In the late 1970s when I was in my mid twenties, I had a real hot adventure with a couple of straight buddies on Christmas day.
I had already been experimenting with this masochistic _s_h_i_t_ on an occasional basis, but with gay guys I had met at queer bars. Soon I discovered that these fags dressed up as tough guys did not cut the mustard--I mean, they were all talking about opera divas and redecorating their dens, _s_h_i_t_ like that.
So, I put an ad in the Boston Phoenix, a weekly which had a personals section. I didn't put it in the "men seeking men" section, but in the "kinky" section (so I might attract straight men). It read, "STRAIGHT & BI GUYS. Sucker in his twenties wants to please. No reciprocation, no money, no gays." I got a LOT of answers. I met with several of them over the course of the summer (although most didn't show up, the cowards!).
I met one particularly mean divorced guy, around fifty, I guess, who liked to come over during his lunch break, or sometimes before work. He made me lick his boots, get him a beer, light his cigarettes for him and call me nasty names. Each time he stopped over it escalated, until on the last day I saw him, in early August he just quit coming. He didn't call me back after that, and so I thought that this thing had just kind of run its course.
Then, months later, on Christmas morning in fact, he calls me up and says that he had been telling his buddy about me, and if I wanted to service them both, he'd swing by and pick me up. I reiterated that I didn't get _f_u_c_k_ed up the ass--only skull _f_u_c_k_ed. He was cool with that, he said--they just wanted to use my oral talents he said. He told me to wait on the steps for him outside my building. I was raining. About twenty minutes later he swung by in his pickup truck. Since I was all wet from the rain he just rolled down the window and ordered my to jump in the back of the truck (like a dog or a load of wood).
They took me to this sheet metal place in Southie where light manufacturing was done, I guess. Being Christmas day, no one was there. They took me into a small dirty office, told me to strip and then I serviced them both. The guy I knew from before was kind of "showing off" to his pal what a submissive fag I was. They made me do all sorts of degrading things for them while they just sat back and barked out orders and insults. They were really rowdy--laughing at me, making comments to each other about how fukin queer I was for doing all this _s_h_i_t_ for them. They were all sweaty and dirty and they made me sniff out their crotches, lick out their armpits and suck their dirty toes for them.
When they had both come two or three times each, they took off their belts and beat me for a few minutes—maybe a half dozen strokes each--while I hollered and they laughed. Then they took my clothes out into the workshop area and made me watch while they pissed all over my still somewhat wet clothes. Then they made me put on my clothes back on (they were cold!). They took me back outside (it was snowing by now, three or four hours later, but it was still before noon). They had me jump back in the back of the pickup, drove me back to my apartment and told me to beat it. They told me in no uncertain terms that if I ever told anyone, they'd _f_u_c_k_ me up serious. Then they just sped off, burning rubber and laughing. I never saw either of them again.