Page 24 of Greedy Grizzly
No matter how much I wanted to be disgusted having sex with a woman, I liked having lips around my dick, and a wet, warm hole to plow into.
I couldn’t help but wonder if liking a naked woman doing things to me made me more messed up than I believed I was? How sick was I for wanting to be butt fucked by the captain of the football team, than this chick—who was my foster mom’s friend?
The carnal urges inside me were tough bitches to fight. They didn’t care about my sexual preferences, that I didn’t want to be with a woman.
And because I appeared to enjoy the forced sex, my foster dad kept bringing women into my bed. As he would say,to fuck the gay out of me.
Of course, it would never happen.
Or at least I hoped it wouldn’t.
I’d known since I was eight that I was different. Felt those little flutters in my stomach and had goose bumps on my arms around boys. By middle school, my dick would perk up when certain dudes were near me.
“Tell me you like this woman!” my foster dad shouted, snapping me out of my thoughts. Next, he made a cracking sound with his black belt to strike fear into me. It worked every damn time.
If I didn’t respond as he demanded, I would be whipped. If I tried to refuse being with the women he brought into my room, I would be beaten to a pulp.
Nobody could save me from my puritanical foster dad’stherapy.
My foster parents didn’t belong to a church or denomination, yet they acted like they were godly. They had “home church” and Basil was the leader. The women he brought to my bed were members.
They were all sort of hippies. I was convinced they had made up their names to make themselves sound pure and of the earth. Basil and Juniper weren’t normal names or normal people. Neither were Joy, Clover, Sage, and Moonlight.
As I got older, things had feltoffwith my foster family. I really believed I was part of a cult and had no way out.
“I like her,” I grunted as she went to town on me, riding me hard and fast.
“Touch her tits! Give her pleasure like she’s giving you!” he yelled, standing behind her. “I see you trying to block out what’s going on, and it won’t work. Just believe you’re straight and you will be. It’s that simple!”
Simple my ass. To him maybe, but not to me.
“I’m straight,” I said only to appease him.
“Is that right?” He moved toward me. His Burt Reynold’s mustache bowed down into a frown. “You’re lying to me. I sawyou staring at the man who jogs by our house every morning at six.”
Oh, shit!That explains why he had all the women here. The other three were in the living room. He was going to make me be with each one of them as punishment.
“You think I’m not watching you, but I am!” He lifted the belt in front of him, his hand shaking with rage.
Wincing, I cried, “I’m sorry!” How stupid could I have been? Right there, I’d admitted he was right. I was such an idiot. My mouth always got me into trouble. I needed to learn to keep it shut.
“Just focus on me.” Joy, my foster mom’s friend, cupped the side of my face with her hand and stared warmly into my eyes.
Joy was a lonely, divorced mother of two in her late twenties. Her ex had left her for a younger, nineteen or twenty, year old woman. She’d been devastated and fell into a deep depression. Given her emotional state, it hadn’t been difficult for Basil to convince her to help me in this unconventional way, even when I cried at first.
Eventually, I’d come to terms with the fact that I was helping her to feel good about herself, during my so-calledtherapy. At least one of us benefited from the forced sex.
I lifted my hands from my sides and glided them against her thighs, caressing her skin to please Basil. I hated him so much, but hated how the sex with women didn’t feel so bad.
Like really? What the heck was wrong with me?
Joy moaned, moving her body more freely. I thought it was strange how she didn’t seem bothered to have an audience. Basil and Juniper being in the room seemed so wrong to me. I just couldn’t imagine this scene was normal in other people’s homes. Why would Joy allow it?
She took my hand and placed it at her pussy to show me what she wanted. I followed her direction like a good boy and rubbed her clit with my finger.
That little button seemed to be a hot spot on every woman—an electric trigger that launched them into ecstasy.
And why would I give them what they wanted up front? These women, the same four, had been raping me since I was fourteen. None of them were married. They weren’t even pretty.
