The Groaning Times: Prologue

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My name is Michael, or least that was my name prior to my incarceration in the Year 2135. After that date, I was known as Number 0144. This is now the Year 2146, and I’ve been paroled from the Reeducation Prison to prepare my memoir of that time. After my many petitions, the Bureau of Reparations has permitted me to undertake the project, the telling of this incredible tale. Thankfully, I’ve been granted complete immunity from all retribution to present this history in uncensored form for posterity. In any case, the “powers that be” should find little to offend them here. For I’ve come to accept the justice of the new order of things.

I dedicate this work to the honorable Princess Tai Vu on her 18th birthday, which occurred this very day. This tribute is only fitting. An encounter with Tai one sunny day eleven years ago, when I was 14 and she only 7, on the green of my exclusive New England preparatory school set this upheaval in motion. That simple incident was to turn our privileged, gated community, Lily-white world upside down. The lives of myself and others of my social class were never the same after our inadvisable rudeness to that tiny Asian girl, the shy waif-like daughter of a poor dining hall worker. Tai was reduced to tears for being caught picking plums and carrying a packet of Bratwurst sausages stolen by her mother from our dining club. After having the contraband yanked from her, Tai fell in the mud in front of us laughing white teens. Unfortunately for us, this scene was accidentally caught on camera for all the outside the world to see. It was political incorrectness personified.

Little did we imagine it at the time, but that event would lead to years of punishment and reeducation for the arrogance of our ways. We were soon to learn the meaning of redress and tribute and respect. The rest of our teenaged years were to be spent in this purgatory.

Though bashful and disadvantaged, the dark-eyed Tai would rise high and fast after her traumatic day in our prep school yard, so high she that could scarcely comprehend the sudden supremacy of her station. She had become a pint-sized Heroine of the People, a celebrated folk symbol of the triumphant new racial and ethnic order. The newly empowered masses hailed her, feted her with banquets, and showered her with gifts.

We, on the other hand, indeed our entire class of young people, would fall painfully low. Low enough that our very semen was forbidden its natural purpose. For it was the dawn of what we came to call the Groaning Times.

They were the moaning, groaning, wincing times as we fell under the “management” of Tai’s avenging, street-tough older brothers. Although her brothers were still younger than we and not even into their puberty, they proved to be crack-whips of the highest order in running a prison for blueblood white teens. They doted on their pretty little sister and spared us no pains in honoring her.

Helen of Troy’s face is said to have launched a thousand ships. Well, Tai deserves to be known as the Helen of this era. By age 18, the revolutionary tabloids had dubbed her as The Princess Who Inspired A Thousand Whacks. Yes, there are 1000 of us white males who need only look between our legs to appreciate her profound impact on our lives. Let’s just say Tai “inspired” a thousand fallings of the blade and even more crushings of the sources of our scorned seed. Of course, the Princess never lifted a finger herself, and there was never any physical contact with her during any of these painful proceedings. Her brothers and their Corps of “boy guards” did all the dirty work

The Princess, who is every bit as beautiful as a woman today as she was stunningly pretty as a little girl back then, consented to share with me her impressions of these past events as I complied this memoir. We sat together for many hours as Tai, still showing a trace of her foreign accent, expressed her girlish wonder, excitement and amazement at the scenes she witnessed day after day over those years.

During our discussions, Tai’s flawless olive skin, soft voice and waist-length black hair flowing down over her silk sheath dress mesmerized me. Up close, her beauty and charm are such that I can now fully understand why a few teen inmates eventually petitioned to have their own penises whacked off in her honor. A taxidermist always mounted the severed penises on wall plaques, in a fully erect state, so that Tai could use them to hang her clothes in a huge walk-in closet. The very knowledge that the Asian beauty came that close to touching those dried-out members each day made some of the white teen prisoners freely offer theirs up.

Tai has kindly read and commented on my drafts, so you will be treated to many quotes and insights from her own hand. She suggested that I simply refer to her as “Tai” when needed to avoid being monotonous with the term “Princess.” Halfway through my work, she arranged to take me as her personal slave, which made me deliriously happy. In case you’re wondering, she has declared independence from her brothers.

And today, for the first time, Tai touched my naked penis. It just came out of the blue. She had me get down on all fours to replenish her container of hair conditioner. Since our downfall, it was the Asian girls’ custom to add young white men’s harvested sperm to such lotions, due to the extra sheen it lent to their long black hair. As the honored guest of the Prison, Tai had always been amply supplied with highly enriched lotion. Frankly, the practice caused all 5000 of us to breath a huge sigh of relief. It saved us from the weeping insanity that the Tingleroot was bringing upon us that first month. It was this and the fertilization of Tai’s plum trees that finally gave us an outlet to beat away the maddening yearning that gripped our constantly swollen penises.

Tai said it was her first time to harvest cum herself, but felt she wanted to learn the skill now that she was 18 and “independent.” It made my knees weak to feel her soft fingers tickle the underside of my shaft. She giggled, “Does it feel like the feathers?”

I nodded. My heart was hammering. Tai was referring to the big Ostrich feathers her bolder female classmates had used to tease our penises in the Prison. We had to stand at perfect attention as they ran giggling up and down our lines sweeping those plumes over our glans.

Cradling my balls with one hand, Tai began gently pumping my shaft with the other. She was obviously copying what she had seen us do thousands of times with our own cocks at harvest time in the Prison.

As Tai steadily masturbated me, she talked of her “journey of understanding” at the Reeducation Prison. She said she loved to invite her friends to view the weekly cum harvests. She said, “It was funny to see so many of you handsome white boys on pulling on your meat for our lotions and things. You beat your meat so hard it looked like you would pull your poor penises off!”

Tai giggled with delight at the volume of my spunk that suddenly exploded into the bottle. To me the feeling was indescribable, as if I my cum had been trapped in my nuts since age 14. As Tai squeezed the last drops from my penis, I could only gasp that it was an honor to have been conquered and punished in her name. Still holding my cock, she teased, “Do you really mean that? Would you still feel that way even if my brothers had cut off this big sausage of yours, your own dick?”

I looked up at her and replied, “Yes Princess.” For a moment, it seemed as if Tai would burst into tears. Then she leaned over to kiss my cheek and whispered, “You’ll never lack for a milking as long as you’re with me.”

Of course, we both know that I can never have sexual relations with her. By law, my genitals would be publicly torn out by their roots for such impertinence. The sperm of my kind is still forbidden for breeding.

Thinking back, Tai’s feelings as a little girl about the white teen imprisonment were a mystery to me at the time, for we were forbidden to look at her or address her unless spoken to. That so young a young Asian girl could be allowed to witness our humiliation and punishment was shock enough alone. I and others often wondered what she thought of such uncensored sights, many of them staged by her strict older brothers as spectacles in her (and sometimes her sleepover playmates’) honor.

In one of Tai’s early memories conveyed to me for this history, she commented, “There were so many of you handsome teenaged white boys and more coming through the gate in chains each day! So many white male bodies in one place! And all nude except for those odd slings. No longer were there any of the fine clothes I had always seen you wear at the school. Suddenly, everything was so bare naked and strict for you! And your faces were so red. And you had such boners, as my brothers called the rods between your legs when I asked what they were. Your boners were so big they stretched out your flimsy slings. I wondered if white boys were born with red faces and big boners. Of course, I had never seen penises before, much less boners. I couldn‘t help but giggle at the sight.”

Tai was very observant at age 7. Our faces were burning red with shame at what we were required to do in reparation for our “insult” to the little girl, to be displayed in an extremely erect state due to the tickling herb called “tingleroot” we were forced to eat, wearing the sheer nylon pittance of a G-string known as a “sling.” Then we were told that the seed gorging our sacks from masturbatory denial, aggravated by the relentless stimulation of the Tingleroot, was now “banned” for breeding and fit only for plant fertilizer.

The prison was as much an assault on our egos as anything else, as we were brought low before all, even the littlest of them. For the next few years, the giggling of Tai and other Asian, Hispanic and black adults and children was to ring with special chagrin in our ears.

Yet, considering the origins or our ordeal, there was a kernel of poetic justice in what befell us. Every one of us, even the cut ones, would have to admit it. We had it all and could have afforded to be more generous back in that prep school yard. We learned in the Prison that privilege without manners is eventually called to account. In this case, the reckoning was humiliating beyond our most horrifying fantasies. The aristocracy who endured the French Revolution would blanche at what befell us.

Now, I’m able to weave in the Princess’s perspective on all this. Again, I thank her deeply for her frankness

I should say that Princess Tai is not a member of a royal family per se, but we learned to refer to her as “the princess” at the prison. We did so with a smile on our lips and a bow. Her brothers and the others juvenile guards insisted upon such terms of respect from the “rich white boys.”

Tai shared with me her delight at hearing herself called Princess by so many handsome teenaged white boys, though she said she never imagined her “subjects” would be so utterly naked.

Tai also explained how her understanding of the nature of our ordeal grew over time as she began to absorb the majesty of her position -- the little Asian girl in her suite of lavishly furnished rooms filled with dolls and doll houses looking out on the Reeducation Prison complex where we, the formerly rich white boys, labored in her honor under a discipline as hard as iron administered by her older brothers and their compatriots.

Of course, Tai’s shyness soon gave way to laughter at the nude displays, spectacles and contests presented in her honor. And as time passed, her whims and requests began to emerge to shape the demands placed on us. In helping me with this memoir, Tai confessed her amazement and delight at how quickly the suggestions and requests she demurely presented to her brothers would become vivid reality the next day.

And Tai’s brothers invariably choreographed these events into ordeals for our genitalia. Those boys barely suffered our organs to exist within the same building as their little sister, so our cocks and balls were made to pay for the privilege. Of course, any vigorous activity is both painful and perilous for a stiff penis, which ours perpetually were. And one’s balls were always at risk. I considered myself lucky to get through so many of these spectacles with only a sore shaft and a pair of swollen nuts. At lease those bruises always healed back to normal.

It took Tai some time to get an inkling of how painful some of these “entertainments” were for our penises and testicles, because we had to suppress any complaint that might spoil the younger audience’s mood or startle them. She said, “It took me two months to see how tender boys’ balls are, how worrisome for him is that strange sack between his legs. But I had a lot of things to learn. I had to figure out all that guard slang such as what it means for a boy to ‘sling his meat’ before I come into his presence, or ‘surrender his sausage’ in my honor or to be ‘single nutted’ versus ‘double nutted’ in a contest, or have his ‘butter’ weighed as a measure of his worth, or to be ‘given a groaner’, or the consequences of his being a ‘short shooter.’ ‘Boners’ and ‘groaners’ and ‘pissy fits’ and ‘piss calls’ and ‘cream-ups’ all that silly stuff. It was a lot to absorb for a little girl like me!”

Yet, throughout our ordeals, Tai retained a certain purity and innocence, even when her soft, musical voice learned to utter the prison slang. Even to this day, she innocently assumes that a white man’s having to give up his dick or balls in her honor is, while painful, much less of a trauma for us than we know it truly is. Given that she grew up hanging her clothes from our mounted penises and seeing the occasional petition from a teen offering to give his penis in her honor, I guess she can be forgiven for taking such events more lightly than we do. And I don’t want to trouble her mind with the too much of the truth of it.

Yes, Princess Tai is the unlikely heroine of the turnabout that shook my relatively sheltered upper middle class Anglo world to its roots. And in a literal sense, we were shaken to our penile roots, not mention the soon-to-be aching cores of our pale testicles. The whims of that doll-like little Asian beauty were the indirect genesis of more testicular agony than has probably ever been seen this planet. Hearing a guard say “Princess Tai wants to see….” was often enough to trigger an apprehensive twinge in our balls.

Yes, Tai has shared her inner heart in our discussions.

My testimony is to be placed in a time capsule for the edification of whatever future race or lofty social class may take a lesson from it. It’s such a cliché, but I guess you could call this a cautionary tale for the “high and mighty.” I hope it will show that the penis concealed by the garments of the affluent young Anglo man is still, after all, a penis. And when the owner of that pale penis is made to labor naked, that pale penis will sway under the sun like any other penis. And when that man’s power is gone, he can make all the moral and political arguments he wants about why those who’ve utterly triumphed over him should not whack his pale penis off. But if they’re determined to whack it off, they will.

Five thousand of we former prep schoolers all learned that hard lesson in the Reeducation Prison. When we sensed displeasure at our performance, we learned to lay our “unworthy white meat” on the chopping block as a good faith gesture of our “penance” (euphemistically called “giving up the sausage”) and then hope for mercy. I just hope you will have mercy on my poor attempt to describe all this.

Now, please read and enjoy if you can. Long live Princess Tai!

[Coming: “The Groaning Times Part 2: Our Downfall”]

[My first try at this. I’ll wait for feedback. Thank you.]