I was born in 1955 in Des Plaines, Illinois. And for the first nine years of my life, I enjoyed a relatively carefree and happy childhood. My parents both had good jobs and we lived in a middle class Irish neighborhood.
I became a ward of the state in the Autumn of 1964. I was nine years old and my parents were both killed in an auto accident. I'd been in school at the time. I can still remember waiting at the gates for them to pick me up for hours after the bell rang to go home.
Entering the Illinois child welfare system in the early 1960s was like going to prison. For someone as soft and naive as I was, it was a real education in pain, humiliation and tears. The older, tougher kids preyed on the younger, weaker kids. And the adults who ran the system were like prison guards. Most of them were in it for the pay check and didn't give a rat's ass about you. You were scum to them. You weren't even a human being. Some of them would abuse you for their own personal gratification, just as readily as the bigger kids would. It was rare when you found an adult that really gave a damn.
I guess by the age of twelve I'd sucked more dicks and been sodomized more times than I could remember. Not to mention been whipped, beaten up, locked in closets etc. You never stayed in any one place for to very long, and so with every new foster home or facility, you had to endure it all over again. If you fought back too hard and hurt or killed your abuser, you ran the risk of being carted off to a jail as a juvenile offender. It'd be worse in there. So you hardened yourself.
Eventually, I became one of the "big" kids. At age fifteen I stood 6'' tall and weighed a solid 180 pounds. I lived at a home run by a stern Lutheran minister and his wife. We kids called him Black Pete, because his last name was Peterson and he was always dressed in black. I don't think we ever saw the man smile. Everyday he had chores for us, rain or shine. One of his favorite expressions was "Idle hands do the devil's work". He had this huge pile of bricks in his backyard and every day, immediately after school and homework, I and the other boys had to go out back and move that pile from one end of the yard to the other by hand. Brick by brick. While Black Pete's horny old lady watched us from the window and picked which on of us she'd be visiting that night.
Turning down Black Pete's wife was out of the question. The old broad could make more trouble for you than you'd believe. I always felt sorry for little Sal, this obviously gay Italian kid that stayed with us for a summer. How he managed to get it up for Black Pete's missus, I'll never know. But he managed. As for me, it wasn't that difficult. Even an old pussy was a nice change of pace from the homosexual sex most of we boys either looked forward to or dreaded depending on our age and physical size.
I think I was sixteen, just shy of seventeen when I moved in with a family called the Coopers in Bolingbrook. Beautiful home, everything clean. Nothing like the places I'd been to before. So much so I felt out of place around that family. Almost ashamed to be in their presence.
The dad was a grease monkey auto mechanic. The guy really knew his stuff. He started teaching me and taking me to work. It was a real education. And at home, Jolene his daughter (pretty, twelve, doe eyed), was developing a pretty intense crush on me. She was forever making me sandwiches or washing my clothes, or making my bed if I forgot to or just flashing me a smile or a long stare or sitting extra close to me. Not that her parents didn't notice. It made for a particularly awkward conversation between her father and me at the garage one day, where he not so subtly demonstrated what he'd do to the fella's head that he ever caught fooling around with his Jolene, by dropping a bowling ball on a empty beer can.
Despite the warning and my respect for Mr. Cooper (and trust me, I respected the hell out of the man) I found myself slowly falling for Jolene. I knew it wasn't right. She was so damn young. But I'd been brought up in a system where the more genteel morals of polite society weren't practiced. It was a testament to my respect of the Coopers that I hadn't already gone into Jolene's room and fucked her eight ways til Sunday as it was. As far as I was concerned her flirting and attention were open invitations to do so.
About a month before I aged out of the system as they say, I decided to hit the road a little early. I wasn't in the mood for the birthday party and send off the Coopers had planned for me. And I'd never been big on goodbyes anyway.
As I packed my belongings into an Army surplus O.D. canvas duffle and recounted the couple hundred dollars I'd earned alongside Mr. Cooper in the garage, Jolene entered my bedroom quietly and asked me to take her with me.
No way in hell, I told her. I was just finishing up one stretch in prison I said. I didn't have any desire to get hunted down for kidnapping and whatever else and start another one.
She pouted and cried and when I still wouldn't change my mind, she came over to me and put her arms around my neck and standing on tippie toes, kissed me. I couldn't help myself. I kissed her back, and put my own arms around her slender waist, lifting her up off the floor.
Before I was even aware of it, I had unzipped my fly and taken out my cock and lowered her back to the floor, on her knees. "Do it," I said, huskily. "Come on Jolene... do it."
She stared at my cock a long moment and then smiled, reaching forward and gripping the base of the shaft in one hand and then leaning in and opening her mouth. I closed my eyes and leaned back slightly while she sucked my cock. It was just a simple head bobbing mouth fuck, she didn't really know how to give head. But I enjoyed every second. When I shot my wad in her mouth, she gagged slightly and spit it out on the floor. I didn't mind.
As I zipped up, she dropped the trap. Now I'd better take her with me she said, or she'd scream and accuse me of raping her. If her father didn't beat my brains out first (trust me, he would have) then the cops would throw me in jail and lose the key. I stared at her. Conniving little witch.
So it was, about 3 a.m. that very night we found ourselves sitting in a bus depot and awaiting the 4:15 to Texas. I'd grown up watching cowboy movies and serials and reading cowboy pulp novels in the foster homes. I wanted to see Texas. I had both tickets in my hip pocket, and sat listening to Jolene plan our lives for the next 40 years (including naming our kids). At about a quarter til I excused myself to go to the bathroom, taking my duffle with me. For a wonder she didn't think it odd.
Once out of eyeshot, I walked out of the bus depot and hailed a cab. In Chicago at Union Station I boarded the first train I could and greeted the dawn by waving goodbye to Illinois and hello to Indiana (en route to Ohio). I never saw or heard from Jolene or the Coopers again.
I spent most of the 70s kicking around the country, working in a gas station here, as a short order cook there, picking crops in the fields alongside the Mexicans in one state, wrangling shopping carts and bagging groceries in another. Spent a little time in jail for one thing or another here and there. It was a nomadic existence and I enjoyed it. But the older I got the more I wanted to settle down.
I finally got hired as a janitor at an elementary school in southern California. That's been my job for the past 28 years. In '91 I married a pretty Mexican lady working there as a teacher's assistant. We're still together and have 2 kids.
I guess my confession isn't as sexual or titillating as most, but there it is. I just figured after reading so many stories on here for such a long time it was past time I offered my own memories to the collection.