Boys' Home

Boy’s Home

When my pa sent me to live at Reverand Whitcomb’s Home for Boys, I figured that it couldn’t be no worse than living with my pa. Pa were a drinker. He got drunk on moonshine most every night, and, when he got drunk, he got mean, and he would beat me with most anything that was handy. He beat my ma, too, sometimes worse’n he beat me. When my ma died after I reached twelve years-old, he packed me off to Reverand Whitcomb’s.

Pa didn’t even take me there. He packed up my clothes in a ragged old suitcase and put me on the bus. I had walked about two miles of the ten miles that it were from Berryville, Arkansas, to the home, when I catched a ride that took me the rest of the way.

The home was out in the country, pretty much all by itself. There weren’t no neighbors that you could see from the home. It were on a hill, set back from the highway. There was a gate-one with an arch on which was wrote: “Whitcomb’s Home for Boys.” From the gate a road ran straight up the hill to a large three story house. Even in daylight, the house seemed dark. It were painted brown, but much of the paint had flaked off showing gray, weathered, siding. The grass were long, except for directly around the house. There were a garage to the right of the house, a garden to the left, and a couple of buildings, or sheds, in the back. In front of the house was two large gables from which black windows peered out like eyes. I felt a shiver run down my back as I stood-staring. I couldn’t stand there all day, though, so I started walking up the road toward the house.

There were a cord that hung down beside the front door. A bell inside the house rang when I pulled it. When nobody came after I pulled it the first time, I yanked it again. A large, red-faced, woman opened the door. She appeared to be out of breath.

“Don’t keep yanking on that cord,” she said. “I heard you the first time. What do you want?”

“Uh...uh..I’m Jimmy Ray Wilson. My pa said that I were to come here to live.”

“All right. Don’t stand there gawking, letting the flies in. Come on in.”

She had me follow her up two flights of stairs, her a huffing and a puffing the whole way. We came out onto the third floor, which weren’t no more than a large attic. The beams that held up the roof showed. There was windows in the front where the gables were, but they was painted over all black. There were just one light hanging down from the ceiling in the center of the room. She turned it on from a switch by the stairs. Twelve cots were lined up on each side of the room; there were one at the end next to the blacked out windows. At the foot of each cot were a little chest, or trunk. She took me to one that had the covers all folded up down at the foot of the cot.

“This’n will be yours,” she said. You can put your stuff in the chest. Make your bed, then come downstairs; take a seat in one of the chairs in the hallway. Reverand Whitcomb will want to talk to you. You better not take too long.”

I hurried-put my stuff away and made my bed-came downstairs-sat in a chair, but I don’t know why she told me to hurry, because I sat there a dreadful long time. I’m not even sure how long it were because I fell asleep while sitting there.

The next thing I remembered was someone shaking my shoulder real rough.

“Wake up...wake up.”

I looked up to see a tall old man, his head framed by gray hair which stood straight out from it. He wore glasses, over which were thick gray eyebrows, and he had a hooked nose. He was skinny, but I could tell from the grip he had on my shoulder-it hurt-that he was strong. His mouth turned down at the corners.

“Get up. Follow me,” he said.

I followed him into a room that opened off the hallway. In it were a desk, set next to the window. He walked over-sat down behind the desk. I glanced around for a chair, but there waren’t none. I stood in front of his desk-fidgeting. Under his thick eyebrows, his cold blue eyes peered at me over the top of his glasses. He stared at me and, with his fingers stuck together, twiddled his thumbs. There were a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said.

In walked the fat lady followed by two mean looking, skinny, men.

“This is Mrs Peters, Mr. Stone, and Mr. Finn. They help me run this home. You will obey them, as you will obey me. Whatever any of us tell you, you are to do.”

He picked up a razor strap. I jumped as he slapped it hard against his desk.

“There are consequences for bad behavior. I suggest that you don’t test us to find out what they are.”

I weren’t sure what “consequences” meant, but I were sure it weren’t something good.

“You’ll work while you’re here,” the reverand continued. “During growing season we wake up at 5:00 A.M.; Breakfast is at 5:15 and work starts at 6:00. You’ll be in the fields until 7:00 P.M. Dinner is at 7:30, lights out is at 9:00 P.M. You’ll get half a day off on Sundays, but I conduct church services after lunch. You will attend. During winter, there will be maintenance chores, including chopping wood for the house fires. You will also attend classes for two hours a day. It’ll probably be wasted on you, as it is on most of the boys here, but it’s a state requirement.”

“Now...for the rules: There will be no blaspheming. There will be no stealing; stealing food will be severely punished. There will be no masturbation, and...there will be no queers in this house. Being queer is a sin in the eyes of the Lord. We have ways of curing queers.”

Heck, I weren’t even sure what a queer was, or what masturbation meant, and at that time, I just had a little bitty cock without any hair. I couldn’t have jerked off, even if I’d wanted to.

The Reverand continued with his lecture: “Work hard, obey the rules, and honor the Lord-you’ll be O.K. Go get ready for dinner. You’ll have the rest of the night off. Breakfast is at 5:15 A.M.”

As I walked upstairs to my bed, I thought, “Gawd...I thought that living with my pa were bad. Leastwise he didn’t make me work all day long.” I didn’t like the look of Reverand Whitcomb, nor those two skinny fellers.

I weren’t lying on my bed too long before the other boys started coming in. They really looked drag ass tired. They had washed up some at the pump outside the house, but their clothes were still pretty dirty. They all took off their dirty clothes-piled them besides their beds and changed to some pajama like outfits. Most of them seemed too tired to pay me no nevermind, but the boy in the cot next to mine looked over at me.

“Hi...whut’s yore name?”

“Jimmy Ray Wilson,” I said.

“Hi, Jimmy Ray. My name is Billy Bob Morton.”

“Do they really make us work from six o’clock in the morning until seven at night?”

“Yep...and you get the strap, if‘n they don’t think you’re working hard enough. Ol Stone and Finn are bad enough, but you shore don’t want the Reverand to take hold of you.”

“Why do you stay?” I asked. “Why don’t you run away?”

“The cops’ll catch you, and bring you back and they’ll lock you in the hole...or worse.”

“What’s the hole?”

“The hole is a box. It ain’t big enough to lie down in, less’n you’re real small, nor big enough to stand up in. It’s in one of the sheds out back. It’s real dark, hot in the summer, cold in the winter. They don’t feed you-just give you a little water each day. You have to sit in there in yore piss and shit. They say there’s some boys have died in the box. Besides, see that kid over there?” he said pointing to a boy on the other side of the room.

I looked where he were pointing. There were a boy that were limping real bad.

“That there’s Jack. He tried running onest. The Reverand cut him behind the ankle so he don’t walk so good, no more.”

“Why don’t the cops do nothing about it?” I asked.

“Hell, most of the boys here have had trouble with the law; that’s why we’re here. The boys here don’t cause no trouble in town so, the cops think the Reverand is doing good. They wouldn’t believe us before him.”

He looked up as we heard the other boys filing from the room. “Come on,” he said. “We got to get to dinner, before it’s all gone.”

I followed him downstairs to a large dining room behind the kitchen. There were a long wooden table with benches on each side to sit on. I sat down next to Billy Bob. There were a metal plate, a spoon, and a glass in front of me. Pretty soon a couple of kids came around with pots. They dipped out some stuff from them onto our plates. It had some vegetables in it, and just a little bit of meat. Not all of us got any meat. They just gave us each a dipper full. When one boy asked for more, Finn hit him with a strap. I were still hungry after we finished. This were the first meal I’d had since I left home. When I whispered to Billy Bob, “Can we have more?’ he told me not to ask. We had one piece of bread and water to drink.

When we got back upstairs, there were one of the pajama like uniforms on my cot. Billy Bob told me that I had to wear them around the house. We sat around and talked some. I asked questions about living there, but I sure didn’t like what I was hearing. There were chores in the fields each day, and chores at the house. It were easier working at the house, but you had to be careful not to piss off the Reverand. He was real handy with the strap. It seemed like we hadn’t been talking no time till the light was turned off. Billy Bob and me whispered for a while, but we were both tired, so we fell asleep pretty soon.

It seemed like I’d just got to sleep when the light was turned on in the morning. Stone was yelling, “All right you little bastards, it’s time to get up.”

I guess that the Reverand’s rule against blaspheming didn’t apply to Stone and Finn, cause they cussed at us all the time. We went to breakfast-it were a glass of milk and a bowl of oatmeal-then we went to the fields to work.

The work was hard. I spent the day hoeing weeds. By the time we quit, I couldn’t hardly straighten out my arms. Finn and Stone would sometimes hit a kid that weren’t working fast enough, but generally they was too lazy to bother. They mostly sat under a tree in the shade. About noon, the same boys that fed us dinner brought sandwiches to us in the field. We only got one sandwich apiece. It weren’t hardly enough. I recalled that I hadn’t seen these boys in our sleeping room.

“Who are those boys?” I asked Billy Bob. “Where do they sleep?”

“Shh...don’t ask about them, and don’t try talking to them. You’ll really get into trouble, if you do.”

I didn’t get beat too much during the next year. I’d get an occasional hiding from Stone or Finn, but giving a boy a real hiding were too much work for them. Onest in a while they’d get pissed off and give a boy a real beating, but I managed to avoid really pissing them off. Finn was pissed at me onest, but Stone told him:

“Careful, don’t mark him up. You know the Reverand don’t want him marked.”

People told me that I were a good looking feller, but I didn’t know why the Reverand wouldn’t want me marked. I thought about how most of the kitchen boys was all good looking fellers, too. I wondered if’n the Reverand wanted me to work in the kitchen; I didn’t know whether I would want to, or not. They sure didn’t work as hard as the rest of us did, and looked like they got plenty to eat-the rest of us were always hungry-but none of us boys ever could talk to them, and them boys never smiled. Billy Bob would never answer any of my questions about them, neither. It were real strange, because he would talk about anything else.

My cock had gotten big during the year, and I had hair on my balls and above my cock. One night I looked over’n seen Billy Bob’s covers moving up and down.

“What’re you doing, Billy Bob?” I asked.

“Shh...I’m jerking off, dummy.

“What does that do?”

“Try it and you’ll find out,” he replied.

“How do I do it?”

“Hell, I can see that yore cock is hard. It’s poking up under the sheet. Just grab hold of it and start pumping it.”

I grabbed hold of my cock and started pumping it like I could see Billy Bob doing. It weren’t long before I was thrusting my hips in time with my hand.

“Easy...keep quiet,” whispered Billy Bob.

I waren’t listening too good though, because just then all the tension that had built up was released in an explosion, a wet explosion that spurted from my cock all over my stomach. For a minute, nothing else mattered except for my cock, except for the juices shooting from it. The feeling waren’t just in my cock, though. I could feel it all over my body. It felt like all the tension, all the pain, all the anger, all the fear, for a few moments, had drained from my body. I lay there for a while, my body all aglow, my thumb over the end of my cock, feeling the wet juices still oozing from the hole.

Billy Bob tossed me some toilet paper.

“Here, clean yourself up. You don’t want them to know that you’ve been jerking off.”

From then on, I jerked off every chance I got. It were winter time, so we wasn’t working in the fields. Mostly we was working around the house. The hardest chore were chopping wood. Billy Bob and I always jerked off together at night.

Then, one night, Billy Bob got out of his bed. In the dim light from the stairs I could see his hard cock jutting out from his body. He pulled back my covers’n crawled into bed with me.

“What’re you doing, Billy Bob?” I asked. You’ll get us into trouble.”

“Shh...” he said, as he grabbed hold of my cock.

He started pumping it. I lay back for a moment, enjoying the feeling, then reached over to grab his cock. I started pumping it. When his cock started shooting its cum-I could feel it pumping in my hand-I started shooting my cum onto my stomach. I didn’t have no time to enjoy it, though. The light came on. Reverand Whitcomb, Stone, and Finn was standing there at the head of the stairs. I hadn’t heard them come up.

“So, we got some queers, huh? We have a way of curing queers. Grab’em boys.”

Stone and Finn were on me before I could jump out of bed. When they pulled me up, my pants was still around my knees, cum shined in the light on my stomach.

“Bring him downstairs,” said Reverand Whitcomb.

I looked at Billy Bob. They hadn’t grabbed him. Tears were streaming from his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Jimmy Ray. They made me do it,” cried Billy Bob.

Finn backhanded him. “Shut up you little faggot.”

They drug me down to the kitchen-my pants, still down around my knees. There were a big cutting table in the kitchen. They stripped off my clothes-I didn’t like the way the Reverand were looking at my naked body, at my cock-at my balls-and tied me to the table. I were on my back with my arms tied above my head, my legs tied to iron rings at the corners of the table so that they was spread apart. Finn soaped me up around my cock, my balls, and my legs around my crotch. He then picked up a razor’n started shaving all the hair off down there. The whole time I was screaming:

“What’re you gonna do? Let me go; I won’t do it no more.”

They didn’t pay me no nevermind-until Finn finished shaving me.

“I told you, when you first came here that we had a way of curing queers. I guess you should have listened,” said the Reverand.

“But...I didn’t do nothin. Billy Bob climbed into my bed.”

“You had your hand on his penis. You masturbated him. That makes you a queer. Now for the cure.”

First he stuck some kind of plastic tubing into my cock’s hole. He fed it in until I could see the yellow pee running out. It were still dripping out the tube when he picked up a knife. I screamed when he split open my ball sack. I looked in horror-but was unable to look away-as my blue-white balls slid into sight. He then cut away most of my ball sack, leaving my balls naked, dangling by cords from my cock. Then the Reverand picked up some kind of tool. It kind of looked like a big pincher. He grabbed hold of one of my balls-pulled on it stretching the cords. I felt the pull clear up into my stomach. With the pincher, he clamped down on the cords above my ball. It felt like someone had kicked me-real hard-in the nuts. I was screaming, but no one paid me no attention. With the pincher still clamped down, the Reverand picked up a knife. With a flick of his wrist, he cut through the cords. My ball rolled onto the table. I couldn’t believe that this was really happening. I was feeling woozy when he cut off my other ball. When he started cutting on my cock, I fainted.

When I woke up, I were in a room by myself, but I were tied to the bed. There were a sheet over me. My crotch hurt like hell, but I couldn’t see nothin. I remembered that the Reverand had cut off my balls. I wondered what else he had done. When Mrs. Peters came in to change my bandages, I found out. There were no cock, no balls, nothin but skin and stitches between my legs. A tube ran out from down where my cock used to be. It ran to a bottle down on the floor. I seen Mrs. Peters change it. She fed me-held a bed pan when I had to shit. After about a week I had healed enough so that she untied me. The door were kept locked, and there were no window. I were too sore to walk around much, and, besides, the tube still ran from my body to the jug. If I walked around, I had to pick it up-to carry it around with me. Now, there was a pot in the corner which I used to shit in. Onest in a while the Reverand would come in to check on me.

When I had healed enough, I was moved into a room with the other kitchen boys. They had all had their cocks and balls cut off. I were cautioned not to talk to the boys that didn’t work in the kitchen, and even the boys there didn’t talk to each other much. When I first served the boys at the table, Billy Bob didn’t even look at me.

Eventually I was healed. Most of the scars were hidden by the hair which had grown back out. I had to sit down like a girl to pee; it still felt strange when I ran my hand over my crotch-it was so smooth without by cock and my balls.

The Reverand regularly made trips to our room. He would take one-sometimes two-of the boys out. None of the other boys said anything when I asked what were going on. One night he came for me.

Reverand Whitcomb took me to his room.

“Take off your clothes. Get into the bed.”

I were scared of what might happen, but I were more scared of what the Reverand might do, if’n I didn’t do what he said. I took off my clothes-got into his bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed-pulled off his pants. As he scooted under the covers I could see his hard cock bobbing above the gray hair around it. I were lying on my back. He rubbed his hand over my smooth crotch. I could hear his breath coming faster. He spit in his hand-rubbed it on my asshole. Then he raised my legs up and poked my asshole with the head of his cock. It hurt something terrible when he stuck his cock all the way in. I thought he were going to split me apart. He shuddered when he came-collapsed on top of me. I thought I were going to be squished, but, after a minute, he rolled off.

“Go back to your room,” he said.

I pulled on my clothes, stood there for a moment beside the bed.

“I thought you didn’t like queers,” I said.

He hit me hard, knocking me to the floor.

“It’s only queer when you do it with another man, or with a boy. You’re no longer either.”

I went back to our room. None of the other boys looked up as I came in.