How Billy became a man

Once there was a boy named Billy Warren, who lived in an old house on Bay Street with his elderly parents.   He was an only child and by the usual way of listening in on adult conversations between his parents and between his mother and her sister, he gradually came to understand that he was what is known as a “love child”, born out of wedlock to parents who did not particularly want him. He was an inconvenience and an imposition. 

His father was in the navy and had come ashore almost 15 years before, an old salt, a 48 year old man still sailing on Canadian vessels around the world.   He met a 38 year old  nurse in a bar and after they both consumed enough alcohol to permit it, they had gone to his hotel room and had sex.  He did not wear a condom.  


Billy Warren was born about nine months later while his father was back out at sea.   His mother, the nurse had kept his name and address and had informed him of the blessed event.   Their families were adamant and when his father returned, they were dutifully, if quietly married at City Hall.

His mother retired from full time nursing but still worked part time.   His father retired from active service and went to work in a pop factory, supervising the loading of pop onto the delivery trucks.

Billy’s father was still a heavy drinker and a pipe smoker.   Billy’s father was distant, not having much to do with his son.   He often retired to his room, complaining of tiredness from his work.  But he would sometimes emerge, unpredictably, in a blind rage.  He would look for his son then and beat him with a strap. “Please Dad don’t” Billy pleaded.  “Why are you doing this, why?   I didn’’t do anything” he cried.

 “This’s for being born, curse the day.  And this is for what you’re gonna do!” he screamed and beat his son until he drew blood on his buttocks.   On more than one occasion, he left his son sobbing in his room.

His mother was a disciplinarian and wanted everything Billy played with cleaned up immediately.  She did not let him bring too many friends into the house because she did not want them “messing things up.”  “Billy,” she said, “are you ever going to amount to anything?”   Sometimes, she would look at a mess he had made and exclaim, “At this rate, you’ll never get anywhere.   Your father’s cursed you with his inheritance, good for nothing.”

Billy and his family lived in a dark house, which smelled of the same moth balls his mother had used before she was married.  The house was semi-detached and so had no windows on one side.   On the other side, the house was almost right beside the large blank wall of a commercial building, separated by only a few feet.   Very little light entered by the two windows there.   The front and back windows were heavily curtained and the curtains kept tightly closed.  Electric lights were only turned on after sundown.  Otherwise, Billy had to spend his time outdoors or, if he sat quietly, was allowed to open the curtain a crack in the rear kitchen, while doing homework or reading during the day.

No rude noises were allowed in the house, except in the bathroom with the door tightly closed.   Billy had received a few spankings from his mother for farting in the living room.   No music except classical music was allowed and that only when his father did not have a headache.

One day, not long after Billy’s twelfth birthday, his father had a heart attack and was sent home from work.   His mother went back to work full time.   His father stayed in his room, “convalescing” and smelling of alcohol when he emerged.   He was surly with his son who was cowed by his physical size and by memories of the strap he wielded when he was younger and in a foul mood.

His father, however, was not young, and was in fact almost feeble.   Billy himself was growing into a large, chubby male, with sharp features in a large square face, marked by acne and pink highlights under his eyes.   His hair was light blonde and he looked like a failed albino.  As his father became noticeably weaker, he felt angrier.  A limit, a prop in his world had been removed.  He felt he was walking on a high ledge with no railing and it was all his father’s fault.

Billy learned to spend time on his own.   He read books.   He watched television when his family acquired one.   He spent time with his family cat, a fat gray and white neutered cat misnamed Tiger.  His father, at home now almost all the time, dressed in pyjamas, slippers and a housecoat, stayed away from him and left him to his own devices.

Billy’s only friend was his older  cousin who lived next door.  His cousin, the son of his mother’s sister, was also blond, but was long and lanky.   It was his cousin that introduced him to sex.   He showed Billy how to masturbate.  

Billy was shy and afraid at first but watched in fascination as his cousin masturbated on his bed, lying on his back, moving his hand and wiping himself with a Kleenex afterward.   Billy was shocked and disgusted but also both fascinated and delighted when the liquid seemed to shoot straight up into the air like a fountain.

Billy agreed to try doing it himself.   At first, he thought he was going to die, but with his cousin giving him encouragement, he kept on and produced the same results.  The feeling was like nothing he had ever felt before.   It was such absolute relief.   He looked down at himself and for the first time felt some direct connection to the world.  This was something he had produced out of his own body that was not the waste byproduct of the food he ate.

He started to examine Tiger’s privates more closely.   When Tiger resisted, he put his had on Tiger’s neck and pressed his head to the floor.   As he watched the cat flop to and fro, he felt the same kind of control that he had had over his own body.   He was in charge.    He was stronger than the cat.   He began to enjoy seeing what the cat would do if he approached it with a match.   He tried to choke the cat once just to watch it wriggle and its desperate declawed struggle to scratch his arms with its hind legs.   He let it go and smiled.  

His cousin now came over every day after school and in his room, they would masturbate together.  His cousin said, “try imagining somebody while you do it.   It makes it even better.”

Billy closed his eyes and thought of his mother.   His erection failed.   Then he thought of his father and the surge of anger he felt stiffened him.  The feeling did not last.   Then he thought of Tiger, struggling for air, fighting him in complete fear.   He felt a strong infusion of blood into his penis and the pleasure was excruciating.  He visualized choking the cat, shaking it until it was lifeless and then he climaxed.

“Did you think of somebody?” his cousin asked.

“Yes,” said Billy and grinned.

This routine lasted for about a month.   Then his cousin asked if he could masturbate him instead of doing it separately.   Something in Billy at first rebelled at this idea and he did not answer.  “I’ll give you twenty-five of my comics,” his cousin said.

Billy thought of the comics.  His cousin had one of the best collections he had ever seen.
“Can I pick them?”

“Sure, sure, just let me do it.”

Billy lay back, took down his pants and waited.   His cousin came over and started to pump him.   Billy started to think of the cat, but as his cousin continued, he realized that he was thinking of the cat from the inside.   He was looking out of the cat’s eyes up at his own narrowly focused eyes with their pinkish gleam.   He was helpless.   He was out of control.   He tried to hold back but could not and he climaxed yelling out his cousin’s name.

His cousin kissed him on the lips.  Billy pushed him away.   “Where are the comics?” he said.

His cousin let him have his pick.  

Billy now started to notice that he was growing larger than his father.   His father was wasting away.  He began to walk with a cane.   His mother began to act as a nurse with his father in the same way she treated her patients at the hospital.  

One day, Billy played rock and roll music on the radio while his mother was away at work.   His father came out of the room and boomed at him, “What the hell are you doing?  Turn that crap off.”

He came down the stairs holding the railing.  “Well, turn off the damn radio!  Or change the damn station!”  He approached Billy sitting on the couch.   Billy got up and stopped his father.

“Just go back to your room Dad.  Just go back to your room.   I’ll turn it down a bit and you can do whatever it is you do in there.”

His father looked at him, half stunned.   His son had never answered him before, never refused an order.

“But, but, it’s too damn noisy.   What’ll your mother say?”

Billy held onto his arms firmly and said in a quiet voice, “Mom’s not here is she?  She won’t say anything.   You just go to your room and relax.   And you don’t have to say anything either.”

His father faltered, his breathing more laboured.  “All right, all right.   But you turn it down a bit, OK?”

“Sure Dad, sure.   Just go back to your room.”  Billy spun his father around and gave him a little nudge.   His father stumbled but regained his balance as he reached the stairs.

“Feeling your oats, eh?” he said. “Just wait ‘til I get better.   Just wait ‘til I get back on my feet.  I’ll show you how to listen to a father.  I’ll show you how to follow orders.”   Nevertheless, he climbed the stairs and returned to his room.

Billy smiled broadly and turned up the music.   His father yelled faintly once or twice but he did not come out of the room.   Eventually all was silent upstairs.

When his cousin came over that day, Billy was not satisfied with the ususal routine.   His cousin had his hand on him masturbating him.  Billy stood up and kissed his cousin, then slapped him.   He pushed his head down until his cousin had him in his mouth.  

Billy began to pump in a frenzy, then stopped.  

He pushed his cousin off and turned away.  “Get out of here,” he said.  “this is shit.”

His cousin came up behind him and tried to grab him again.  He spun around and punched his cousin who crumpled like a rag doll.   His anger rising, Billy grabbed his limp cousin and threw him on the bed.   In a rage he banged his head against the wall.   Then he pulled down his pants and underwear.

He himself now felt more excited than he ever had.    He felt that he could load a building onto his erection.   He spread his cousin’s buttocks and entered him.   His cousin moaned feebly.  

Billy grabbed his cousin’s hair.   He could hear his cousin saying, “Oh God, oh God” as he closed his eyes and tried to imagine his cat.   But the image would not appear.   Instead he had his hands around his father’s neck.   As he was driving himself into his cousin he could see himself driving his fist down his father’s throat. 

After his cousin had left, Billy checked on his father.  He found him half falling out of the bed, a lifeless arm stretched out holding an almost empty bottle, the room reeking of scotch and old pipe tobacco.    His face was waxen and expressionless and the eyes seemed to be staring upward without moving.   He closed the door quietly.

That night when his mother came home late, Billy had prepared supper for her.  “Oh my,” she said, “our Billy is growing up.   Soon he will be a man.   Look how he organized supper for me.   And all the pots and dishes are where they should be.”

This was the first time he remembered hearing praise from his mother and Billy smiled the smile of the truly contented.  “I just do what’s right, Mom, I just do what’s right.”

“Someday, William, if you go on like this, you will make some woman a find husband.   Where’s your Father, anyway?”  her expression went from approving but distant to annoyed.

Billy grinned even more broadly, “Everything is in its place Mom.   Everything is as it should be.  He’s in his room and we’re here eating supper.”   His mother hesitated briefly and then began eating her meal.   Billy sat and watched her silently.

Today, he felt, he had finally become a man.