thirty five, I dated a girl and lost my virginity with her. It ended, and a few girls later, I just quit trying. Emptiness filled me to the brim.

Then one day, fifty and lonely, I sat at my computer and my fingers began to type: "Grade Retention". The thought just jelled in my mind - could my failure to succeed at anything have something to do with staying back a grade all those years ago? The screen flickered and up came hundreds of reports and testimonials and stories... and I cried into the keyboard.

I wept like the child (I was) never did. Suddenly I had my answers - lots of them - all of them right there for me to read and ponder. Grade retention and the results - social maladjustment, poor grades at school, difficulty completing tasks, inability to make and or keep friends, lower lifetime income, marital difficulties, poor social skills, drug and alcohol abuse, mental illness, depression, and the list went on. I read many studies and they concluded that without adequate follow-up attention, those held back from 'going forward' with their peers would suffer greatly as a result. I spent the next decade and more in therapy and came to understand that I had incorrectly imprinted on the notion that I was a failure. My belief system - the default programming governing every action I ever took - was designed to stop what could not be mine: going forward, succeeding, winning... to fail was my due and that is what I did.

Getting past ones history is never easy. I still struggle with sorrow over the losses in my life. I am uneasy with being accepted and with success, yet my newly corrected belief system is growing strong. The day will come when happiness replaces sorrow as a way of life. I have never held anger towards the people who decided to have me repeat a grade, as they were doing what they thought best. When joyous events stopped hurting, when I could listen to serene music and not cry, when the gym logo of 'You Belong' stopped being so viscerally impactful...then I was ready. I joined a gay dating site.

After lots of short conversations with guys from all over the country, I narrowed down my search parameters. I am articulate and love to write very clear and concise emails. Heard from a bunch of lunkheads who could not manage more than one or two sentences. Talk about little feedback. "I will read your emails...I like the way you write - just don't expect volumes from me!" That about sums up the responses I got. I went on first-and-last dates maybe four times before meeting Tim. He lived about two hours away, but I decided to visit him since ...well, his profile spoke to me somehow. We had a nice day visiting the local art museum, eating, and getting to know about each other. I did not tell him how I peed in my pants.

The highway sign informing about the last facilities must have been missing, or I missed it...whatever. By the time I got to our meeting place - the art museum - I had to pee real bad. I could not find a parking space and there was Tim waiting for me at the museum entrance. We recognized each other and he came up to my car. Smiles and greetings: "You can park in the public garage over there." He pointed way behind me. By the time traffic allowed me to enter the garage, I knew I was in trouble. I parked and tried to find a restroom - no luck. The attendant said there was one in the museum. I thought about the inevitable line; and as I walked toward the entrance, past a row of hedges, I started to leak in short spurts - my ability to clench down no match for the pressure within me. After a very quick glance around, seeing no one looking, I hugged the hedges and watered them to death. What a relief. I prayed that the museum brochure I had with me would cover the wet spot on my crotch until it dried. Tim and I shook hands and we went into the museum restaurant as planned. We sat and ate. My pants dried nicely, thank you.

We walked in the nearby park and then he walked me to my car. I asked him if we could meet again or was this just a one-off date? He kissed me. I froze just a little, but managed a smile. He leaned in and kissed me again. We would meet again, for sure. I drove home dry, happy, and high on the idea of possibly having a boyfriend. Two weeks later I drove there again - to stay the weekend. I was ready. So was Tim.

I got to see his apartment for the first time as I set my duffel down near the couch. His apartment was wonderful. He and his recently deceased lover and husband had transformed a dreary apartment into an amazing oasis of physical comforts and visual delights. We took our beers to the couch and left them on the table there. Tim wasted no time in getting close. Wasted no time in touching me. Wasted no time with that first kiss. I opened up to him and we were soon nearly horizontal. His fingers started to unbutton my shirt - his was already open and inviting me in. "Should we go to the bedroom?" Yes was all I needed to say.

For all the years I believed myself inadequate and unworthy...this was not the time for hesitation or doubt. Tim was a blur in getting out of his clothes and onto the bed. I took a bit of time to undress, yet was not hesitant at all. Actually, I was joyous, and stayed that way for the rest of my visit, despite some rather dumb actions on his part which I blissfully chose to ignore. Hey! - I was about to get laid with a hot man...time to switch off the thinking and go with nature in all its glory.

As I got into bed next to Tim, I was pleased to see that we were both in natures glory already. We took up kissing where we left off. His style was not my favorite. But I quickly processed that since he was the first man to be kissing me, favorite was a relative term. He was bold and brash and dove right in with tongue thrusts and lots of pressure. I just went with it and gave as good as I got. It worked. "You have never been with a man, then?" No. He moved down between my legs and sat on his haunches. "Never blown a guy or gotten a blowjob?" No. "Let's change that!" Tim went down on me and I was in heaven. He licked and sucked me for a good while, then came back up and we kissed again. I could taste cock - my cock - on his mouth. At a breather, I said I wanted to go down on him. "Go for it" I was ready, and I did.

You Tube taught me how to go down on a man - and I 'practiced' many times in my very active imagination and fantasies. I learned how to open my throat for deepthroating. Nuzzles and kisses and licks brought me down to Tim's pubes - unshaven and nicely trimmed, yet natural looking. Thanks for having nice pubes, Tim. His reply was merely a moan because I took him in to my throat with one deep plunge. Thank you, You Tube!

After several bobs on his dick, Tim was ready for something different. "Can I fuck You?" Yes, with a lot of lube and a condom.

He jumped up and got the goodies and I put the rubber over his hardon - after one more cock kiss, that is. Then Tim lubed me up and his experience as a top made what came next pure bliss. He worked my hole like he did my mouth - with fingers pressing and massaging and finally plunging in to me as far as they could go. He finger fucked me until he knew I was loose and ready. "You sure?" Yes - but more lube, please. The cap clicked and we were ready to go for it.