Destiny

DESTINY

destiny | ˈdestinÄ" | noun (plural destinies)

The events that will necessarily happen to a particular person or thing in the future.

the hidden power believed to control what will happen in the future; fate.

Do you believe in destiny? Or a higher power that controls the wills and actions (destinies) of people, or perhaps even the destiny and fate of the universe? Is an asteroid that hits the earth a simple fact of: "Well, it was coming this way, it was inevitable that it would hit". Or was it destined or designed to hit, or not hit. Or are things just as simple as cause and effect? Do other people's destiny interact with someone because of design or happenstance?

I guess there is a point in every man's life that he begins to question his existence. His reason for being. His destiny. Was his life and destiny pre-ordained? Or was it just a simple matter of cause and effect? Action and reaction? Wrong place, wrong time?

I was born in 1955. A long time ago to some and just a short while ago to others. But, in looking back on my life, I have begun to question the actions that played upon it. And for the reasons the people that interacted with me, molded me, used me, controlled me. Was I destined to be a submissive, while others were destined to be a dominant authoritarian in control of my life and actions? Who/What decides this and why? Is it like a television series where one (or a group of beings) sit around controlling the destinies of others for their own amusement? Or is it as simple as that is the way it is?

I was very naive as a child, teen, young adult. Maybe even somewhat naive now as an older adult. To illustrate the extent of my naivety, I did not know what a menstrual period was until I was 19. Sex and body development was not discussed in my house. I never had "the talk" and I knew nothing about it until my education was taken hold of by various people in my life.

My father died when I was four. I have no memories of him other than two rather vague images. My mother worked full-time and went to school nights while raising me and my sister, who was three years older. We lived in what I would now describe as a lower-middle income neighborhood. Although at the time I had no idea of social class and one's place in it. I had two pairs of pants (trousers) and two shirts as well as my `Sunday Best'. You could say i was pretty much oblivious to the world and my surroundings.

I hated school. I would daydream all the time. If asked a question, I had no idea of the answer and soon I was left to just be. I amaze myself now as I never failed a grade as I just barely managed to pass the tests. I was a solid D' student with an occasional E' but ultimately was passed on to the next grade. Destiny? Luck? Or did teachers just want to get rid of me?

I had some friends, or kids, I knew and would play with but looking at it today, would not go as far as to say `friends'. And that mostly ended when in third grade I wet myself while at school. I did not go to the restroom during break as I knew (or thought) I could go during class and get out of it for a few precious minutes. But I was wrong, or perhaps my destiny decided otherwise, when the teacher refused to let me go because we were doing a test. Halfway through the test, I could hold it no longer and flooded my pants and the floor. Of course to a bunch of third graders seeing a boy wet himself was nothing short of hysterical and the whole class began laughing at me. I guess that was the defining point in which I withdrew and become a loner. And others saw the opportunity to take control of my life. Cause and effect? Destiny?

I was not allowed to go home to change and I had no extra clothes at school. Why would I? The PE teacher took me to the boys restroom and had me undress. I had never been naked in front of someone as far as I could remember and I did not want to take off my underwear. In those days, most all boys wore white briefs. Some boys who had older parents wore boxers, but not like today, Just plain white ones. So there I was in my soaked briefs with the teacher getting more and more angry with me telling to take them off of that he would and if he had to he would spank me for the trouble. I slowly started pulling them down, which was not fast enough for him and he slapped my hands and yanked them down and off. My hands immediately flew to cover my crotch and the teacher immediately slapped them away saying to keep them at my side. This was the era when you never questioned the actions of an adult, so I immediately complied, but he was already upset with me and turned me over his knee and gave me three quick slaps to my bare bottom.

With tears in my eyes, he washed me down around my crotch and legs with a small towel, then handed me a small pair of white shorts which the older boys wore for PE. They were small and tight but that was all that was available, he said. I was given a small white T-shirt as well and some old shoes. While looking like I was some waif in too small clothes and kitted out for PE, I was sent back to my class, only to be met with more laughter and jeers from the class. My journey had begun.

At the next recess, I was hustled out by a group of boys to the far end of the playground where I was surrounded by a dozen or so third graders who shoved me back and forth while laughing and calling me names. I was unable to resist and started crying, much to their amusement and received more taunts. That became an almost daily ritual while at that school. (Till sixth grade). What they really loved was to rank me out before having the chance to go to the restroom and hold me down forcing me to wet myself. They always found it a great laugh. By this time, I was made to bring an extra set of clothes as I was routinely having `accidents'. The PE teacher would undress me, not allowing me to do it myself, then make me bend over and gave me four swats with his paddle. This would happen at least once a week and sometimes more often. It never dawned on any teacher to ask why and it seemed like they all had distracted vision when the boys all ganged around me. Somehow it was always my fault.

In fourth grade, my mother had been dating a man named Bill. While they dated for six months or so, he was kind and mostly considerate to me, but seemed to have, what I would call an evil eye, and a suppressed mean streak. There just felt to be some sort of tension there. He had a son, Carl, who was 14 (to my 9), who he was very strict with. Carl always seemed subdued and fearful of Bill and seemed to be punished almost every time they would visit our house.

Carl was not allowed to wear clothes at his house, just his white briefs with white T-shirt tucked in and socks. They looked to be very tight on him. It was soon decided that he would also just wear briefs while at our house and that I was to dress the same. Bill said boys didn't need to wear anything but underwear at home and had convinced my mother that I should do the same saying it would be appropriate as Carl was my guest and I should not make him feel embarrassed by me being in clothes in contrast to him only being in underwear. It seemed that my embarrassment was not an issue.

They married a few months later and moved in with us, as my destiny again came crashing down on me. Bill became very strict with me, controlling my life just has he did Carl's. I was bought new underwear that was very tight, just like Carl's, and that was all I was allowed to wear in the house, and even in the yard when playing. Even with company over, regardless of who they were. Be it my mother's, Bill's or my sister's friends. I had no friends and it seemed like Carl had none either. Or maybe they just never came round for whatever reason. We would have to stand with hands behind our backs on display to everyone while they chatted and visited. We would also have to serve drinks and snacks, if that was required. I continued to wrap myself inside of me and it seemed like Carl did the same.

We had a small house. Only a two bedroom. While my mother and Bill had one room, my sister had the other. The garage was renovated to accommodate a small bedroom for me and Carl. It had a toilet but no bath or shower and it was furnished with a couple of dressers, a desk and one double bed which Carl and I had to share. We were only allowed to sleep in our underwear.

Another drastic change to my life was that Bill would bathe us, together, every night. The ritual would be that we had to go to our room and take off our underwear, get fresh briefs, socks and t-shirts and then walk naked to the bathroom in the house for our bath. Carl seemed to be used to the ritual, or at least accepting of it, but I was terrified, embarrassed and humiliated having to walk naked from our room, through the backyard and then to the bathroom. Again, it made no difference if anyone was around or not. Bath was immediately after dinner and there was never a variance.

Another surprise to me was that we were only allowed the water to be ankle-deep and we had to stand facing each other with our hands clasped behind our necks. Carl was used to this routine but I was not and on the first occasion i stood there with my hands covering my crotch while Carl openly displayed himself with feet spread wide to the edges of the tub.

Bill came in and you could already see the anger in his eyes. He asked why I wasn't ready for my bath and if Carl had explained how I was to stand. Before I could answer, he was sitting on the edge of the bath with me over his knees and his big hand slapping down on my bare butt. I have no idea for how long I was over his lap or how many slaps I got, but I was crying as the first one hit and continued crying throughout the rest of my bath. Much to Bill's displeasure.

Even with his attention to Carl, soaping and washing him all over with his hands, he continued to berate and chastise me. I was further surprised when Carl was told to turn and bend over and Bill soaped his fingers and pushed them into Carl's anus with Bill saying he had to make sure we were clean there. Afterwards Bill thoroughly washed Carl's penis and balls, causing him to get erect. I had never seen and erection before, I don't even recall ever having one, but apparently it was something that was not allowed and Carl started crying when Bill told him he would be punished for it.

I continued to stand there, naked with my hands behind my head as Carl was washed. Then, Bill soaped up Carl from head to toe and then retrieved a razor from the counter and proceeded to shave Carl all over. Arms, legs, penis, balls, and the added humiliation of bending over to have his crack shaved.

This was indeed a shock to me as I didn't understand why. I had never seen another boy naked until Carl and didn't know that as boys got older they grew hair. Apparently Bill had been shaving Carl since he started growing hair at around 13. (He had told me this later as I asked about it later that night when we were in bed). I had no idea boys grew hair or even that men had hair. Like I said I was very naive.

Bill then turned his attention to me, soaping me up and washing me all over with his hands, while Carl stood there on display with his hands behind his head and his legs as wide as the bath would allow. When I was told to turn and bend over, I started trembling and my tears started flowing more. Bill asked if I wanted another spanking, emphasizing his question with a smack. I turned around and bent over and felt the embarrassment and humiliation of him entering me with his fingers, to `clean me out'.

After bathing us, Bill dried us and then told us not to bother getting dressed in our underwear. Carl knew what this meant while I was still overwhelmed and oblivious to what was going on. We were told to wait in the living room with our hands behind our backs and legs spread. After about five minutes, Bill entered with a vicious looking strap saying we were in for punishment. Carl was sniffling, which apparently earned him more punishment, but I was out and out crying.

Carl was to be punished for not telling me how to prepare for a bath (even tho he had and I didn't do what he said, but as the oldest he was responsible. I think that is when he started hating me. Or maybe he always did, I don't know). He was also being punished for getting an erection, which still intrigued me, and for crying. He was told to bend over the edge of the couch and spread his legs wide and Bill commenced to thrash him without mercy. I lost count after 12 witnessing Carl scream and twist with each blow.

I was crying even before Bill was finished with Carl knowing what was in store for me. I was told to bend over the end of the couch and Carl was instructed to take my hands and pull me and to keep me down. The first blow was excruciating. I don't know how many times I was thrashed. The pain was unbearable.

Afterwards we were both stood facing the wall, still naked with hands on our heads. I don't know how long we stood there while everyone else watched TV. We were finally told to go to bed. Carl immediately grabbed his underwear and hurried out to our room. I picked up my underwear and closely followed, scared to death to antagonize Bill any further. This became the regular routine for punishments, which were quite often, especially for Carl.

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