Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. (Author's note: Dear readers this is going to be an epic erotic historical novel, covering the last half of the 20th Century through the eyes of Ray Gordon, from the age of 12 in 1955 to New Years Eve 1999. There will be a lot of sexual of all kinds, involving people of all ages, races and sexual persuasions. Please write me at earldevere(at)yahoo(dot)com I will respond to all comments and suggestions. Intro Regrets? I've had a Few. I was dying, and I knew it. There was no fear. And there was no sense of setting out on a new adventure. I was an Atheist and felt certain there was no afterlife. The lights go out, and it's all over. As my life passed before my eyes, I heard Frank Sinatra singing "My Way." "Regrets? I've had a few. But, then again, too few to mention." I had never been a Sinatra fan. He was a 40s-'50s guy. I was a '60s guy who grew up in the fifties, and the fifties sucked. My life sucked until the seventies, when I quit being a people pleaser -- when I quit trying to act normal. My big regret was wasting the fifties and sixties, trying to act normal. The rest of my life was great. If I could change anything, it would be those two decades. "Regrets? I've got a few," Old Blue Eyes sang as everything faded to black. Chapter One RAY "Mom!" my brother, Eddie yelled. "Ray's awake, and he remembers my name." Eddie? Eddie died in '88. Mom died in '63. I was awake in my childhood bedroom in Chemical City, Texas. But I wasn't me. I mean, I wasn't in my 75-year-old body. I was in my 12-year-old body. I knew exactly where and when I was. It was after my bicycle accident, when landed on my head, and had amnesia for a couple of days. I still felt a little fuzzy headed. The boy was confused. My god. I remember this moment like it was yesterday. No. Like it was today. This is every man's dream. The old, "I wish I knew then what I know now" thing. Now, I'm back to then. The boy looked around, confused. The last thing he remembers is riding his bike home for lunch around noon Thursday. It's now a little after nine Saturday morning, but he doesn't know that yet. "Go get Dr. Greene," Mom told Eddie as she entered the bedroom. I didn't remember her looking so young when I was a kid. "Mom," I said. "You're beautiful!" and the words came out of the boy's mouth. She blushed like a schoolgirl. Then she chuckled, "Maybe we need to get you hit on the head more often." "Huh?" The boy was flustered. He couldn't believe he said that to his mother. "What's going on?" She told his he hit his head in a bicycle accident and had amnesia. I told the kid to stay cool, but he couldn't hear me. I couldn't converse with him. But he said my words. There must be some way to communicate. Some way to let him know what I know. I'm in his body, but I have no control. I'm just a passenger, along for the ride. It will be a long boring ride if I can't get him to change his ways. I did not want to relive those long miserable years. She hugged him/me, pressing our head to the valley between her bounteous breasts. I could feel her heartbeat. I/we kissed her left breast. The boy jerked his head away, mortified. "Ma...Mom. I...I'm sorry! I didn't mean..." Eddie and Dr. Greene entered the bedroom. "How are we doing today, Ray?" the doctor asked. "He's still a little disoriented and confused," Mom said. She also seemed a little disoriented and confused. Or maybe titillated. "Do you feel any pain, nausea, dizziness?" "No, sir," the kid said. "A little fuzzy headed maybe. Sort of like when you first wake up." "That's normal," Eddie said. "He's been fuzzy headed his whole life." Eddie the 10-year-old smart-ass. He always resented me because Mom loved me best. He would tell me about his resentment after we were grown and married. We grew closer after we grew up, even after I fucked three of his girl friends and two of his three wives. The 12-year-old me wasn't like that. The 12-year-old me was overly religious, with aspirations to become a Southern Baptist preacher. I had to wake him up and change that. Dr. Greene checked the kid's pupils, and knee jerk reaction, "Everything seems fine. If he doesn't experience any nausea, vomiting or dizziness, he should be alright to return to school Monday." Doctors didn't normally make house calls in 1955. Dr, Greene was a neighbor. He and his wife lived across the street and a few houses east of our house. I mowed his lawn, and watched his house when he and his wife traveled overseas. I once helped him operate on a dog that had been shot with a pellet gun. I held the dog down while he extracted the pellet and bandaged the hind leg. He was a nice man. I never knew why he lived in a blue collar neighborhood. "Are you hungry?" Mom asked. "I'm starving," I said, and the words came out of the kid's mouth. I could sense that he didn't want to say that. I remember my attitude back then. It was uncool to be enthusiastic about anything. And the kid wanted to be cool. "How about some bacon, eggs, toast and coffee?" Mom asked cheerily. The Kid shrugged, and said, "That'll be okay." He was nearly salivating at the thought, but wanted to appear indifferent. I was going to have to change his/my attitude. No wonder my life was so boring as a kid. I need to somehow instill some enthusiasm in his/my life. "We're out of milk and sugar," Mom said. "I try it black," The Kid said. I told him that he was going to love black coffee. He didn't hear me. He put on jeans, a short sleeve shirt socks and a pair of brown canvas deck shoes, and walked to the kitchen, where Mom handed him a hot mug of Community dark roast coffee. I shared all his senses. I felt what he felt. Saw what he saw, smelled what he smelled, tasted what he tasted, and knew what he thought. He sipped the strong black brew, and his taste buds had a mini orgasm. The unadulterated caffeine stimulated his synapses. It was a glorious feeling. Due to my heart disease I had been drinking decaf for the last five or six years of my life. "This is Dee-Licious!" I exclaimed, and the words came out of The Kid's mouth. When The Kid had strong feelings or urges, I could push him to say what he really wanted to say or do what he really wanted to do. I was the little daemon on his left shoulder to counteract the angel on his right. It may not be direct communication, but it's a start. "I'm glad you like it," Mom said, obviously surprised by the Kid's enthusiastic response. "It'll save on our milk and sugar bill." Mom set out the plate with three eggs over easy, four slices of crispy bacon and two slices of buttered toast. The kid sprinkled on some salt and a little black pepper. More Pepper I urged before he set the shaker down, and he sprinkled on a little more pepper, then wondered why he did it. He cut up the eggs with his fork and stirred the yokes and whites together before taking a bite, and realizing it was better with a little more pepper. The bacon was perfect; almost burnt. He sopped up yoke with buttered toast. Real butter. He gobbled it down. "Slow down, Ray," Mom said. "You act like you haven't eaten in years." "Have I eaten much since the accident?" "The normal amount." "I don't remember any thing after the accident. I don't remember the accident. I remember leaving school on the bike, and that's it." "You didn't remember anything when you got home. You didn't know who I was or who you were, or where you were. I'm surprised that you managed to find your way home." "What happened?" "The woman who witnessed it said that your front wheel just came off, the fork hit the pavement, the bike flipped and you landed on the top of your head. She said you were unconscious for a moment, then got up. She asked if she could give you a ride home. You said you'd ride your bike. She said, it's broken. You said, I'll walk, and you walked away." It was a trick kids were playing on each other. They would loosen the nut on the front wheel. When a kid pulled his bike out of the rack, the front wheel would fall off and he's have to push the bike home. Obviously, mine didn't come off until I hit a bump in the street. I wasn't going full speed, but I was going pretty fast. Mom bent down to pick up the plate. I stared at her cleavage. The kid stared at her cleavage. She noticed, and stayed still for a moment, letting us look. I knew she was allowing us to look. The Kid didn't. He quickly looked away, embarrassed. "I'm going to see Buddy and Yogi," he said, heading toward the door. "It's Easter weekend," Mom said. "They're both out of town." "I forgot. I'll go for a walk." The Kid loved to walk. "Where you going?" Eddie asked. "Downtown," Ray said. "Wanna come along." "Yeah." I needed to get Ray to get closer to Eddie. Where Ray was shy and inhibited, Eddie was more outgoing and adventurous -- especially when it came to sex. After we had grown up, Eddie told me that he got his first blow-job when he was 10 years old from an 8-year-old boy who would suck cock for fifty cents. I (Ray) didn't get a blow job until I was 19-years-old and in the navy. Ray had to become more of a buddy to Eddie, instead of the big brother who had to set a good example. The adult Eddie also told me that he was not happy when Mom moved us into the same bedroom, and converted the third bedroom into a den for us and our friends. It seriously curtailed his masturbatory activities. Mom was going to do that at the end of this school year. I thought about all of those years that we could have been jack-off buddies. And the more I thought about it, the harder Ray's 12-year-old dick got. He's thinking about jacking off with his little brother. Now, he's trying not to think about jacking off with his brother, and the more he tries to push the thought out of his mind, the more he thinks about it, and the more attractive it becomes. Ray already feels like a terrible hypocrite because he's a chronic masturbator, and has been since his first ejaculation on July 4, 1953. His desire to become a baptist preacher is overcompensation for his sinful compulsion. "I thought we were going downtown," Eddie said as he followed Ray into the city park. Ray looked around, realizing that he was walking into the park instead of going east on Fifth Avenue. "I thought we'd go in on Ninth Avenue. Change of scenery." That wasn't the truth. Ray was headed for one of his favorite jack-off hideaways, a clump of oleander bushes about fifty yards northeast of the municipal swimming pool. There was a four-foot circular clearing in the middle of the bushes. He discovered it chasing a garter snake. Show Eddie! I urged. Show him where you jack off. "I want to show you something," Ray said as they neared the oleanders. "Don't tell anyone about it." "What?" Eddie asked. Ray instantly regretted his actions, and hesitated. "What do you want to show me? I won't tell anyone." Ray looked around, making certain they were not being observed. "Follow me," he said, getting on his hands and knees and crawling through the bushes to the small clearing, where he had covered the bare ground with cardboard. "Wow! This is Cool! It's like a cave in here." Eddie exclaimed. "How'd you discover it?" "I was trying to catch a garter snake, and it ran into the bushes." "What do you do here?" Ray's face burned, and he knew he was blushing bright red. "Uh...nothing, really. It's just a place to get away from everybody and everything. I was thinking about bringing in a box to put books in to keep them dry, and I could read." "It's almost too dark to read," Eddie said. "It would be a neat secret clubhouse." "You can't tell anyone," Ray snapped. "It's my secret place." "I won't. I won't." "Make sure no one sees you coming out," Ray said, leading the way out. He was upset for showing his secret place. He hoped Eddie didn't notice the cum stains on the cardboard. I kept telling him it would be fun to have a jack-off buddy. He was thinking that maybe the head injury gave him these weird ideas. He liked the ideas. He didn't want to like them, but he did. Of course, there was no way he could suggest it to his little brother. That would be too weird. Downtown Chemical City consisted of seven blocks of Main Street, between Second Avenue and Ninth Avenue. The buildings were mostly '20s and '30s one story storefronts with a few two story buildings and the four story Chemical City Bank building. There were two theaters, the Texas and the Palace. The Texas didn't have the new CinemaScope screen. Negroes had a separate entrance and sat in the balcony. The Palace was ornate and white only. The Palace showed first run movies, and the Texas showed mostly B grade westerns, horror, and crime movies. The Kid was seeing the downtown through my eyes, and didn't know why it made him sad. He never liked Chemical City, and the downtown wasn't impressive. It was sad because the businesses would abandon Main Street and move out to strip shopping malls on Palmetto Highway. There would be no downtown Chemical City. The Jack Tar Drive In Theater on Palmetto Highway would close and be replaced with The Jack Tar shopping center. "What's wrong?" Eddie asked. The Kid shrugged his shoulders, "Nothing." "You look like you're about to cry." "No I don't," he snapped. "I just don't feel good. Let's go home." They headed home on Fifth Avenue. As they approached Fowlers Pharmacy, I had a craving for a banana split. Ray and Eddie went in and ordered banana splits. 50 cents. Ray took a couple of bites and exclaimed, "The best damned banana splits in the world!" "Damned?" Eddie asked. "I can't believe you said that." Ray shook his head. "I didn't mean to say it. It just came out." "It's okay," Eddie said. "You're the only kid I know who doesn't cuss. You might be human after all." They finished the deserts and continued home. "Are you okay?" Eddie asked. "You look funny. Kinda sad." "I don't know. Since the accident, I get strange thoughts. I say things I don't mean to say. I do things I don't mean to do." "Maybe you should get hit on the head more often." "That's what Mom said." "Why did she say that?" "Well...uh...I told her she was beautiful." "She is." Eddie replied. "Have you ever told her that she was beautiful?" "No." "And I kissed her breast." "You What!?!" "Damn it," Ray exclaimed. "I didn't mean to say that." "You kissed Mom's tit? And she told you that you needed to get hit on the head more often?" "No. She said that after I told her that she was beautiful." "What'd she say when you kissed her tit?" Ray had to think a minute. "Nothing. You and Dr. Greene came in right after I did it." "Holy shit! You kissed Mom's boob and got away with it," Eddie said. "How'd you do it? Did you just walk up and kiss it?" "No. She was hugging me. You know how she hugs us and buries our face in her cleavage. That's when I did it." "I've wanted to," Eddie giggled. "I just never had the balls." "I didn't want to. I didn't think about it. I just did it." "You didn't think about it?" "I though about it at the same time I did it. But it was kind of like somebody else's thought. It was like it wasn't me who did it, but it was me." "The devil made you do it." Eddie laughed. "No. The bump on the head gave you a...what do you call it? A split personality. Like Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. There's the goody-two-shoes Ray and the naughty Ray." "Don't be silly." "I like Naughty Ray." Ray wouldn't admit it, but he liked Naughty Ray too. He wanted to be naughty, but he feared divine retribution. He got caught the first time he engaged in reciprocal exhibitionism. His cousin, Kathleen, said she'd show him hers if he'd show her his. He initially felt cheated, because she didn't have a thing. It looked like she had Uncle Braxton's cleft chin between her legs. She touched his four-year-old pecker, and he liked that. He touched her cleft, and her father, Uncle Harris, snatched him up by the arm and drug him to his grandfather's house, and told Grandpa O'Daniel, Grandma O'Daniel and five of his aunts how evil he was for molesting his precious, innocent little daughter, who his behind her daddy's leg and looked accusingly at Ray, who knew there was no sense in arguing his innocence. With her blond hair, blue eyes and alabaster skin, she looked angelic. With his red hair, freckles and brown eyes, he looked like a little devil. Then, when he was eight years old, he found himself in a tractor shed with a five-year-old blond haired, blue eyed angel who wanted to see his thing. She was looking at his thing and he looked at her thing when an incredibly nasty thought crossed his mind. He wondered if he could stick his thing in her thing. At that exact moment he heard movement behind him and quickly shoved his thing in his pants, knowing that he had once again been caught being naughty. To his great relief, the noise was made by an orange tabby cat chasing a little brown field mouse. He took that as a warning and a sign from God, and swore he would be naughty no more, and was a good boy for more than two years. Then he discovered masturbation. He had been such a good boy that he wouldn't even listen to other kids when they talked about sex stuff. If he had listened, he might have learned about ejaculation. Since he didn't know about it, his first orgasm was frightening. It happened the morning of the Fourth of July, 1953, at his Uncle Carl's place in Homa, Louisiana. Ray awoke a little before sunrise on the Fourth, and decided to go for a walk along the banks of the bayou that snaked around his uncle's property. Steam rose from the sluggish, murky water, creating a low fog. Gray Spanish moss hung from the cypress trees, creating a mysterious atmosphere. The sun rose quickly, burning away the fog, and green sunlight filtered through the canopy, illuminating the lush verdant underbrush. He had to pee, and took his dick out. While pissing, he noticed a tick on the head of his dick, right on the flare. he plucked it off, and the bite site immediately began to itch. He had just started to scratch when he remembered Mom telling him to rub, not scratch, insect bites. He rubbed and rubbed and rubbed, and the more he rubbed, the better it felt. he held his hard cock in his right hand, with the pad of my thumb covering the bite site. Ray was jacking off for the first time. Suddenly, it felt like he had to pee again, but it was a more intense sensation than he had ever felt before. He stopped stroking, and tried to pee, but nothing came out. He stroked some more, and the sensation returned. He stopped again and tried unsuccessfully to pee. Again he resumed stroking. On the third or fourth time, he decided to keep stroking until he peed. The pressure built and built and built, until the sensation was almost unbearable - almost painful. Then thick white stuff erupted from his pee hole. It squirted and squirted and squirted. He was afraid that it would never stop - thought that the white stuff was pus, and that he had seriously injured myself by playing too hard with his penis. Again, he was being punished for being naughty. Ray knew he couldn't tell Mom and Dad, because they'd know what he had done. For the first time in his life, he became aware of his own mortality. He believed he may have fatally damaged something inside and that the infection would spread and kill him. He swore to God he'd never do it again if He cured Ray and let him live. But that damned bite site started itching again and he rubbed again. He jacked off three more times before going back to the house. After a couple of weeks, the kid realized that he wasn't going to die, and masturbated three, four or more times a day, every day. To repent for his naughtiness, Ray dedicated his life to the Lord Jesus Christ, and informed everyone that he wanted to be a Southern Baptist preacher. Dear reader, I have to talk about Ray in third person because he's not me. At this point in his life he couldn't possibly imagine growing up to be the man he would become. In his wildest dreams, he couldn't imagine living the life he'll live. He thinks 30 is over the hill. I didn't start living until I was 30, and I wanted to help him get started a lot sooner than that. I'm living in the kid's head in an alternate reality. I can't communicate with him. I can't tell him what I know. I can't teach him what he needs to learn. It seems that I can only make him act on strong urges, and make him do things that he would normally have the will power to resist doing. I could only give him that little extra push so he could do things he really wanted to do, or say things he really wanted to say, but lacked the courage.