Tales of Boys Choir (First Movement)

  Many, many years ago, fourth grade through eighth grade, I sang in a highly professional boys choir associated with the symphony orchestra in a major city. I have many memories of my choir days.

 A little background: There were about a hundred boys in various stages of training and performance. We lived in a dorm and went to private school together. A board of mature (straight) musicians ran the organization with help from a staff of hand-picked teenage guys whose voices had become too deep to sing in a treble choir. Those older boys were in general a horny bunch who were surrounded by a sea of "artsy" pubertal boys. My awareness of the sexual undertones began when I was about twelve.

  One of my first erotic memories is of a choral rehearsal conducted by one of the big boys. We were working on a piece called "Open the Gates of the Temple." The conductor told us we sounded really wimpy on the opening note of the song. He wanted a strong emphasis on that note, the letter "O" at the beginning of the word "Open." He called a boy to come stand facing him and demonstrated how weak the boy's attack was. Giving him some musical mumbo-jumbo, he then instructed the kid to try it again. This time when the downbeat came for "O," just as the boy got his mouth open for the syllable, the teen conductor darted his hand out and grabbed the boy's crotch and apparently gave his junk a definite twist. The kid belted out "O" like never before. The student conductor then announced that he was available for any boy who wanted to experience his method of vocal attack. I was new and declined. One of the boys who accepted said the conductor gave his entire package several very nice exploratory squeezes and encouraged the boy to have a feel of the director's prick as well.

 We all had individual voice lessons as well as choir sessions. A guy named Crocker was my voice coach and he was assisted by another guy who played piano for the lessons. Crocker had a habit of resting his right hand on my belly while I sang. He claimed that he did it so he could judge the tension of my diaphragm. His hand remained where it was supposed to during our first couple of lessons. But once we had gotten used to each other his hand gradually moved downward until he could wrap his fingers around my bulge (my dick was hard by then), giving my stiffie a gentle squeeze. "Contact," he told the piano player, who flashed his eyes toward my crotch.

 Each voice lesson contained a little more groping and soon he "assisted" me with every song by giving my stiffie back-and-forth strokes corresponding to the beat of the music. The pianist watched us, often missing notes and making mistakes because he was trying to rearrange his dick and play the piano at the same time.

More to come.

Anonymous Choir Boy