I tell this story about my friend Indio,
who I grew up with. Indio is dead
now, gay plague got him at the age of thirty-nine. He and I were orphans
together in a place I’ll call Boysville, though
nobody knew Indio’s story. I got a
bad enough deal—my folks, whoever they were—didn’t bother to give me a front or
middle name, just initials, but “Abandoned Infant Indio” was all that was on
Indio’s birth certificate.
Indio showed up
at Boysville when he was a youngster, after a dozen
or so years in orphanages, group homes, blah blah. No
one wanted to adopt or foster him, since Indio
was some kind of half-breed,
and he was a scrawny one at that.
Eugene and I took Indio
under our wing after we watched him crying because he’d been beaten by a couple
of the “counselors” at Boysville—and bullied by some
of the older boys. I won’t say that Boysville was a
horror show like some of those places, but there were a few rotten apples.
Eugene, Indio
and I had three things in common that make life hell in the System. We were
small, we were smart, liked books, sarcastic sense of humor, all that, and
worst, we were queer. And that was bad enough without Indio
crying and weeping when he was knocked around by the predators.
A few years before Indio got to Boysville,
Eugene and a guy who left called the Mongrel had “toughened” me up—it had taken
a week, and as soon as I’d gone through a week or two of it, I could handle
myself, and I didn’t want any more toughening.
Eugene had only had to tie me down a couple of times naked and
whip my ass with a strop before I learned fast not to make too much noise, and
then I was tough, and the Mongrel taught me to use my hands, which took care of
the bullies.
But Indio…was
different. I remember how we were watching Millard, the bullying counselor
whipping Indio’s ass because he’d forgotten to do a good job of cleaning
Millard’s office, and Indio had cried like a baby, especially when Millard had
twisted Indio’s tiny little nutsack, as the kid’s
pants were twisted around his knees.
“Indio, Hooks
and I are going to teach you to be a man!”Millard had
said with fourteen year old rage. Indio
had made no protest when we’d ordered him to strip down and lie on his bed in
the dorm while everyone else was at chores.
I’d tied Indio’s little wrists behind his back with
clothesline, and knotted his ankles together, and stepped back as Eugene had
come forth with the tools that he’d used on me—the first being a straightened
coat hanger with a black tape handle.
I’d burst into tears when Eugene had lashed me with the damn
thing, but after two or three beatings, I’d been able to laugh when creeps like
Millard had tried to work me over using just a weeny
little plastic paint-paddle.
WHACK! WHACK! As Eugene
had lit into Indio with the coat
hanger, it was shocking. Indio
didn’t cry at all. Even when I saw the welts rising up on his
little brown buttocks. Indio
didn’t make a sound. Finally, Eugene
stopped.
“Hey man, you’re not in shock are you?” Eugene
looked really concerned, and Eugene
wasn’t shocked easily, having seen his mother blow her brains out on the
kitchen table ‘cause his dad, Gene the Goat, was
cheating on her.
Eugene
saw this grisly scene when he was only seven years old. And then Gene the Goat
had rubbed Eugene’s face in his
mom’s blood. Eugene professed
having no pity for anyone but you could tell he was real messed up over this.
But Indio
looked up from his bound position and grinned at Eugene,
though there were tears in his beautiful brown eyes. “No, I’m okay. Do it some
more if you want to.” Indio paused.
“I need to learn to be tough.”
Eugene looked at
me, and looked at Indio. “You
little asshole, if you can keep your tongue when I give it to you like that,
why the fuck can’t you do it when Millard hits you?” I joined in, saying “Fuck
man, I’d cry even now with that kind of whipping.”
Indio smiled at
me, but it was kind of a buddy smile—Indio
and I were brothers, not lovers, though I guess in a way I was always a little
bit in love with him. But then Indio
turned to Eugene.
“I know you’re doing this because you love me, Eugene, and I
love you too…and I need to get hit a little bit, I don’t know why. But I know
what I need.”
After this, I kind of felt as if I belonged elsewhere…can’t
really explain it. So I split.
Eugene never told
me much about what happened between them, but Indio’s
a fucking blabbermouth…I guess we’re girlfriends at heart. I’d tell Indio
about my affair with the Boysville bus driver, and
he’d tell me about him and Eugene…and in that I learned about sadomasochism for
the first time.
I still don’t really
get it, hurting and wanting to be hurt, but I’m just the scribe here. I kept
journals throughout my life, and so I’ll tell you as much as I can about what Indio
told me, and try real hard not to interpret.
It turned out that Indio
liked getting spanked or something—they potty-trained at the State Infant Home
by just beating the shit out of you, and Indio
somehow, I don’t know, got it.
And Eugene was
one little sadist, though he’d never take it out on an unwilling participant,
thank goodness. But he beat the shit out of Indio
that day, warning Indio never to
cry again when Millard whipped him, and Indio
promised, and then I understand there was some fellatio between the two of
them. And then more stuff happened, as time went by.
Indio himself
told me “Hooks, I loved Eugene from
the start, and there was so much he could teach me, and much of it was through
punishment. Eugene began whipping
me every other day with hairbrushes, cut spruce switches from the woods, and
when I was real bad, thorny rose branches…and I took it and took it!”
But Eugene was a
cruel motherfucker at times—I came in one day to the dorm and Eugene
was smoking a cigarette, and he had his feet crossed on a trunk, but
occasionally, he would jab it with one foot, and laugh.
This relationship between Eugene
and Indio continued for three and a
half years, until Eugene turned
eighteen in 1965 or ’66 and left. It had been a very secretive relationship,
though Indio had wanted the world
to know that he was Eugene’s slave.
Indio
had begged Eugene to humiliate him
in public all over Boysville, but Eugene
had had enough common sense to see that Indio
would have been tremendously victimized had this happened. But in a way, it
benefited me, that I knew.
I was always telling Indio
about Perkins (the bus driver’s) big dick and how much I enjoyed it, but we
both knew that I had the hots for him a little bit.
So now and then, though Indio was not attracted to me at
all, Eugene would call us both out in the woods, and he’d strip Indio naked in
front of me, and give Indio a good thrashing with a rubber fan belt or that
nasty straightened coat hanger…and then he’d order Indio to suck my dick and
lick my balls.
And Indio would
look at Eugene with tears in his eyes
and beg off, but you could tell how hard Indio’s
cock was while he was thinking about being forced to suck the dick of his ugly ol’ friend Hooks.
My memories of being in the woods, and Eugene ALWAYS dragged
us to some place where there was lots of broken glass from where some of the
boys would smuggle in beer…and Indio
was forced to kneel naked while Eugene and I were in our jeans and T-shirts…and
Indio would beg with tears in his
eyes.
I guess if I’d been a better friend to Indio
I would have walked off, but Indio
was so beautiful—gorgeous tan skin, deep eyes…his pretty little nipples with
their dark areolas just made me crazy. Sometimes Eugene
would bring clothespins or mousetraps and lock them on Indio’s
nipples, and
then he’d just curse Indio out.
“You pitiful little queer—I can’t believe that Hooks and I
can stand looking at you, you’re so ugly and brown and worthless.” And Indio,
even though he knew that Eugene
loved him, would weep bitterly, kneeling naked on the broken glass. And I’d be
watching Indio’s dick…someone had circumsized him, and it was just bulging in this tan glow,
you know?
"Please Master, I love you, Master...I'd do anything
for you!"
And it was true...he'd eat Eugene's
cigarette butts, and lick the dirt off Eugene's
boot-bottoms...it was sick...but Indio's
petitioning Eugene did almos no good.
Then Eugene
would lean down and grab Indio’s
beautiful, delicate little ear and just twist it unmercifully. Indio would be sobbing, his hands behind his
back, he was so beautifully disciplined that he could hold them there without
them being tied, though he loved being tied.
“The only way that Hooks and I can stand to be around you is
if you suck both our dicks, and you have to do Hooksy’s
first, boy!” And then Indio would
look at me, and I’m not a handsome guy at near sixty and I wasn’t then, either.
Indio would say
“I like Hooks, but he’s UGLY.” And for a
moment the three of us would laugh—it hurt me a little bit, but I had all the dick I could handle. I had appeal, you know? And the
fact that Indio thought I was ugly
didn’t bother me, well maybe a little bit. But I knew he cared.
Then Eugene
would order Indio to bury his face
in the glass and the cigarette butts and he’d whale on Indio’s
ass for twenty minutes or so, and I’d have to keep from grabbing Eugene’s
arm. Sometimes there would be blood, but I’d just stand there.
Finally, he’d ask again if Indio would suck “Master” Hookmyer’s dick, and Indio would crawl wearily over to me
and unzip my pants and pull my long, thick penis out and just suck on it like
there was nobodys business…oh, it felt good!
And I’d cum all over Indio’s face, and then he’d shuffle on
his knees to Eugene and suck HIS dick as well, and then Eugene would make Indio
do mine again…we were teenagers, and there was lots of energy in our dicks!
Finally after Eugene and I had both cum about six times,
then Indio was allowed to jerk off
onto Eugene’s boots and lick it up.
Sometimes Indio would beg Eugene
to let him do it in private, but Eugene
was a nasty sonovabitch, though a good guy in
general.
Sometimes it had been a while since Indio
had jerked off… a lot of times when he and Eugene were in private, after they’d
been fishing or in the Boysville swimming hole, Indio
would suck Eugene’s dick for hours,
having him cum again and again…and then Eugene
would corn-hole Indio, but he
wouldn’t let him cum at all.
So after Eugene and I had gotten our relief and Indio was
jerking off, sometimes right as Indio was about to squirt, Eugene would start
whaling on Indio with whatever he’d brought to beat Indio with…he’d swat
Indio’s dick with the straightened coat hanger, and the boy would cry, but not
make a sound.
Then Eugene
would order Indio to start jerking
again, and right at the point that Indio
was going to cum, Eugene would
whack Indio again, until Indio
was trembling so hard he was afraid to cum!
But finally Eugene
would let Indio cum and the kid
would just make a real mess! Whooie!
And then, even though it was on the ground, Eugene would
kick the shit out of Indio, slapping him and twisting Indio’s hair, kicking
Indio in the stomach as the boy curled up crying…”You little piece of shit, how
dare you sully our national forests with your gross spooge!
Lick that up, right in the dirt, come on, you little half-breed piece of vomit.
Get down there!”
And as Indio
bent over, and was licking in the dirt, damned if Eugene
wasn’t whaling the shit out of the boy, to the point that a tough faggot like
me had to turn around…I just couldn’t watch. But Indio
loved it!
But no matter how hard Eugene
was on Indio, the kid just loved
him!
Eugene wasn’t
that much better looking than me—red hair and freckles—but Indio
really loved him. Then about an hour later we’d three all be dressed and
playing cards with some other guys, and joke around…but the secret would be
between us until the next time…
But most of the time it was just Eugene
and Indio doing their thing
together….and that was great, because I really hated seeing the little guy
hurt. And we had more fun as pals, the three of us, making smartass comments,
reading books together, smoking weed.
And then Eugene
left, and told us he was joining the Marines. It knocked Indio
out, but we couldn’t blame Eugene
for leaving, it was hell at Boysville if you wanted
to have any kind of life.
And frankly, though I never said this to Eugene
or to Indio, I think Indio
was more into Eugene than Eugene
was into Indio. In the next two
years, Indio got about five letters
from Eugene, and they were all
co-addressed to me.
But then the letters stopped coming, and Indio
got real depressed. And he might have gotten no clue about what the hell was
going on, had Sumner Beale, the head of Boysville,
not gotten Indio in trouble. What
happened next was a really, really strange story.