At 15, I knew deep inside that I was and probably younger than that. What my family didn’t know when they shipped me off was that I was gay. I think my family thought Bryson would be a good place for us because the school offered three things that were sorely missing at home: Responsibility, Respect and Self-Discipline. The bulk of the money that allowed the place to operate (and still does) came from private donations and charitable gifts. In case you are wondering, Bryson offered a sliding scale fee so that any family could afford it. But as the years went on and times changed, it morphed into an “academy” a place that boys from broken homes were sent to. When it was originally founded, it was called Bryson Reform School. It’s a military boarding school that has been around for over 100 years. So after that happened, my mom’s side of the family held a pow-wow and decided it was best we went to “Bryson Academy*”.
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The tipping point happened when my brother and I got busted joyriding in a car we hot-wired. If we weren’t causing problems in the neighborhood, we were getting into trouble at public school. Without going into it, I’ll share with you that we were a handful. But it was better to live with her than dad because he had his own issues with alcohol and drugs. Today, it’s not as big of a deal but back in the 80’s, it still was frowned upon.Īnyway, once our p’s split, we ended up going with our mom a woman who could barely take care of herself, let alone teenage boys. That’s a polite way of saying that our parents ended up getting divorced. There were numerous reasons for this, including the reality that we came from a “broken homes”. In fact, my brother and I both ended up getting sent away. That night has occupied more than a few of my wet dreams and fantasies over the past ~38 years.When I was 15-years old, I was sent to a military boarding school. Later on the following year, after I was convinced I wanted to try gay sex again, I sought him out repeatedly, but never ran across that same jock again until almost 8 years and two lovers later. All in all, if I was going to be pseudo-raped (forced to perform against my will), I couldn’t have picked a hotter person to break me into the gay life.
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I weakly attempted to pull his mouth off me, but he just pinned my arms and kept going down on me until the inevitable became unavoidable (and he kept doing it for about two minutes after I came) driving me absolutely crazy with pleasure. I woke to find I was getting the most amazing BJ of my life and was on the verge of orgasm. During dinner, I began feeling very groggy (am convinced he slipped me something) and he offered to let me ‘sleep off the night’s drinking’ for a while. Little did I know he meant that in a literal sense, LOL. He offered to take me home for a ‘home cooked meal as you look like you could use a little more meat on your bones’. I was a 17 year old Navy boi fresh out of boot camp and some rather hot looking steroid hog (bodybuilder type) picked me up at a bar I happened to walk into only having been aware of the fact that everyone there seemed so ‘friendly’ to each other (had never heard of a gay bar before then). That having been said, my own first gay encounter was similarly casual in that I had never met my first gay partner before the day we had sex, although it was about a half dozen years earlier than your encounter.
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I by that time in history would have been absolutely petrified of sleeping with anyone who frequented such a ‘casual sex’ venue for fear of catching the death of me (literally). If my memory serves (and it usually does), by 1983, we were already hearing horror stories of the ‘gay cancer’ (then called GRID, but later renamed to AIDS). Trippy: Well, you certainly had balls (or were pretty foolish), Trippy.