Chapter 3
THE LONER
Much has been said and written about the tendencies of teen-agers to group together, frequently into gangs. While there is such a tendency, as we will see in the next chapter, there are still those teen-agers who remain basically alone-and that is true even when they are part of a gang. While they may feel more secure and draw strength from the gang, they still keep their deepest thoughts to themselves and in the more important areas act singly. This is the loner, and when it comes to sexuality it is the youngster who can participate in all sorts of gang activities of other types but keeps his own thoughts about sex to himself-and acts out of sight and hearing of the others.
This does not mean, of course, that all youngsters form into gangs. There are many who don't, and there are many who are loners on an almost full-time basis. I have mentioned the gang only because that is a strong tendency-there is a pull toward grouping and thus the individual who stays or acts alone must be considered separately.
The loner is generally a sensitive person, frequently inclined toward moodiness. His very loneliness creates problems that other young people do not have, because he is isolated and working things out for himself, not helped by the group activities and sociability that frequently make such things easier. He is aware of sex, as the others are, because his body is developing and he is aware of all elements of society around him-indeed, he cannot be unaware of it. Being isolated-seeing himself as set aside from the others, where they are more prone to see themselves as individuals and part of a group-he has to struggle even more diligently to answer the question that they all, whether they know it or not, are asking: Who and what am I?
Many loners, because of the circumstances of their lives that have made them such, find bad answers. They become involved in deviant forms of sexual behavior that have special appeal to them, that feed particular psychological needs. Others, through persistence and experimentation, work their way through and eventually become relatively-if quiet-normal adults. The following examples come from the last category. They consist of interviews with young people who have almost deliberately isolated themselves, and who have used their own methods in an attempt to find out who and what they are.
George T., at seventeen, is a definite loner. He is not a handsome boy, but he is good looking in a sort of poetic way. He has a good build, but there is a definite softness about him, a softness that comes from his mannerisms but seems to be duplicated in his physical characteristics. He does not fit into the typical teen-age group because of his tastes-he is studious, he has a great appreciation for and a knowledge of art, and he prefers classical music to any other type. Some see him as a "sissy," and he has been accused of homosexuality. He readily admits that he has practiced it, but, as we shall see as he tells his story, that was only a part of the total sexual experimentation that he has participated in while trying to adjust to life. George told his story thus:
Both of my parents are professional people-my father is a college professor and my mother is a psychologist. They've always been busy with their careers, but they haven't neglected me; I always had someone there to take care of me and, along with their line of thinking, it was someone who taught me "the finer things of life." I'm no genius, but before I was five years old I could pick out the majority of the pre-Renaissance and Renaissance painters, identify their work, and all of that. I could recognize many of the classical pieces of music after their first few notes. In the years since, that knowledge has increased.
They overlooked one thing. Children ... kids ... don't particularly care for a "bright boy," someone who knows and likes art and music, that sort of thing. I have never fit in with groups very well, and I can't honestly say that I've ever had a friend, not in the true sense of the word. So, you might say that I was an adult child-a bore! I know that now; I thought that the other kids bored me, but I can see now that I was the bore.
Anyway, I've managed on my own, I guess. I lived a quiet childhood, my companion being a nurse when I was younger and then a tutor when I was older. Oh, I went to public schools, but this tutor was a sort of all-around man, whoever he happened to be at the moment. He made sure that I was fed, dressed right, went to school, all of that, and threw in whatever specialty he know about on the side. French lessons, music, that sort of thing. Everything that my folks could be proud of. But it was his job to keep me out of their hair, too. I can see that now.
I may sound bitter, but I'm not. Not really. I just look back and see what it might have been like. But, anyway, to get on with what you asked me about ... my sex life! I can honestly say that there was none during my first twelve or so years-as I said, my mind was kept occupied with many other things, and the other people my age avoided me. My first recollection of sex is when I began to realize that my own body was changing. You can't avoid that, you know? Your prick begins to get bigger, hair grows around it, and your whole body is getting bigger. My tutors made some fuss about privacy, insisting on it for both themselves and me, so I learned modesty! The two seemed to go together; bigger prick with hair around it, hide it! Then Andre arrived!
I was thirteen, Andre was twenty-one. He was a student over here from France, going to college where my father taught, and that's how my father happened to hear about and hire him. While I was in school it gave Andre time to attend his own classes, then he taught me French afternoons. But that isn't all he taught me! I remember ... he had been at the house not much over a week, and it was a very warm afternoon. We took off first our shirts, then our trousers. I'll have to admit that I was interested in his body, and in the bulge inside his shorts. He really had a beautiful body, you see; it could have been one that Michelangelo used, perhaps for his Captive, maybe the David. But neither David nor the Captive, had they been wearing jockey shorts as he was, would have had a bulge like that! I found it impossible to concentrate on the French lesson. Andre finally threw up his hands, said that with my mind wandering as it was we would let the lesson go until later, and he went to his own room. A few minutes later I went there and quietly opened the door. He had taken off his shorts and was stretched out on the bed, and freed, his prick was absolutely fantastic;-but it was even more fantastic because it was hard and lying up along his stomach, a massive thing.
I guess he heard me, or sensed me, because he raised his head and looked at me. Perhaps he saw something in my eyes, too, because instead of trying to hide himself or getting angry or any of the things that he might have done, he merely invited me in. "The way you're looking at me," he said. "Have you never seen a hard cock before?"
I swallowed and admitted that I hadn't.
"Well, then, perhaps you would like to feel it, non?"
I swallowed again, then I reached out and felt it. Put my hand on it, then wrapped my fingers around it and lifted it up off his stomach. He smiled. "You like that, oui? You find it interesting? Well, kiss it, little one."
I kissed it, but as I did his hands came to the back of my head and he forced my mouth down over it, almost gagging me. He laughed and let my head go, but he told me to work on it with my mouth. I ... I did, working my mouth up and down on it, and finally he started getting excited and then erupted into my mouth.
He was very gentle after that. He told me to take off my shorts and lie down beside him, and I did. He rubbed my body, kissed me on the cheeks a little, then he rolled over onto his back, spread his legs, and told me to mount him. I didn't under stand at first, but he finally made it clear; I straddled him, I pushed my hard prick (so terribly small, compared to his!) into his rectum, and then I worked up and down until I reached an orgasm in him.
That became common practice with us for the rest of the school year, then with the coming of summer Andre left, because my father had taken a sabbatical to do some research and so would be around the house most of the time. I really missed Andre, but I couldn't tell my parents about it. But my awareness of sex, and of the pleasures of sex, had been aroused, and soon after, thinking about Andre and what we had so frequently done, I began playing with myself and so accidentally discovered the pleasure that can be had from masturbating. In the next year or so, increasingly pleased at the size my prick was growing to, I masturbated quite frequently. It was, actually, one of the few pleasures I really enjoyed.
My dad did his research, then when he was ready to compile the works he hired a young college student to take dictation and type up the notes. She was a really good looking girl, a pretty blonde, and she had a beautiful body. She acted like she didn't even know it, but she had nice-shaped tits that really filled out the sweaters she wore, and a beautifully curved rump. The way her skirts dipped in at the crotch almost drove me out of my mind! I found myself thinking about her instead of Andre when I was going into masturbation sessions. They sometimes worked quite late, and when they did she stayed overnight, using the room that had been Andre's-and the tutors' and nurses' before him.
I was really quite interested. I wanted to see what she looked like naked, to make my daydreams even more complete. I finally accomplished that by sneaking into that room one night when they were working late, hiding in the closet. When she finally came in I watched her undress, and it was all that I had hoped for and more. As she pulled her sweater up I saw the soft flesh of her stomach, then the shape of her tits under the brassiere; but when she pulled that off I almost gasped loud enough for her to hear. Her tits, half-rounded and sort of pointed, fell loose and seemed to spread a little over her chest. They were two beautiful melting mounds of jello, still half-firm, and each with a reddish-like decoration in the middle. As if enjoying their freedom from their harness, she put a hand under each one and rubbed them, lifting them a little and then letting them fall. That done, she kicked off her shoes, raised her skirt to unhitch a stocking, revealing a beautiful white thigh, and then slid the stocking off. I almost shot a wad from watching just that! Then she did it with the other leg, and I almost popped again. Finally she slid her skirt down over her hips, dragging her silk panties with it, and there was the nicest stomach, the most beautiful hips, and between her thighs a bush of blond hair over a bulge that, like her tits, got gentle massaging from her hand, a sort of freeing from its confines. Then she stretched, her arms over her head and her legs spread a little, and I almost went out of my mind; her tits raised up a little, spread a little more, and between her legs I could see a dark, long opening with the slightest bit of red showing. When the show ended, with her crawling into bed and turning out the light, I almost cried! But I imagined her in bed, stretching again, rubbing herself, and I imagined myself with her-then I took out my prick and slowly beat myself to an orgasm.
From then on, until the work was finished, I did that quite frequently. I mean, I sneaked into her room when I knew that she was going to stay overnight and watched her undress. It wasn't always as good as the first night, but it still was always good. I only wished that I could find some way of getting to her, but I knew that was impossible. I settled for those beautiful shows, and for day-dreaming while I masturbated in her closet,-waiting for her to go to sleep so that I could sneak back to my own room.
After she was gone there was an emptiness, worse even than after Andre had gone. I guess ... Well, I knew what I wanted, I didn't know how to get it, and now even that half-way measure was gone. Like I said, I wasn't very popular at school, the other kids didn't invite me to any of their doings or anything. But I knew one thing, I had to get with a girl. I had to see what it would be like-and I guess I had to see, too, that I ... well, that I wasn't a queer, just because I'd sucked Andre off those many times.
There was a girl in one of my classes. I picked her, I guess, because she looked like the blonde who'd worked for my dad, a younger edition of her. She was a blonde, too, and had nice tits under her sweaters and blouses, and a cute little rump. It took me about three weeks and a hundred false starts, but I finally got courage enough to talk to her. The next step was to write her a note, ask her if she'd have cokes or something with me after school some day. When she got it she looked across at me real funny, but she agreed to. It was pretty mushy, but I'd written a poem about her, about how she looked like a Greek goddess and all, and I gave it to her while we were having cokes. She acted real funny, sort of embarrassed, but I plunged on ahead, asked her if I could see her some evening. Well, to make a long story short, it took about three months of goofing around like that, but it finally got to where one night we were sitting on the lawn swing at her place and I got my arm around her. I felt her tits a little and kissed her, and I told her that if she didn't love me at least some I'd kill myself. It was pretty corny, but I was desperate. So we kissed more, and I played with her tits more through her blouse, and the kisses got more amorous. I grabbed her hand and stuck it in my crotch, over my hard-on; she started to pull it away, but then her fingers finally uncurled and then wrapped around my prick. I was sticking my tongue in her mouth by this time, and feeling her tits up considerably, and we were both breathing pretty heavily.
I kissed my way down her throat, unbuttoning her blouse at the same time, then I had her laid back and I was kissing her stomach and all around under her brassiere, even getting my tongue up under it. I put my hand on her leg and started it up under her skirt; she grabbed onto it, held it tight, then finally let go of it, and I moved it further up. It was warm and sort of sweaty there, then my fingers had gotten up to her panties; I felt the soft cushion inside them, pressed the silk down into the slit, even, then I ran my fingers up under the silk. They felt hair, then they felt the soft flesh. By that time I'd gotten her brassiere pulled off her tits, and I was kissing them something frantic. Tonguing the nipples, sucking on them, kissing all around. I got my finger up her cunt, played around with it in there, and I knew for sure in that instance what a prick was supposed to do. I ran my finger in and out a couple of times as if it were a prick, and she groaned and wiggled around. "Can I do it the right way?" I whispered desperately. "Can I put my prick in there?"
"Oh, God, yes!" she gasped. "We shouldn't, but ... but...."
I didn't give her time to change her mind. Moving real quickly, I pulled her skirt and panties down, then I got my cock out and straddled her. I guess I was a little awkward, but I finally got the head up to the right spot, then I started working it in. She moved her hips up and down, helping me, and finally it pushed through the folds and disappeared clear into her. I had no idea a cunt would feel like that; it was warm and nice and tight, like ... well, a little bit like two chubby, soft hands clasped around it in prayer fashion. I started working it in and out, kissing her on the mouth again, and we kept going until we both reached a terrific orgasm.
She told me she had liked it, but she said, too, that she'd done it partially because she felt sorry for me. So, she said, we wouldn't ever be alone together again-and she meant it. She went back to her friends at school, and I went back to being the lone wolf again. But I had the real good memory of it, I remembered every detail, every feeling.
Well, I was sixteen, going on seventeen. I'd been a cocksucker, I'd been a jacker-offer while I was a peeping torn, and I'd gotten my first piece. I'd filled out, too, and grown taller; my prick had gotten much bigger, my balls hung down pretty good. I knew what all the kids at school thought of me, but I knew what I was. I was a human being who had human feelings and human desires. A human being who liked sex and wanted to experience more of it.
I started going where nobody knew me. Down around the lower end of town, or over in other neighborhoods. Away from kids I knew, away from home, I could pretend I was something else and act different. It paid off, too. I got pretty skillful at picking girls up, some older women, and I found out that I had only begun to learn about sex! Everyone I met seemed to have her own technique, some other way of doing it, and I went for it all. Sixty-nines, doggie-fashion, I even screwed one woman in the ass because she liked it that way, the guy playing with her pussy with his hand while he poured it to her from the rear. Sometimes we went to their rooms, but my car (because I'd gotten a car for my sixteenth birthday, you see) was almost a sex-bed on wheels. And I got a kick out of knowing what the other kids at school would think if they knew-and what my folks would think. Old sexless, studious George. Queer acting, probably was a queer. If only they knew!
Of course, there were some queer scenes. Once in a while I'd run into a man who was interested, and if no women was available I'd go with him if he wanted me to. But I was on the other side of the fence now-they could blow me, I'd screw them in the ass if they wanted, but I wouldn't get on the other end of it. I liked what they did, but I liked women!
So that's the way it goes. You might say that I'm living a double life, I guess I am. But for now it's okay. I figure this is the way it has to be. Maybe when I get to college it will change. Meanwhile, I go my own way, by myself, then I go out and do the sex scene without anybody knowing it.
Frank R. is another loner, but quite different from George. He is a pleasant-faced seventeen year old with broad shoulders, narrow waist, and strong arms and legs. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, he has a happy-go-lucky disposition that makes him popular among his friends. In most of the things the group of teen-agers he runs with do, Frank is an active participant;-one who enjoys and is enjoyed. But when it comes to sex, for his own reason, he moves alone. He told his own story:
I'll tell you what happened. I was about twelve years old, just beginning to know what was really going on, and just getting the equipment to do it with. Some of the kids I ran with were a little older, up to about fifteen. That meant some of 'em were pretty well hung, and plenty wise.
Well, we were having a sort of party one night, and these guys brought in a girl. There was a lot of horsing around, and she was the kind of girl you could horse around with. I guess every neighborhood has its whore, and she was it. Anyway, when they got through she was stripped naked, and the boys were taking turns banging on her. Of course, while one banged, others played with her tits and all that, but the thing was, everybody there was supposed to bang her. I kept trying to stay out of it, but it finally came my turn. I hated like hell letting them see my pecker, especially when some of theirs were so big, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. But in the middle of everything-I've got my pants down around my ankles, my pecker up her cunt-somebody yells that somebody's coming, and everybody disappears. So in walks some grown-up, and there I am. Well, I guess you know what happened.
My folks threatened to send me to jail and everything else, but it was only threats, but it was still uncomfortable for a while. So I decided right then, whatever the gang wanted to do, I'd do it, but when it came to sex I was on my own. On my own, baby, where nobody could catch me! And that's the way it's been, and that's the way it's going to keep on being!
That gang, too! You know, even if you don't want to think about sex, you can't help yourself. Every time they get together, no matter what they do, it eventually comes up. Some guy'll start bragging about the broad he made the night before, somebody'll say they saw somebody going at it. There's always something. And the worst part is, when I start thinking about it, there's only one ending-either I go out and get something, or I end up using the hand method, and who the hell wants to do that?
So at twelve I'd screwed a girl for the first time, if you can call that screwing. But I'd had a taste of it, at least, and I wanted more. So when the heat cooled off, when my folks weren't keeping the birddog watch on me any more, I went after more. It was with a girl my own age, a girl who was just beginning to get tits, who didn't have much hair between her legs. It was pretty dumb, too; I screwed her standing up, in a dark hallway. After that, for the next couple of years, I did it every once in a while, usually with this same girl. Then-I guess I was maybe fourteen-I got tired of her. Of it. It was always the same old thing, you know; the only thing that was different was that her tits had gotten pretty big, pretty nice, and my prick had doubled or more in size, but it was still just me kissing her tits and running my shaft up her pussy and pumping us off to a squirting match. Hell, I wanted to have a little excitement, see if what some of the other guys said was true.
You can't ditch out on the gang too easy, not without making them mad, but I finally got it down to a pretty good science. I guess I used about every excuse in the book, they grumbled a little, but they always let me back in the next time with no static. So when I got hot pants, I'd bug off. You know how it goes; they'd start talking sex, I'd start getting a hard-on, and when they went on to another subject I was still sitting there with a hard cock and wanting to do something about it. I'd get a headache, or remember something my old man had told me to do ... and away I'd go.
Of course it worked the other way, too. I mean, sometimes they'd keep talking about sex, and then they'd all want to go after something-either build up a gang bang or go off separately. But what they did was their business, I was on my own. I guess I was hung up on that, I wasn't about to take chances. And not only that; like I said, I was interested in trying out new things.
I remember ... Well, I'd leave the gang, you see, and start walking. If I'd think about a particular girl I'd go to her place, or if I'd heard that some girl did something particular I'd go there! Other times I just went to where the girls would be, struck up with one and took off with her. But after that first girl, I made sure that there were no hang ups-it was love 'em and leave 'em for me. Or maybe I should say screw 'em and leave 'em!
But you know what I found out? If you play it right, girls are just as interested as boys in trying new things. I mean ... well, I guess the same thing is going on with them. It's all new, they want to try anything they hear. Like one girl. I took her walking in the park, my hand on her ass while we walked along. We got to a dark place and I really put the make on her, put my arms around her and started kissing, running my hands all over her, feeling her tits and all. I could tell right away that she had hot pants, because she was kissing back with tongue and all, and rubbing her pussy into my hard-on while she did it, and while I was rubbing her buttocks and squeezing her tits and all. Well, we finally went in among the bushes and laid down on the grass, and we went at it again. The kissing business, hands all over each other, then she's squeezing my prick and making noises about how big it is, how nice it is, and how good it's going to feel to get it up in her. I say to her, "If you think it's so damned nice ... you ever sucked a guy's cock?"
She gasped, all shook up, shocked because I'd even say such a thing, so I told her to just lay back and relax a little. I pushed her skirt up as high as I could get it, and she didn't have any pants on under it. There was pussy, just waiting, and me remembering what one of the other guys had said you did with a thing like that-if you needed to be told! I put my hand on it and started warming it up more, squeezing it and all, then sticking a finger in and running it around. She really went for that, her legs spread out and she was making noises again. She was a talker, you see, one of the kind that have to be making comments. "Oh, no boy's ever done that to me before, but it sure feels good with your finger in there! Oh, I like that, it feels good the way you're doing that!" Well, enough of that finger stuff, I bent over and kissed it. Planted a great big kiss right in the middle of that sweet pussy! Then I started licking it, like a dog would do. Licking it from the bottom clear up to the top, going back for a second helping. Pressed my tongue in deeper and swung it around on all that soft, inside meat, that tenderness. She's almost going out of her mind by that time, so I got my tongue inside and then I stiffened it, and while I started working it in and out I got my cock out of my pants and then straddled her face. It didn't take any instructions; she grabbed onto my cock with her hand and her mouth was over it in a split second. She may not have ever sucked cock before, but she knew automatically how to do it! So I tongue-fucked her and she sucked on me, and before long she's romping her hips up to meet my. face and I'm shoving my cock down to meet hers, then we both blew our brains out with the juiciest loads you could ask for!
She was all lathered up, that was the greatest thing she'd ever done, she hoped we'd get together again real soon and do it again. "Naw, baby, once around the merry-go-round is all!" But that was sweet eating pussy and she gave a good blow-job; I made a mental note of it in case I decided to go back for seconds.
Then I heard about this dumpy hotel. Guys go in there, check in, and go up to their rooms. They're really just little cubicles, no bathrooms or anything, you have to go down the hall. Anyway, they go up there, they strip and lay-down, and other guys come along. If any two like the looks of each other, the visitor goes in and they close the door. Well, I've got to try everything at least once, so over I go. I sneaked in the back way, being only not quite sixteen, up the stairs. Honest to God, the story had been true; there were doors open along the hall, and guys lying naked on the beds. Some of 'em had hard-ons, old cocks sticking up and waiting. A couple of 'em smiled and invited me in, but I didn't particularly like their looks. Like they were too old, or too fat, something like that. Finally this fairly young guy, lying there with his hand behind his head so he can look out the door, sees me and invites me in.
Well, he's a sort of nice looking guy, seems like he'd be nice, so I went in. He told me to close the door, so I did. I was trying to act brave, but to tell the truth, I was a little nervous, even scared. Anyway, he swung his legs off the edge of the bed and was sitting up, and when he saw I was nervous he patted the bed beside him. I sat down, he reached out for my leg. "This is your first time, isn't it?" he asked.
"Yeah," I admitted. Well he was nice about it, gentle. Moved his hand up and got hold of my cock through my pants, played with it a little, then he reached over and unzipped me and pulled it out. Got down on his knees between my legs and slid his mouth over it, a real nice, sucking beginning! I guess he figured he'd gotten me hot enough, so he lets loose and tells me to undress. I did, figuring I was in for a blow-job-and ready to try to figure out if getting a blow-job from a man is any different than getting one from a woman. But he doesn't go for that. He laid down on his back, told me to lie down on top of him, then he reached between us and got both our cocks pulled up between us, pressed between our bellies. Then he started moving his hips, and I'll be damned if it didn't give me a pretty good feeling. Then all of a sudden he moved some way, and my cock was down between his legs, his still up between us. I could feel the head of it pressed into his flesh there-then the damndest thing! He wiggled his ass some way, the muscles, and I felt my cock being sucked up into him. Well, I knew what that meant, and I didn't disappoint him. I started pile-driving it into him, banging it in until my belly crashed against his butt, pulling it out and then banging it in again. It's a wonder I didn't mash his nuts, but it didn't seem to bother him; he started working with me, not only wiggling his butt but working his muscles, and it honest to god was as nice as any cunt that baby had been in. Man, when I blew I really blew! I rammed it into him and the stuff shot out. And his shot at the same time; I felt the sticky stuff shooting up between us. That was a wild one!
It's times like that when you're smart for being a loner. I mean, if the other guys had known about it, they'd of said that I was going queer. I guess what I'm saying is, what a guy does is his business, nobody else's! So when I'm with the gang, I talk about screwing-but I remember all these other things I've done, and I feel pretty good about it. I mean ... well, you've just got to have experience, that's all. You've got to know what's going on. Besides that, it's one hell of a lot of fun!
So the loner, for his own reasons, moves in his private sexual world-but like the others, he is aware of his body and interested in discovering all of the secrets that it holds. He experiments. He checks each variety of and looks for still another way. But eventually, when he has tried as many as he can, he will have arrived at the point where he can feel that he knows what there is to know about sex, he can now settle down to the more acceptable patterns of heterosexuality.