Thursday, August 10, 2017

Larry is Spanked by an Alabama Boy

Huntsville, Alabama, November 1991

It's the weekend before my 31st birthday, and I'm in Nashville, Tennessee, 2,000 miles from West Hollywood,  taking classes in Biblical Hebrew and Protestant theology at Vanderbilt Divinity School.

Back home I would go to a museum during the day and then have a party, but I have no gay friends here except Larry, who just came out at age 35.  So he has no gay friends, either.

"At least we can do the museum," Larry said.

"Ok, well, I've already been to the Parthenon, and I'm not really interested in the Country Music Hall of Fame...."

"Something a little less country-western:  I'm thinking the Space Center down in Huntsville."

"Alabama?" I said dubiously.  "Isn't that a little redneck?"

"It's fine -- I go down there all the time for work.  And while we're in Alabama, I thought we could try to fulfill my biggest fantasy."

"What, a bondage scene?"  Larry had only just recognized an interest in BDSM a few weeks ago.

"Being spanked by an Alabama boy."

Beg pardon?

He explained:  For years his job had taken him through the small towns of Alabama.  He saw the hot Southern boys on the side of the road, with their slim chests and sweat-soaked t-shirts and bulging jeans, and he wondered what it would be like to be dominated by them.

In his fantasy, Larry was the stuck-up Northern boy who took a wrong turn through the woods, and came across three Alabama boys working on an old pick-up truck and drinking beer.  One was in his 30s, very muscular, with a hairy chest.  The second was in his 20s, smooth chest, short beard.  The third was a teenager with big hands and a big basket.

He stopped and asked for directions to Chicago.  They didn't know the way, so he insulted them, called them "ignorant barbarians wallowing in filth."

"Now that's not very neighborly," the older one said.  "I reckon we're going to have to teach you some manners."  The two younger ones grabbed him and tore his clothes off and tied his hands behind his back.  He tried to run away, but they tripped him and threw him down into the dirt.

"You're a naughty little boy," the teenager said in his hot Alabama accent, "So now you're going to get spanked."

He spanked Larry's bare butt while the other young guy fondled his cock, insulting its size.  Then they forced him to rim them and go down on them, shoving their gigantic Mortadellas savagely down his throat while he gagged and sputtered.

They tied him to a tree, gagged him, and took turns plowing into him while pinching his nipples, squeezing his balls, and slapping his cock.  Each of them screwed him twice, the teenager first.  Then they forced him to masturbate while they drank beer and watched, and left him tied to the tree to be discovered with dried semen all over him.

"That's quite an elaborate fantasy," I told Larry.

"I know -- I've been thinking about it for quite some time.  But maybe we could do the basics, just get an Alabama boy to spank me."

So we drove south two hours to Huntsville and took a tour of the Space Center -- not very interesting, driving past rockets 500 yards away.  We had dinner at a Chinese restaurant, waited around a few hours, and then hit Huntsville's only gay bar, Deja Vu.

Larry had no experience cruising and was too skittish to try, so he sat at one of the small red booths while I tried to find someone to fulfill his fantasy.

It was crowded, so there were a lot of prospects.  I figured that older guys were more likely to be BDSM tops, or at least open to the possibility.  So I systematically tried to make eye contact with the guys over 40, mostly gathered by the pool table and the jukebox.

No luck -- until finally an older black guy returned my eye contact.  In his 40s, taller than me, shaved head, sort of chunky.

Black guys were unlikely to be into BDSM, but I approached anyway, introduced myself, pointed out Larry, and said we were visiting for the weekend.

His name was Smith ("Yep, that's my first name. My mama found it in the phone book").  He worked at a restaurant on the west side. While I was groping him -- 8" -- he complained about the governor, Guy Hunt. We needed a man like George Wallace -- "He got things done!"

A black guy was praising George Wallace, the white supremacist Dixiecrat, who said "segregation forever" and ran for president on the "Make America White Again" platform?  Ok, that was like a gay guy praising Jerry Falwell, just crazy!  But I figured it wouldn't make a difference for a night of "sharing."

Unfortunately, the only way to determine BDSM interest for a hookup that night was to ask during the initial conversation -- rather risky!  You weren't supposed to discuss sexual activities at all, and the thought of BDSM turns many guys off.  But I dutifully hinted that Larry was a bad boy, and needed some discipline.

Smith's eyes lit up.  "Sounds like he needs a good old fashioned ass-whomping."

I described Larry's fantasy, as well as I remembered it, and Smith said he would oblige.  We drove out to Smith's tiny one-story house on the run-down west side, went into the bedroom, and ordered Larry to strip.

We tied his hands behind his back with a belt, and forced him to go down on us.  Then Smith bent him over his knees and spanked him.  Larry refused anal, so I went down on Smith until he finished.  Then we tied Larry to the bed by one hand, and forced him to masturbate with the other, and left him tied up for an hour while we watched tv.

After all that, it seemed anticlimactic to spend the night, so we got dressed, said goodbye, and headed back to our hotel.

"Did you enjoy having your fantasy fulfilled?" I asked.

"It was fine," Larry said.

That was a surprising reaction!  "We did the force, the oral, the spanking, and the humiliation with an Alabama guy.  What did we do wrong?"

"No, it was fine.  It's just that -- well, my fantasy involves Alabama boys.  Young guys.  Three of them, a teenager, a twink, and a guy in his 30s.   And...well...."


"White.  I like black guys, of course, but for my fantasy they have to be white."

It was a very specific fantasy.


  1. Dixiecrats were a different splinter party: Strom Thurmond, pissed at Truman for integrating the military. Wallace, like Goldwater's Southern support four years prior, was pissed at LBJ for integration. They were the American Independent Party.

    I know the story well because I've corrected hundreds of people over the past couple years who credited Bill Clinton with the whole thing.

    The DLC was trying to bring the racists back.

    But I do like the use of "Get things done." Reminds me of a certain failed presidential candidate who worked on both the Goldwater and McGovern campaigns, no?

    1. I'm just going with my rather limited knowledge at the time. I wasn't interested in politics, and the Wallace presidential bid happened when I was a little kid, so all I really remembered was that he was pro-segregation.



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