Trandgender,Adult Youth, oral, anal, b/FMMM
This story is a work of fiction and contains descriptions of explicit sexual acts of boys and men discovering their sexuality. It contains graphic scenes of sex between a consenting underage boy and adult males. If this type of content offends you or you are under the age of 18 do not read it.
Copyright 2022 Wolf, all rights reserved.
You may contact me at pomowolf74@gmail.com if you like. All flames will be ignored.
Johnny Becomes Mona
By
Wolf
It started from a number of choices I once made on a long, somewhat oppressively warm humid weekend in late August of 1981. Having grown up as a typical "free range" kid, the youngest of five, and all of us sharing a split-level home with both of our parents. We lived way-way out in the verdant suburban frontiers to the west of Montreal, Quebec, Canada. There was an expansion to the public transition services that rocked my world in ways I could never have anticipated.
At that time, a single bus fare (for a minor) was twenty-five cents. By sheer coincidence, my weekly allowance was also twenty-five cents. So, if I double-dipped my allowance from both parents I would have enough to hop the bus downtown and back again. It wouldn't buy me anything to eat, and obviously the only shopping I was doing was window shopping, but water fountains were free and there was something else I had discovered while wandering around on the streets and down inside the endless patchwork of mezzanines in much of the downtown area:
Gloryholes. Specifically, gloryholes in public washrooms. I'd had no idea that all of these existed prior to one of my first solo adventures to the city. But I was a rather precocious boy. Things had escalated fairly quickly once I realized they weren't simply for surreptitiously staring at your neighbors, and I had already engaged in some mild activity through the holes (mutual masturbation, mostly).
I had overheard enough of the goings-on in other stalls at a couple of the washrooms I frequented to know there was no end of action available, but just then I'd yet to find the courage to go much beyond furtive stares and hand- jobs.
For a few weekends, I had slowly mapped out the locations of the dens of inequity in my mind, coming to prefer the ones located in the bustling underground to the more isolated washrooms typical of the city's parks and various local attractions. Oh, did I mention that I was still quite underaged at the time of my exciting, and highly illicit adventures? Okay, well, did I say anything about just HOW underaged I was? I was eleven. It was almost a month until my twelfth birthday.
However, I was one of those precocious types. Yes, in terms of behavior (especially sexual behavior) but also in terms of my physical characteristics. Even at just a month shy of twelve nearly all of the facial features that would later greet me in the bathroom mirror every morning for the next 40-odd years had already checked in. It also seemed as though my body had decided to play hooky, figuratively speaking. While the kids at school were experiencing growth-spurts their way upwards of six feet, I'd almost reached my full adult height (a towering five feet and six inches).
What I'm driving at, is that photos of me at age 11 were virtually indistinguishable from photos of me at age 21, 31. or even 41. While in the very short term this quality (sometimes) made it possible for me to bluff my way into adult 'R'-rated horror films way back when. l learned the downside later on in life, as I came to find myself routinely carded by Events Security on suspicion of trying to gain entry to an adult venue while underaged, or while seated patiently in the back of a police car for three hours because my photo ID was always confusing to them. But I digress.
To get back to telling you my story, with no perceptible wind the previous days, the ambient heat and hazy humid air hanging over everything, it was the first time I'd ever breathed air that was noticeably warmer on the way to my lungs than it would be on the way out. It was this heat and humidity that seemed to have really thinned out the number of men I might otherwise have found loitering in one public restrooms. As usual, I was short on disposable income to indulge myself with a nice, cold can of cream soda. And therefore, was definitely having difficulty keeping my mind off some of the silly things I could not afford.
Being bored, restless, thirsty and broke (save my return fare) I had decided to cut things comparatively early and take one of the commuter trains directly home rather than make multiple bus connections. I arrived at the cavernous train station and instantly I could tell that the air inside of that huge, open space was somehow even worse than the air outside. It was slightly less humid. Instead, the air was dusty, with one or two other distinctive qualities to it. It smelled strongly of creosote, and tar. It smelled like the air was electrically charged, a little like passing by an electrical generator. Looking at the big clock I could see that:
A) I had several hours before I really needed to get home.
B) It would be almost an hour before the next train departed.
I decided I couldn't possibly keep breathing the air in there for that long without feeling pretty nauseous, so on my way back outside I tried to think of some way I could amuse myself for a while. I would just make a point of keeping my eyes on the time. Remembering that the big, downtown Eaton's store was not too far from where I was, I thought I might pop up inside it from the subsurface walkways. I knew they had a year-round toy section, and I was still young enough to be interested in certain toys, after all. Like the H.R. Geiger-inspired 'Alien' action figure (from the film by Ridley Scott).
The escalator took me past the crowded, first-floor cosmetics department, past the 2nd floor kids/teen back-to- school clothing, past the 3rd floor Men's department, 4th floor Women's fashions -5th floor Women's Intimate Apparel. My heart raced as I stepped away from the escalator, without thinking of what I was doing. My mind was overwhelmed by the sight and smell of an entire floor for women's lingerie. I had no idea that such a thing could exist. Not just part of a ladies' department either, but it's very own department with a lot of full and partial mannequins, counters, and changing booths.
While I was wandering around, I bumped into the floor manager. He asked me where my mother was, and I was dumbfounded. I eventually stammered that I was alone. He took me by the arm and dragged me into one of the changing booths. He sat me on the bench and whipped out an impressive uncut cock and peeled back the foreskin and rubbed the wet head on my lips. He pulled my hair until I opened my mouth and he mouth fucked me. After he fed me his-cum he zipped up his pants, and walked to the escalator.
Q I made it back to the subway just in time to catch the train home.
Due to provincial politics and a dwindling school age population, my elementary school was getting shut down by the fall of the next year. Meanwhile the school board had already closed a half-dozen other schools, so the few students remaining from each of those had helped buoy our numbers but there was still an entire wing of the building left unused.
A few weeks into the school year there had been a new program started within that wing, or come to think of it, had been transferred to us from elsewhere. They were only briefly discussed, apparently everyone in that class was "disturbed," although what exactly that entailed was never talked about. We were on different timetables during the day, and weren't supposed to have any interactions with them.
Their class and ours were both the same grade, though most of them were a year or more older than us. Some were two years older. And there was one, the one I'll mostly be writing about, who was three years older than me.
As we headed into the spring, we were able to hold parts of our classes outdoors, in the grassy green field behind the school. The separation of the classes had become somewhat relaxed with the warm weather. No one had been on top of keeping our classes separated at all times. That's how I got pulled around a corner into a covered parking area only the teachers used. The guy that grabbed me was big and very tall, well over six feet. He held me in some kind of wrestling hold with both arms restrained behind my back. The other guy was black, and always wore sunglasses, and spoke in an unintelligible thick Caribbean accent. He started touching me, then reaching up under my Tee-shirt to continue touching my pubescent titties, and pinching my nipples. Then he reached around my body to grasp the orbs of my ass.
He told me in his deep, glottal voice how he had been right, that he just knew I would feel like a girl. That was when his forced me down onto my knees, on the soft warm asphalt. While looking at me from a lot of different angles he asked his henchman: "What is his name?"
The tall guy laughed and said: "John."
The black guy disagreed, leaning down over me and told me: "Your name is Mona, and I will be showing you the reason why you are now Mona."
He pulled down my gym shorts, and I began crying out. That just got my face punched a couple of times, then he placed a strong hand over my mouth. The tall guy changes position slightly, keeping his body blocking the view of their secret black-on-white sissy bullying activity from the rest of the schoolyard.
A small brown bottle is pressed against my nostrils and it's only then that I realize my shorts had been pulled off
I couldn't believe what was happening. I was being penetrated anally, with my legs splayed apart lewdly. I couldn't talk because he was giving me hit after hit of poppers. My arms were actually tied behind my back and I moaned. Even with the palm of his hand covering my mouth. His fingers were digging into my jaw. I moaned as I was being anally penetrated. He picks up the pace and then he finds his true voice, with his lewdly-grinning face over mine, mouth by my ear, his sweat was dripping onto me. He told me: "From now on you are my bitch! I will let you up and leave you if you promise not to scream!"
And he removed his hand and gave me the next few words he wanted to hear me say. He promised me that he would let me up just as soon as he heard me tell him what I am.
I told him: "I'm your bitch, and my name is Mona!" I moaned.
That's when with a thick wet voice, he choked out: "Because you moaned, BITCH!" With a series of sudden, slamming pelvic thrusts, he punctuated the following statement: "You're goin'a to be my bitch right here every day!"
I'm goin'a get you some clothes you're goin'a wear tomorrow. I'm goin'a make myself your pimp, you whore. You're goin'a leave that pathetic clitty in your panties from now on!"
If you enjoyed the story and have a story you want me to write about your introduction to the world of male sexuality, please send your outline to pomowolf74@gmail.com