Fantasy Time: Fun For You and Your Friends; Humiliate My Banana!

All fantasies begin somewhere, as a germ of personal truth. Some truths are fairly common and recognizable. Others take their time and sneak up on you, and even when they do, it takes a moment (or twelve) to identify just what they are and where they came from.

The roots of this particular fantasy – the event that led to my having such a kink – came about when I was in 9th grade. I was jerking off all the time by then, having learned how by stealing illicit glimpses of chapters from ‘Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask)’. I used to babysit quite a bit when I was in 7th, 8th and 9th grade. Babysitting was an easy way to make some quick cash and I generally had a good time (more about that in a future post). At the time, this book seemed to be the norm for every bookcase I rummaged through. Without it, I’m not sure I would have ever discovered masturbation. I mean, I suppose eventually, but I was never one of those who played with other boys’ private parts. Even in those rare instances when I had the opportunity to do so (more on this in a future post), I usually feigned disinterest or pretended to be asleep, because I didn’t want to give people yet more reasons to call me a fag. I was also totally clueless about sex. I vividly remember my first wet dream and how I had no idea as to why I pissed myself. I also thought sex was evil – and while this didn’t prevent me from researching it on the sly, it did prevent me from ever pulling out my willy and playing with it in the presence of others.

So solo jerking was pretty much my main preoccupation by the time I reached 9th grade. I would do it anywhere, anytime. No place was sacred, not even church (future post)! I’m sure to this day that there are viable samples of my DNA to be found throughout the high school that I graduated from. No classroom was safe, no urinal went christened. One of my favorite places was up above the main furnace of the school, which was located off to one side of the main stage in the gym. There was this raised floor area you accessed via an iron ladder affixed to the wall. This happened to be where the school stored all their football equipment in the off season – pants, shoulder pads, thigh protectors, etc. in huge piles. I spewed countless streams of hot cum all over that equipment on a regular basis throughout the school year. It never occurred to me that the jocks of the school would then unwittingly be wearing my dried cum as they hit the field that next fall. But then, there were lots of things I was not very aware of in those days.

Back to the fantasy triggering event… in 9th grade, gym was still a mandatory class, and one I totally sucked at. Routinely I was the fifth to the last person to be picked when choosing teams. That said, you should have seen the other four guys – being fifth to the last was not anything to be proud of. Granted, I was on the track team and the basketball team, but in both cases, it was just to please members of my family. I hated playing organized sports. That hasn’t changed, but what has is that I now really love working out. Back when, I think my distaste had something to do with the curriculum of the class. It wasn’t educational. It wasn’t informative. We were never taught the joys or benefits of working out. Instead we were grilled and drilled. I also suspect that had I an I-Pod and been allowed to wear it, I would have gotten into the groove and really succeeded. It also might have had to do with our phys ed coach. He was kind of a big dick (who happened to have a very tiny one). I never managed to put my finger on exactly what it was at the time that caused me to dislike him, but in retrospect I think he was just your run-of-the-mill failed-jock asshole. And thanks to the potent combination of piss-poor educator and lack of substance and therefore lack of interest, I came to despise gym class.

However, the same could not be of the locker room. That was one of my favorite haunts (and continues to be so), and perhaps my carnal familiarity with it (future post) is what triggered this incident.

Anyway, one time after class, we were all hitting the showers, as per usual. In fact, everything occurred as it always did after gym, so I’m not sure why this happened. We all showered in this large, porcelain-tiled room under showerheads that sprang from the walls. For some reason it was typical for the entire class to cram into the shower room all at once. This would result in a bunch of guys huddling naked in the center of the room as those lucky enough to be first inside showered. There was a tremendous amount of steam in the room, making it difficult to see anything, which really wasn’t that big of a loss. For, as I remember it, I pretty much kept my eyes glued to the floor, sneaking only the occasional glance at my schoolmates’ bodies. Having been taunted and called a fag on more than one occasion, the last thing I wanted was to get caught staring at some dude’s dick in the showers.

On this day, I didn’t get into the shower room fast enough, so I had to stand in the middle with the others and wait my turn. I was one of the last to shower, but there were still enough people in the room to witness my humiliation. One the guys suddenly yelled, ‘Hey, he’s got a boner!’ It took me a moment to realize that the boner in question belonged to yours truly. My dick was only semi-hard, but the attention now focused on it soon had it flying at full mast. I finished my shower as soon as possible, holding my breath the entire time, thinking that would help make my hard on subside. Sometimes that worked, like in a class, when I would try to force my hard on to whither before I had to stand up and exit. There was nothing more conspicuous than walking down a school hallway with your textbooks held firmly over your crotch in order to hide the outline of your throbbing dick. I never got teased for doing so, but I bet there were a lot of other people who knew exactly what was going on.

After exiting the shower room, I then had to walk the walk of shame. You see the towel room was located at the opposite end of the locker room – whoever designed it that way must have been something of a sadist, or perhaps they had a hidden agenda. In any event, I had to walk past everyone in order to get a towel. And who was handing out the towels? Why, the phys ed coach, of course. Due to my embarrassment, I chose to not try to hide, hold or touch my wood in any way, figuring that touching it would only make it worse. As I approached the door of the towel room, accompanied by the peals of gleeful laughter that echoed throughout the locker room, my dick felt fucking huge. Then the coach turned to hand me a towel.

Only he didn’t.

As soon as he caught sight of my hard on, he froze and then actually withdrew the offer of the towel. The surprised look on his face slowly morphed into a kind of evil grin – you know the kind where the corners of the mouth curl up? He was totally enjoying my predicament and in that moment, I felt such an odd rush of emotions. Mostly hatred and humiliation, but there was something else, too. Finally I lunged forward and ripped the towel from his hand. I struggled to wrap it around my waist, trying to capture my erection enough to get it to lie flat against my stomach. I glared at the coach the entire time. He just kept smiling, his eyes travelling from my crotch to my face and back again. A small laugh escaped his mouth, as I turned on my heels to my way to my locker. Mine was right next to the lockers of two of my best friends. I could tell that they didn’t know what to think or say, as I scrambled into my clothes. We never spoke of the incident, because my friends and I never talked about sex. Ever. This remained true even once we got to college.

I’m not sure why that incident died out as quickly as it did, but it soon seemed forgotten. I don’t remember getting razzed for it beyond that day. Maybe that is because it finally confirmed for everyone what a fag I was, so there was no sport in teasing me anymore. It also was probably due to the fact that I lived in a very small town where the sophistication level wasn’t exactly sea level. Most of the guys I went to school with were farmers, so, with them dealing with farm animals all the time, maybe erections were not that big of a deal. It never happened to anyone else. Not that I heard of, anyway.

About a year and a half ago, I found myself thinking about this incident. It was during this time that I began to get in touch with my inner slut. It became a fantasy of mine; to experience something similar, with consenting adults. I even went so far as to post an ad about it on Craigslist. Here’s the original copy from that ad:

Title: Humiliation as a kink? Up for trying something new. Be my DOM. - 44

I’m thinking about humiliation as a kink I may want to explore.

Here’s the incident that started it: When I was in high school we were all forced to attend gym classes. At the end of this class we would have to shower and then walk the length of the locker room to where the towels were stored. There, the gym teacher (a nice-looking, athletic, furry, thinning-haired, man with the usual stupid gym teacher attributes – small dick, though) – would hand us a towel.

One day, while soaping up in the showers, surrounded by my classmates, I sprouted a hard-on. It was quickly noticed and I was laughed and jeered at. I rinsed off and went quickly to get a towel. I stood before the gym teacher and motioned for him to give me a towel. He looked at my dick and then directly into my eyes. I was mortified even more. He said nothing. I think I made no attempt to cover my hard on because I didn’t want to get accused of playing with myself or I don’t know… afraid I’d cum?

So this memory, today, (I hadn’t thought of it in a sexual way before today. I did so only after reading an old Savage Love column.) has resulted in my being intrigued.

I would like to be tied up naked and kept captive in a room. With something covering my mouth, so I cannot speak, or, perhaps, wearing a full, leather mask which allows me to see and breathe freely. Then the person in charge would invite a group of people over and have them accidentally walk in on me. Or they should just ignore me. Or look at me with disgust. Or disinterest. Maybe on occasion the host could feed me poppers and whack my hard dick with his hand.

I’m a bottom (big surprise, huh?). Very oral. I have a seven and a half inch, cut dick. It is nice and thick. Pics available. I’m bald, over six feet tall and under 175 lbs. Furry body. I’m in my early forties.

So… is there anyone out there interested in such a scenario. Hit me up. Never done this, but interested.

I also like licking boots (have a couple of times and it was hot). Maybe I’m a sub in the making.

Send pics and stats. And stay on topic or risk being ignored. Thanks.

I did get one relevant reply. We met for coffee. He was a big man – like a pro football player, just a bit older than me. Very distinguished looking, well spoken and an experienced dom. He had grey hair and a handsome face with a goatee. I remember thinking he had the most amazing hands I had ever seen. I wanted to take his fingers in my mouth. We discussed various scenarios, interests and limits. If he was to take me on he would want to work with me one-on-one before attempting a scene like the one I had described in my ad. The discussion was pretty hot. He told me stories about some of the things he had done with his subs in the past. I recall that when I wasn’t staring at his hands and face, I had to fight an urge to climb onto his lap and put my arms around his massive shoulders. He was pretty much the ultimate Daddy.

Unfortunately, Daddy had a really busy schedule. We emailed back and forth a couple more times, but never got to meet for any of the training as promised. Which is okay. I mean maybe it’s just something that was never meant to be. Sometimes a fantasy should remain just that – a fantasy. I think the reality – the logistics and actualities involved – would probably have just resulted in disappointment.

Yep, sometimes a banana is just a banana. And sometimes, a fantasy is best left unrealized. Still, that didn’t prevent me from running the ad again just recently. I haven’t heard from anyone I trust enough to meet, yet.

But then, I’m in no hurry.