So, okay. The title of this thread triggers me. I will explain why.
When I was a senior in high school (18 years old), my parents were involved in religious ministry. My parents, my younger brother, and I lived in a small parsonage adjacent to a rural church located in a small town in the southern United States. As pastor, my dad didn't make much money, but the parsonage was provided by the church and, despite its age, it kept a roof over our heads.
My parents were very strict. My dad believed that since we were the religious leaders in the ministry, we were to live "above reproach." Everything my parents did was done so that nobody could accuse them of any errant sinful behavior. My parents demanded the same lifestyle from my brother and me. I can't speak for my brother, but for me, life was miserable. I had known for years that I was gay, I lusted heavily for manflesh, I boned up on the regular. I had to keep my boner hidden from my parents because I'd be accused of having lustful thoughts if they saw me with a bulge of any sort. I never had any privacy of which to speak. My brother's bedroom door and my door had been removed when we were kids, and they only time I was naked was during the 5-minute timed shower that I had to rush through. My mom would without warning pillage through our bedrooms to ensure that everything was tidy and free of contraband. Our beds were arranged so that when we lay down, our heads were toward the door and we couldn't see into the hallway without cranking our necks around. My brother and I both had to sit in front of my parents while they lectured us about the sin of masturbation. As you might imagine, there were sermons denouncing homosexuality -- denouncing the "me" that I didn't think my parents knew about.
From a child, I've always hated being sticky. I despise wet clothing sticking to my body. I hate wearing jeans on a hot day, and I feel claustrophobic when even a t-shirt sticks to my skin. One of my many responsibilities at my family's ministry was to keep the large lawn and graveyard mowed and trimmed. We only had a push mower, and it took four hours of nonstop mowing to get the job completed each week. Since we were a conservative ministry, my dad required that I wear jeans and a tshirt whenever I was outside the house, and that included when I was mowing the lawn in the oppressive heat of summer. When I'd be done, I'd peel my jeans off and find that my boxers had soaked through with sweat. I was a wet, sticky mess, and I hated it.
Summertimes in the rural south are generally sultry and uncomfortable. Summer nights are typically cooler, but the humidity is still present. Our house didn't have air conditioning, so we had to put fans in windows to draw the air through the house. Eventually, my dad put an attic fan in our house, and it worked amazingly well to move the air. It didn't remove the humidity, but it did provide limited relief. Since my aversion to stickiness / sweatiness was so strong, I tended to throw off my sheet and lie uncovered on my bed just to be able to get some sleep.
It was a Wednesday night in late July when the summer break after my high school graduation was in full swing. and the atmosphere after the mid-week prayer meeting at our church was unsettled and calm. The humidity was so high that night, and there wasn't a breeze. We all got to bed late in our house, and I lay there in the heat wishing as I often did that I lived in a house that was as comfortable as some of the air-conditioned houses of my friends. As happened each night, I popped a boner as I was thinking about how my friends could wear shorts and no t-shirts -- and their sexy bodies were the stuff of my fantasies. I usually spent most of my pre-sleep time lying on my stomach in order to keep my boner hidden. This night, though, I was hot and bothered, and my boner was raging. The last time I had tried to jack off, the previous Saturday in the shower after mowing, I hadn't cum. The stress of getting cooled down and clean within the five minutes before my mom started banging on the door (and the water HAD to be turned off) wasn't conducive to sexy time. It rarely if ever was, honestly. Anyway, this Wednesday night I was throbbing and thought that I could quickly cum and go to sleep. I'd have to be careful to not let any drip onto my underwear or sheets; my mom checked those on the regular.
It was already early Thursday morning, and since everyone was asleep, I took the risk. I flipped onto my back and my dick poked right out of my boxers. The humid air was being drawn across my body, my scant chest hair was moving slightly in the breeze providing something akin to a caress. I started to fantasize about my friends who, at a summertime birthday party, had been carrying on in one of their pools while I sat and watched. (I wasn't permitted to wear shorts, and I couldn't swim in jeans.) I wasn't taking any real precautions, unfortunately, and I came to that "point of no return" quickly.
What happened next will forever be seared in my memory. As I started to cum, the light in my bedroom turned on and my dad bellowed "WHAT ARE YOU DOING??!" I couldn't stop cumming. I tried in vain to flip over and hide, but there was nowhere to hide. My dad (a big, powerful man) came in and grabbed me up from the bed and started to beat me. I lost track of when I finally stopped squirting jizz. It wasn't even on my mind as I tried to avoid his fist. Then he found my belt on the floor and started to beat me wtih that. He whaled on me for a long time, and he was yelling at me telling me how I was a sinner. When he was done, he went to the kitchen (I guess it was his destination originally, and he had passed by my room at the exact time.). My mom had heard the yelling and my crying, so as soon as he left my room, she came in and gave me a scornful look that humiliated me more than my dad's beating. My brother was awake, as well, and I could see him looking at me from the relative darkness of his bedroom. I was left to wipe up the mess. They made me sleep with my light on for the next three months.
I determined that morning that I would have to find a way to leave my parents' house, to leave the ministry, to start to live MY life. Yet, breaking free from the abuse and invasiveness proved more difficult than an 18-year-old guy could ever imagine. Now you know why I'm triggered by this thread.
