Yoo sam, could you tell us about your highschool years as a faggot?
I’m straight, but I imagine that, being a faggot, your experience was probably quite different. I guess you wouldn’t have joined in on the conversations about rating the best girls’ asses in class hahaha. Also you could create a section about your own life experiences
Thank you for writing, Sir!
Well, this should be fun! I don’t write a lot of autobiographical stuff on here aside from specific examples of my past as a faggot, but I’m definitely willing to share, Sir!
I grew up in the Midwest of suburban America in the 80s and 90s, the firstborn son of religious, middle-class parents. My high school was straight out of a John Hughes film, and I was a near-carbon copy of the nerdy kid played by Anthony Michael Hall in those films (particularly in SIXTEEN CANDLES). Skinny, gangly, goofy, and cute. I had a thick brown mop of feathered hair, big, brown cow eyes with long eyelashes, and embarrassing dimples. I was well-known in school for bizarrely wearing an electric-blue bomber jacket every single day for all four years of high school (we symbolically burned it at a post-graduation bonfire).
I had a very tight group of misfit friends all four years that we called “The Group”. We’d known each other since kindergarten (and I’m still friends with some of them today!), and we knew each other very well. In the social hierarchy of our high school, we were somewhere between The Burnouts on the lower levels and The Jocks on the main levels.
I was very much then like I am today; intelligent, creative, sweethearted, but also armed with a blistering streak of sarcasm that earned me the title of “King Of The Put-Downs”. This combination of qualities served me well during my Freshman year when I found myself in an elective recreational sports class with a bunch of Seniors. They found me hilarious, and I became their funny little brother … so they served as my “protector Alphas” in dangerous areas like the lunchroom. The only time they didn’t protect me was in my history class, where a bully named Matt Sprenger tormented me every day.
My friends were all typically straight white guys, and I managed to blend in perfectly with them even though I was nothing like them inside. Ever since fifth or sixth grade I knew I felt something for boys. My first “crush” happened then with a boy named George Collins. Then in junior high I sort of fell in love with a guy named Bob who looked a little like a blonde version of Albert from “Little House on the Prairie”, and that continued into high school. Ugh … Bob used to wear this form-hugging gray corduroy pants that showed off his bulge and his perfect ass. While my friends were busy talking about cheerleader tits and asses, I was chasing Bob and this cute guy named Matt.
These crushes helped me understand that I was gay, and I knew I felt submissive (as a little kid I was already manifesting an interest in macrophilia), but I didn’t know what to do with those feelings. I certainly never told my friends, nor my parents. So instead I began to date and attempt to fuck girls like my friends were doing. This started between the ages of 15-16. I lost my virginity to a white girl named Rachelle, my second girlfriend. I had a threesome with two girls one night at a party.
And I hated it. Entering a vagina with my little pee-pee felt wrong, and my body didn’t seem to even understand thrusting and other mechanical aspects of straight male fucking. I tried eating vagina, and it was absolutely revolting. All-in-all it was an embarrassing disaster. I started to think I was doomed.
Then I got a job at an Italian restaurant, and there I met a straight Alpha named Roger. He was my age and same grade, but he went to a competing high school. He was everything I wasn’t: hot, sexy, confident, muscular, and extremely popular. I fell instantly in love with him. I wanted to be with him all the time, smell his scent, and hear his laughter. He’d playfully call me “faggot” – the first time anyone ever called me that, and it was like an electric charge raced through my body every time he said it. The word felt like a siren song leading me into deeper waters.
This was, of course, the same Roger who forced me to my knees and throat fucked me with his 8+ inch cock a few months after meeting me (we had been watching some schlocky “girls in prison” movie in his mother’s basement). After that, I was his personal cocksucker for our final year of high school, and I never looked back.
So yeah, those were my years of discovery as a faggot in high school, Sir! I’m not sure my development was typical of most faggots, and I certainly handled those years with a sense of wide-eyed wonder and excitement that definitely seems atypical now that I’ve spoken to so many other fags.
EPILOGUE: Before I get the inevitable follow-up question, yes my high school friends all know I’m a faggot these days. After I disappeared from them for several years (being owned by multiple Masters), I returned and told them the truth. Then, at a class reunion, I made sure everyone in the class knew I was a faggot. Needless to say, none of them were shocked! We all had a great laugh over it!
One more thing, Sir: There is a category specifically for me and my stories. It’s all in the category “Me”.
