I was visiting a family friend with my dad. The family friend was gay, Scottish guy in his 60s. We were going to take his dining room table and chairs he’d given us. I’d recently come out to my parents and I think I was invited along because of the weird logic that because he was gay that he might have some sage advice or words of encouragement or wisdom for me since I’d just came out to my parents as bisexual.
I’ve always known him as Uncle Stevie, though he’s isn’t my uncle (and actually isn’t called Stevie, it’s his middle name that’s by the by). Quite a stern, gruff figure. A bit intimidating to be honest. He was never a “fun” adult at least with his interactions with me. Growing up I found him quite scary to be honest.
But when dad went out to make room in the van for the furniture we were collecting from him, he offered me a drink and it must have gone down the hole as I started to choke. Nothing major, just that thing where your eyes start to water. Stevie patted me on back then just as I was composing myself put his hands on back of my neck as we stood in kitchen and said in his Scottish accent: “Nothing that a mouthful of cum wouldn’t fix”. He was deadly serious. As he was with most things.
He pulled my hand toward his crotch and I guess I groped awkwardly at it for a bit. I didn’t know what to do. It was unexpected He whispered: “that’s right you little whore”
Then my dad came back in from outside and shouted from the front door down the hallway for to me to bring the first of the dining chairs out. Nothing else happened between me and Stevie then or since, but it’s still an extremely power sexual memory of the first time I felt actually objectified by someone
I’ve always known him as Uncle Stevie, though he’s isn’t my uncle (and actually isn’t called Stevie, it’s his middle name that’s by the by). Quite a stern, gruff figure. A bit intimidating to be honest. He was never a “fun” adult at least with his interactions with me. Growing up I found him quite scary to be honest.
But when dad went out to make room in the van for the furniture we were collecting from him, he offered me a drink and it must have gone down the hole as I started to choke. Nothing major, just that thing where your eyes start to water. Stevie patted me on back then just as I was composing myself put his hands on back of my neck as we stood in kitchen and said in his Scottish accent: “Nothing that a mouthful of cum wouldn’t fix”. He was deadly serious. As he was with most things.
He pulled my hand toward his crotch and I guess I groped awkwardly at it for a bit. I didn’t know what to do. It was unexpected He whispered: “that’s right you little whore”
Then my dad came back in from outside and shouted from the front door down the hallway for to me to bring the first of the dining chairs out. Nothing else happened between me and Stevie then or since, but it’s still an extremely power sexual memory of the first time I felt actually objectified by someone
