One day in the fall of seventh grade, I was approached on the way home from school by an eight grader who lured me into an old garage by an abandoned house on the pretext that he and his friend had something to show me there. I was flattered that these big tough guys wanted me to be part of their peer group and so I naively went with the kid.
The minute I entered the garage,I realized that two other guys were were there waiting for us. They had it all planned out. They grabbed me and held me down and one of them threatened to burn me with his lit cigarette. One kid was the leader; although he didn't participate in holding me down, he was actually in control of the situation. He said that they wouldn't hurt me if I did what they told me to.
They had me get down on the dirty garage floor and kiss their sneakers for them, which I did only because I was scared. I guess I was not showing much enthusiasm about doing this, so they threatened to hurt me if I didn't show more appreciation. "Act like you like it!" one of them ordered, and so I acted as if I loved kissing their shoes all over. My thought at the time was that if I just did what they wanted they wouldn't hurt me. This feigned enthusiasm on my part got a real rise out of them, I recall one of them saying they had a "live one" -- that is, someone scared enough by their intimidation to make a fool out of himself.
It was at this moment that the masochist in me was born. By my catering to their sadistic desire to lord it over me instead of resisting them, the boundaries between what they wanted and what I wanted began to blur for me -- I was there to be used for their pleasure and amusement and I guess to them I seemed to enjoy it,
I had a hardon by now and one of them pointed this out to the others and they all laughed about it. Soon everyone pulled out their dicks and before long they had me down on my knees blowing them. They were passed me back and forth amongst them, calling me names, making comments to each other about how queer I was and I just kept acting as if I enjoyed it in order to avoid giving them an excuse to really hurt me. They were probably surprised by my submissiveness, by how hungry I seemed to be for their dicks. It made me feel dirty and cheap and deeply ashamed of myself for not fighting back and just letting these guys use me this way. I can't remember how long it went on, or what exactly happened after that, but when they finally let me go and I went home, I was too ashamed to tell anyone about it.
They felt like big men, because they had made a younger kid do degrading things for their amusement. It was as much or more about power than about sex.
Although it was terrifying to experience all this at the time, I found myself returning to the incident in my masturbation fantasies over and over. The feeling of shame for being so compliant during the gang suck became sexualized; the hot blush of shame came to be associated with sexual arousal and eventually became for me a delicious and sensuous indulgence. Later I would set up situations where I could simulate the shame I felt for real during and shortly after the incident. But this time, I would be in control of the limits and parameters of the scene. Shame simulated like this paradoxically restores a sense of power to the masochist by casting the self as the author of its own shaming behavior (not others). The dissociation I experienced back then as a coping strategy and my desperate playing of the role of the eager cocksucker later served as a means to facilitate sadomasochistic scenes as an adult through throwing myself into the role of abject suck bitch who loves being used for another guy's base amusement.