Cock-Sucker: The Rake's Progress 04

Have those old creeps been debauching my innocence? Well, no, not really. I was already a dirty-minded sod. Does their treatment of me constitute abuse – even if it's a situation I was fully complicit with, even one that I'd purposefully sought out? Yes, but only if you buy into the theory that it's precipitated by social inequality and exploitation of the vulnerable by those with wealth and power. That it's due to the way the system is unfair to the underclass. If you can fight and you're physically fit, you can Box your way out, if you can sing and present yourself you can make it in Pop music, or if you're a model or an artist you can use those routes to escape the dead-end ordinary life and grab your slice of La Dole Vita. I have no such talents. This is all I have to barter, myself, my body, my servitude. I've always had problems with relationships, complex adult relationships even more so. As a 'kept boy' I am not expected to have a mind of my own. I do as I'm told. Perform as instructed. That relieves me of the awkwardness of taking initiatives or making advances that may be spurned. It's safe, with none of the pain of rejection. Until it ends. I'm not always necessarily proud of the things I've done. But I'm not ashamed either. I made a pragmatic decision early on about the kind of life I wanted to live, and what I had to do to achieve it, the narrow channel of choices I had to attain them. That's what I've done...

Every time I resolve to give up on men... I happen to see a young guy on the street, maybe some quiet and shy student, and I'm already off imagining us in his poetic garret-room, him naked, nervous and excited, and in my mind I'm going down on him, teasing out his uncoiling dick with my tongue, lapping at his tight balls, about to inspire the next verse in his own'Les Fleurs du Mal'. Or I catch the attention of a sophisticated older guy sitting in the pavement café sipping a cappuccino, I feel his eyes appraising me, and I think hey, I could be the answer to your wildest wet dreams, you've got spending plastic in your wallet? then I can do things to your cock to make your hair stand on end. Just try me on. And I smile across at him... Have all those guys been debauching my innocence? Well, no, not really. All they've been doing is enabling me a means of expressing my sexual urge.

Nevertheless, I was feeling a little... used. Until I happened upon you, or you happened upon me, and my future was decided. No question about it. You reached out and took hold of my mind. I'm not going to pretend things to you. I'm not going to lie. Why am I divulging all of this to you? These are precious intimacies I'm sharing. I'll tell you why. I'm doing it because my life is out of control. I need a firm guiding hand to discipline my unruly urges. And where you're concerned I have no edit button, I can't do anything but tell the truth.

So my picaresque odyssey draws to a close, my tale of a well-intentioned cock-sucking boy adrift, buffeted and tossed-about on the storms of outrageous fortune in a world of cruel predatory deceivers. Do my candid confessions shock you? Are they too explicit for your sensitivities? There's nothing here that the vast majority of males on the planet do not fantasise about doing, either to women, or to each other. Sometimes those desires are screwed down so deep in the recesses of their subconscious they scarcely dare admit them, even to themselves. But those dark lusts are there. I merely facilitate what is already there. I make myself the instrument of their dark pornographic fantasies. Do my squalid reminiscences make you horny? Do you wish you'd been there? Make no mistake, you could be enjoying and taking full advantage of the same levels of my slavish devotion. Maybe I invent them to provoke that reaction in you? You'll never know, unless you respond... please. If every good thing must end with a come, let's make it a good one...

BY TRISTAN TROTSKY