Forgive me Father for I have Sinned!

Sin One: Masturbation

A big part of my guilty secrets and hence my hang-ups are to do with the sex I have had.

As a teenager, my hormones were in overload and I wanted to masturbate a lot. Who didn’t I wonder? My actual first sexual contact was with another boy, my school friend, Nathan.

When I was about 14, my Brother had given me a hardcore porn magazine called Blue Climax and this put sex into a whole new context.

Here were pictures and stories of men and women actually having sex and enjoying themselves. I loved and can still remember some of the text that went with the pictures.

It was so naughty, so dirty and so downright horny, it just made me want to wank even more.

When I told Nathan about the magazine, he immediately wanted to see it. I had to take it to his house as my place was a definite no no! There was no lock on our bathroom door and my Father would walk into my room any time he wanted. It was his house as far as he was concerned.

Both of us had never had such exposure before. The astonishing thing was that although we had both discussed sex, we had never been intimate in any way before. As soon as he started looking through the pages, he got a hard on and began rubbing at the bulge his trousers. That made me hard as well, seeing him so turned on! Soon we were both rubbing ourselves. I think he was the first to get his cock out and openly wank in front of me. It seemed natural for me to do the same.

If I wanted to masturbate on my own, I would go for a walk in the fields away from my Father’s house taking my magazine with me. During one of my walks, I unwittingly stumbled across what must have been the local cruising area, a patch of woodland not far from one of the local barracks.

At first I didn’t quite see why there were large numbers of males seemingly out for a walk. Then I came across a man getting a blow job and it all became clear! They looked embarrassed and the man tried to pull up his trousers quickly. I must have gone a very deep shade of pink and started walking very fast out of the wood. The last vestiges of my innocence were leaving me!

All this didn’t stop me feeling guilty when I masturbated. I used to feel terrible guilt after I had done the deed not just by myself, but with Nathan too, probably more so. This was because I had had it drummed into me about the terrible act I was committing. My Father would punish me for doing such things and even spoke to our Vicar about my spiritual guidance. Today, I can still feel the same way about looking at porn and masturbation which is part of the reason I started this blog.

Sometimes Nathan would come with me on my ‘walks’. If his parents were at home, his Mother had the habit of walking into his bedroom un-announced, offering biscuits which could make matters difficult. We didn’t really see ourselves as doing anything ‘gay’ as we were just wanking together. Things progressed one day when I took the chance and reached out to stroke his cock. I had wanted to touch his dick for sometime but I knew how to raise the subject. I must have been feeling especially horny that day because normally I would never have had the guts! Fortunately he seemed to like it, or at least he didn’t tell me to stop and reciprocated by wanking me. Having someone else’s hand on my dick was the most amazing sensation which I have never forgotten. It sent a shiver right through me and I ejaculated in a very short space of time. So did Nathan. After that we would play with each other quite often.

Things came to a head when I went too far one day and tried to give him a blow job.

After about a minute, he told me he didn’t like it and could we go back to wanking.

It was probably a bit too gay for Nathan. Not that I think he was homophobic or anything. He was excessively interested when I told him about the cruising area and wanted to know all the details. I think it turned him on in a funny sort of way. It certainly made him hard! I think Nathan just liked his sex to straight and the idea of me sucking him was too far from where he wanted to go. The mutual masturbation began to wane off after that.

One last thing that I found very stimulating and still do, was an incident in Church!

Nathan and I would always try to sit at the back, if my Father would let me as there were fewer people around. We would always muck about a bit and one day I had gotten a hard on for some reason which we were laughing about. I put my hand in my pocket of my trousers and slipped my prick out of my pants so that the head was poking out through the nylon lining of my trouser pocket. Nathan began to rub the head with his finger and I started to ooze precum out of the lining. Nathan got his fingers wet because he hadn’t realised and didn’t have anywhere to wipe them. The feeling of him touching my nylon covered dick was amazing. The material slid so smoothly over my knob, it felt fantastic!

I have repeated this experience again many times. Needless to say, I wanked off as soon as possible after Church.

Spare The Rod

Punishments

I have kept diaries on and off throughout my life. From about the age of eight, I had those small 'Letts' pocket ones with the pencil in the spine. I never threw any of them away, but some of them were torn up by my Father! This was because I used to write my most intimate secrets in them which was innocent enough at the age of eight, but by the time I was in my teens and feeling sexual urges, these things had to be kept hidden from him.

I knew my Father 'searched' my bedroom regularly. He was looking for anything that he thought wrong for me to own or read. By that I mean he was dead against me looking at things like pornography as he thought it would lead me to masturbation and other vices and he considered onanism a sinful thing. He would check my bed sheets for any signs of wrong doing after I had gone to school, but in later years, he didn't even wait until then and would go in whilst I was in the bathroom in the mornings!

I often think of that expression “Hands off cocks and on with socks” which I think is an old Army thing, meaning that the squaddies should stop masturbating and start getting dressed. Maybe my Father saw a lot of masturbation during his time in the Army. I don’t know. I did find this advice quite useful and adapted it for my own benefit, more of which later!

He knew or at least discovered all my hiding places that I used. I only ever owned one Porn magazine, a copy of 'Blue Climax' which was given to me by my Brother who was in the Navy and was more likely to get hold of these things from foreign shores. This I managed to keep from my Father for over two years until it was finally found! I have since found some scans from the very same magazine I had.

It's a really horny story about a guy fucking two sisters and even gets me going today! I love the text of these magazines.

I also used to keep those pages from catalogues from the women’s underwear section and anything I found arousing from other magazines. I would cut out the bit I wanted and keep them between the pages of my ‘Look and Learn’ annual or one of my school books. Blue Climax was harder to hide and that ended up under the carpet in a corner of my bedroom.

If my Father found one of these stimulants, he would confront me with it, shouting about filth and such like. I would be struck about the head with the back of his hand and then be given a thrashing.

My Father spanked us from an early age. One of my first memories was of being slapped by him. I must have been about 3 or 4 years at the time. He was very quick to anger and would go from apparently calm to raging temper in about two seconds.

Things got steadily worse after my Mother had died and we got older and into our teens. After my brother had left, he would use any reason going to punish me if he could. Over the space of about 4-5 weeks, his temper would gradually increase and if he hadn’t found an excuse in the meantime, he would boil over and I would be soundly whipped.

His favourite weapon of choice was a cut down piece of garden cane, about half a meter long. He kept this in the cupboard under the stairs and later by the hall table (we moved to a bungalow). I would be sent to the bedroom, knowing what was coming as he went to get his cane. I would be told to take down my trousers and pants and bend over, either holding our ankles or over the back of a chair. There was little formality to it and he would hit in quick succession, no counting or pausing, just blow after blow until he had got his anger out of his system.

Holding my ankles, I quite often lost balance, despite the fact he would be holding me by the neck in a tight grip! He would pick me up by the arm and throw me onto the bed and continue the punishment.

Twice he beat me in front of my school friend Nathan. Once when I was about 7, we had been playing in the garden and cracked a window with a small rubber ball. I was taken over his knee and thrashed whilst Nathan stood and watched!

Later at about 15, we were both in the kitchen and my Father called me to my room. He had found some 'marks' on my bed sheets and demanded to know what it was, shouting at the top of his voice. I don't know whether I was guilty or not but he whipped me there and then with Nathan still standing in the kitchen!

I can't describe the humiliation I felt and being beaten in front of a friend. Nathan knew what my Father was like. He himself was thrashed at home, his Father was a German man, but with nothing like the frequency, lack of justification, or rage that my Father gave it to me and my Brother. Incidentally, I saw Luke get a thrashing in several occasions in front of me!

On one occasion when I was quite young, I was lying in bed and heard him come home. I think I had played my Mother up or something and she had threatened to tell him when he came home, which she did. I knew as his footsteps came up the stairs that he was coming for me and as the door opened and I saw his silhouette in the light from the hall, I was absolutely terrified! He said nothing but dragged me from the bed, bent me over the side and thrashed me severely. Looking back, I wonder why on earth he paused to take down my pyjama trousers. These were very flimsy nylon and offered absolutely no protection whatsoever to me!

A friend of mine asked “When was the last time he beat you?” and I replied I was actually 17! He expressed surprise that I hadn't fought back at that by that age and I told him that was because my Father would have KILLED me! I was that brow beaten living under his regime, and really scared of making him angry, I would never have dared. I left home not long after that incident.

More Than Military!

STRICT REGIME:

I have already mentioned my Father was an Army Sergeant and had been when he met my Mother. He remained in the Army until the mid 1970's when he started working for the Prison Service.
My Father's idea of bringing up two boys was to run each day as if his home were an army camp where his word was law.

Part of his regime was to make sure my Brother and I had a haircut every 3-4 weeks. On the face of it, that might not seem too bad, and in the 1960's, short hair could still be tolerated in young boys as I was then. However, by the time the 70's had begun, long hair was very much in fashion and it was devastating to be dragged to the Barbers to have a 'short back and sides'. This is somewhat an understatement as my hair was often shaved at the back and sides upon the instruction of my Father, on the face of it because he wanted to treat us like his squaddies. Looking back now, I can see that this was just another form of his control.

The haircutting regime, plus other factors such as my clothes, (more of which later) had a devastating effect on me. When I started Secondary school in 1972, long hair was very much in vogue and when I came along, despite being a First Former, I stuck out like a sore thumb. For the next three years I was almost constantly bullied for the way I looked, sometimes getting in fights and trouble at the school. My main nemesis was a boy called Andrew Hedges who was bigger, tougher and probably had problems of his own to contend with. Not that that excuses his behaviour. I believe that the way you bring up your children is very important and if you bully them and beat them, that is how they behave in kind. This was certainly the case with my Father and very probably with Andrew Hedges too.

If there was to be a haircut, my Father would meet me from school in the car, a white Viva estate. I remember it had blue plastic seats which were unbearably hot in summer, especially if you were wearing shorts! There would be no prior warning such as ‘I will take you for a haircut tonight’, he would just arrive and be waiting for me after school. This happened regularly every 4-5 weeks at the outside.

Apart from my problems with the haircut regime, I had worse with the Barber himself.
For some reason I was bullied and intimidated by the man from the time I started going there at about the age of six, until I was about 15 or 16.

His shop was at the end of a little row with what must have been a Victorian frontage, a door on the right and a large window on the left as you faced it. The chairs and mirrors were down the left hand side of the shop with bench seats around the back wall and right hand side of the room. There were magazines and comics to read, some of which were ‘Playboy’ and ‘Mayfair’.

I think this guy must have been ex-military, because my Father seemed to know him, although they were not friends as such and a lot of squaddies from the camp would go there for their haircuts. I would see them sitting around waiting on the benches.

The Barber wore the typical purple nylon coat with a black collar, white shirt and knitted tie and his hair was always ‘slicked’ down which gave him a sort of Italian look. I would think when I was going there he would have been in about his early to mid 40’s.

When I had got into the chair and was gowned-up, he would either ask, or my Father would tell him ‘the usual please’, meaning the short cut. I was never spoken to directly or treated with any dignity at all. He would begin cutting my hair with clippers and shove my head back and forth as required, sometimes quite roughly. If I didn’t keep my head as still as he wanted, he would tell me so.

“Keep your head still son!” and a bit later, “If you cant keep your head still I am going to have to get cross with you in a minute!”

He would say such things as if he despised me and loud enough so that the customers and my Father could all hear. These were not silent threats.

He would scrape the back of my neck with the clippers until it was sore and drew blood on more than one occasion I recall. Once, he even gave my ear a vicious pinch for not keeping still which brought tears to my eyes.

The odd thing was, I was always tried my hardest to keep my head still and I am sure I succeeded because I knew what would follow if I didn’t. It used to make my physically sick when I knew we were going there and I had that ‘butterfly’ stomach feeling throughout the ordeal. If I thought about it when I knew that time of the month was coming, I would physically wretch with anxiety.

I have no idea why this man treated me so. I didn’t do anything to him and I never spoke back to him. Usually my Father was in earshot and would have killed me if I had done so.

I recently spoke to my Brother, Luke about this man to see if he could remember anything about him. Although we were taken there together in the late 60’s, early 70’s, I never saw Luke or anyone else treated so harshly. Without giving too much away about my reasons, Luke could add very little to the story.

By the time I was 15 or 16 my Father trusted me enough to go by myself after school and didn’t come to get me. I was ‘told’ when I was to go and get my haircut. I think I went once or twice by myself with the same treatment and then I discovered another barber a short bus ride away and never went back. I didn’t tell my Father that I had changed establishments and I was never questioned about it. As long as I came back with the required cut, there were no inquisitions. However, it still fills me with a certain dread when I think of it now.

Religious Convictions

I don't think I believed in God when I was a boy. I mean I went to Church on Sundays and I was sometimes quoted the Bible. I even attended a Baptist Scout Troop. But now, later in life, I begin to reflect on my life and what I have done and start to feel guilt for what can only be described as 'sins' I have committed.

I begin to think, 'What if God does exist?' Will I get into Heaven, will I be punished for what I have done?
I am just not sure anymore.
I think I can cope with the dilemma. It is just the guilt I feel.

Right up until about last Christmas, I spent  a good deal of my time looking  at Porn on the internet. Not just the normal sort, gay porn as well. I like vintage pictures of magazines from the 1970's especially from Europe. I am talking about 'Colour Climax' and 'Rodox' and stuff like that. I would look at it for hours sometimes. If it was just looking it wouldn't be so bad but then the masturbation creeps in, the onanism! It's the lustful thoughts, wishing I was in that situation with those couples as well.

I decided that the Internet was a bad thing and I banned myself from using it! I wouldn't look at anything because there was always a temptation to look at porn and play with myself.
A friend of mine, surprised by my absence, told me that such things were natural and I shouldn't worry, but it is the guilt I feel about it that makes it hard.

The Bible tells us that sex should be between a man and woman  in marriage and not between couples before they are joined together, and certainly not between two men so I am certainly damned already! I have done both.
I have masturbated from an early age. I didn't know what I was doing, I just knew it felt  nice. I would rub my groin on the bars in the playground at school, or on the kitchen door at home. It was only when I reached puberty that stuff started to come out and I realized what I had been doing for all those years. Probably from about 5 years old I had been acting against nature. How can a person atone for such things?

Later in life, my Father would check my sheets for any signs that I had been masturbating in bed, but that didn't stop me. I found other places to do the thing. Sometimes I would go for long walks in the country, just to masturbate without detection. I have even masturbated with others. My best friend at school found out that I had some 'pornography' and we would look at it together. We started masturbating together, then masturbating one another and finally I tried to fellate him. Fortunately, he saw sense and told me he didn't like it so we didn't do it again. But I have done it on several occasions.

Sometimes I hate myself for what I have done.

MY ABSOLUTION

I've been feeling depressed lately. Nothing new there, I have had bouts of depression since I was a boy, all connected with feelings of guilt and shame. The reasons for this are long and complex. I had a harsh upbringing in a Christian family, my Mother passed away when I was quite young. I fell into another physically abusive relationship when I was in my twenties. After talking to a friend about the whole mess of my life, I decided getting my problems out of my head and into the open might help, hence the blog.


I don't know if it will work. I don't know if I can absolve myself of the sins I have committed which make me feel guilty. I don't know if I can finally get my head straightened out or not, but I am going to have a try!

My Messed up Life!


My Childhood Home:
I was brought up by my Father, Michael and my Mother, Susan who were both Christians. I have one Brother, older than me by four years. The names chosen for me and my brother came from the Bible, good Christian names, Luke and Adam.
My Father was in the Army when he met and married and continued to be so until a year or so after my Mother's death from Cancer. I was 6 years old at the time.
We moved around a couple of times in my early years with Dad's job and by the time I was old enough to go to school, we found ourselves in Bulford, Wiltshire where I started school at the age of five. 
Our house was a 3 bed semi built I think sometime in the 1950's, small hallway leading through to the kitchen and back door to the garden. There was a lounge to the right of the hall and upstairs, two reasonable size bedrooms, a small box room and a bathroom/toilet.
Luke and I shared the back bedroom whilst my parents slept in the front.
Our two single beds consisted of a sprung metal frame on wooden legs which was the base for the mattress, with no headboard. I think these were Military type beds that my Father had gotten from somewhere in the Army barracks. Our beds faced the door with mine being closest, and Luke's under the window. The beds were close enough for you to be able to jump from one to the other quite easily. Between our two beds was a small cupboard, like a wardrobe in which to hang clothes and behind the door, a chest of drawers with a mirror on top.
The house face onto a kind of communal 'green' area and at the back was a small garden of lawn with a shed at the bottom. 
All the houses in the rows of Family accomadation looked the same. It was only the road itself that you recognised in order to be able to get home!




An early memory, possibly my first, is of waking up on the kitchen table, having fallen asleep there. My Mum was nowhere to be seen. She had actually gone to collect Luke from school. I started crying as I didn't know where she had gone.
My Father, who must have on on night shift, came running down the stairs after a few minutes in an angry mood. I must have woken him up. His first tactic was to try and sooth me, which didn't work as I wanted my Mother. The next was shouting at me as he wanted to go back to sleep, and when that didn't work, he lifted me up, put me over his knee and gave me several slaps across my backside!
That had the opposite effect to calming me and by the time, my Mother was back, she had a fully hysterical child to deal with!


I don't think my Father had wanted children. After my Mother had died and he was forced to bring up two boys by himself, this became even more apparant. Luke and I lived with his forced 'regimes' through our teens. We went to Church on Sundays, we were not allowed to play with our school friends unless he wanted us out of the house, we had always to be in shirt and trousers at home. I didn't own a pair of jeans until I was able to start buying my own clothes! He would punish us with the slightest provocation, sometimes even looking for a excuse to do so. It was in effect, a form of mental and physical abuse for both Luke and myself.
Luke joined the Royal Navy when he was eighteen and escaped, only coming back for the brief visit. That was in 1975. I had to stay at home alone until 1978 and those years by myself were even worse. I was an inconvenience to my Father.