This morning I reached into my back pocket, pulled out the wallet, flipped it open and slowly nudged a coin I’ve carried on me since I turned into a “man”. It read 1944, the year my father declared to neighbors and friends that I had turn into a “man”. Becoming a “man” in my country is a telling event for father and son. I had seen it bring together families as I had seen it pull others apart.
Throughout my childhood it was stressed that successfully passing the event on the first attempt granted rights to a brotherhood exclusive to males. The brotherhood was small, most of the members were very old men. There were also a few young members — around my age or so, but not many. The gap in age was created by the death of nearly a full generation of men from my village at the hands of the fascists. So, gaining rights to one was a great honor.
For the entire year, i was to follow my dad around, learning from him how to become a man; how to gain knowledge that would allow me to feed my future family as well as protect them. That year I gained more knowledge about my father than I had in the 15 previous years of my life. He taught me to defend myself, taught me how to court a woman, how to work with my hands, steal when necessary, drink moonshine and the key to all true men: play domino.
The knowledge gained through the year, though, was not necessary for the “ritual”. It was all part of becoming a productive member of the village. I was a normal kid, played and got into trouble all my life; took a few good whippings by both my and dad. So when January 1st came about that year, I was ready to become a man.
Of the talents my father passed down during that exciting year, gosh, I was mostly interested in domino play. I followed him from tournament to tournament, tied to his hip watching him cheat, win and lose. The cheating during the games was the best, I never managed to understand how he didn’t get caught. He won prize after prize with his hidden signals. It was a source of pride to speak about him as a winner. That’s what I wanted to become, but to do so, I had to first pass this ritual I knew nothing about.
I got to visit the local pub after dark with my father, where members of the brotherhood would take bets on the outcome of my ritual. How exciting it was to laugh with them, with my dad, to feel like a grown up. I couldn’t wait to become part of the group. If hanging out late at night, talking to random women, drinking and playing dominoes was what men did after a long day’s wage, then I wanted part of it.
The last month, in December 1944, things became a little more detailed. My father, his leather flask filled with red wine, and I would stay up on the porch talking about women. Talking about what it was to be a man, specifically, what it was to be a man in bed with a woman. I hadn’t a clue why he’d chosen to reveal such intimate details about adult interaction, but for the first twenty days of December he went on to describe in great detail the women he had been with, the things he did to them, except for my mom, of course… supposedly she was some sort of saint, so he told me.
On the 21st day of December, the day of my birthday, the day of my ritual, I woke up later than usual. It was around 4PM when I woke up. Dinner was set on the table, and the entire family waited for me. The good china, and silverware were set. My plate had a different meal than the rest of the family. My meal was specifically prepared by my father. It consisted mostly of protein prepared with a few herbs said to rise vitality. My father and mother spoke about the need for me to pay careful attention to my father tonight, to follow his lead and make the family proud.
My mother had selected what I would wear to town that night: a new suit she had sewn for me. After dinner, my mother helped me dress while my father prepared a last drink for him and I. We left the house at 8PM, all the neighbors wishing me luck. While I was gone, the village was to celebrate at my house until my return.
The walk to town took some 45 minutes. Though I asked, my father didn’t mention anything about what to expect at the ritual. He spoke of growing up, of the heartaches he crossed courting my mother, how the war impacted the brotherhood… he spoke of everything except the ritual. I even forgot it was my birthday and where we were going. Were it not for the direction we took upon arriving in town, I wouldn’t have remembered the intentions of the night. We headed towards a part of town that I had always been warned about visiting. It was a part of town where it was said a few men became women and a children became men.
There were a few scattered lights throughout the path pointing us in the proper direction. At the end of the path I could see many lights, hear a large crowd, even scuffles of wild animals. The code to enter the gated area was my birth date, and family name. My father stood as my representative, and signed papers that on December 21st, 1944 I visited to collect my right to become a man;I still own that piece of paper.
Inside the gates two large men instructed my father to inform me of the process. They brought us inside a large beautiful house — the fanciest I had ever seen — sat us down and brought us two glasses of cheap red wine.
My dad said,
Son, through those doors is a large room. There will be many other young men in there.
Not everyone will get to go on the first hand. Everyone will be dealt a card, the highest
numbered card will get first selection. You have the right to consult with me about your
choice. The twelve people with the highest cards go on the first round. There is a time
limit of 30 minutes, and rounds will continue until everyone goes. Understood?
I was clear on the rules but, because i was scared, I didn’t ask any question. There were over 30 other participants in the large room. We all looked equally scared. Before we got a chance to get situated, an elderly woman walked out with a deck of cards, asked us to circle about her, then proceeded to shuffle the cards. She handed one card to everyone, told us to look at it, then called out for everyone with an Ace, a three, or a king to step forward. I was among them. We were to be the first round of participants. She then drew suit based on the sequential order in which she pulled them from the deck of cards. Clubs, swords, golds, and cups were pulled out respectively. I had the Ace of clubs, so I got first pick. She called my father, who had been cheering me on, to stand beside me, and asked if I wanted him to go through another set of doors in case I needed advice selecting or negotiating.
My father didn’t wait for the remaining order of participants to be set. He pulled me towards the set of doors while giving me a pep talk. He was proud of me, even if nothing did happen that night. The fact that I was first made him proud. When we walked through the doors twelve women stood nude in line. He told me to bring the card to the one I liked the most, that we would “look her over” and decided if she was the one for me.
I had never seen a woman fully nude before. I didn’t know what to look for, what to say, nor what I was doing in there. My father took the lead, he walked me close to the girls and had them stand in various poses. He told me that he knew what he liked, but it wasn’t necessarily the same that I liked. So, he would pick three girls for me but, I had to make the final selection for myself. First was a young brunette, she was the prettiest of the three, with small breasts yet, a rear that slopped outwardly as if mountain range. I liked her from the beginning and thought she was going to be my final choice. The second was a young blond, she was also very attractive with large breast and small bottom, though her front where it matters at the bottom was the most protruding of the three. The third, and last woman was also a brunette, athletic body, very pretty smile with big dark eyes. She wasn’t big anywhere, but for some reason she called my attention the most at the end.
I picked her, the last. She took me to a room and asked me what I wanted to do. That her thoughts about my performance were to be used as measure to be granted access into the brotherhood. I was shocked. Women weren’t supposed to know about the brotherhood, nor the ritual. She asked me what I wanted to do. All the advice my dad gave me disappeared, I did not remember anything he had told me. Not one thing I remembered! I looked at her, swallowed hard and told her that I was a virgin. That I had no idea why my father had brought me here, and that I really didn’t want any part of it. That I wanted to be in love when something did happen.
She got up, tore the button and zipper of my pants, and shoved my virginity in her mouth. I pushed back and tried to fight her off. She then looked at me straight in the eyes, laid down on the bed, spread her legs and told me to come suck her. She was plentiful, plush, unshaven, I suddenly remembered my dad’s words to talk to her, to tell her what to do to me. That it would ease my nerves giving out commands rather than taking commands. So, I told her to get up and shoved me inside her mouth again.
There she stood for a long time, fear not letting me climax… all I did was hold her head and feel it move. She tired of it, and told me that we had to have intercourse in order to become a man. I bent her over the side of one of the sofas, as my dad had explained he had done his first time, got real close, and… I missed the right entrance. She pushed back and told me that to do that we needed lubricant. I had no idea what she was saying, my father had mentioned that it slipped right in for him; but, for me, it wasn’t working. She pulled out some type of lubricant, put it on me, put it on her, then leaned over the sofa again, and directed me with her hand until I was swallowed in. I could feel my scrotum hitting something moist, they, themselves moistening from the impacting against it.
After a few thrust into what I thought was the correct entrance, she stood up turned around, spread her legs, and told me to come feel the right entrance. It sure felt different, it was very slippery, warmer and best of all… I could see her big bright eyes. Though I tried and tried and tried, the 30 minutes weren’t enough for me to climax. At the 30 minute mark the elderly woman and my dad walked in on us to stop the action. I was still hard, breathing heavily, she was spread in bed. The elderly woman briefly spoke to the girl, then my father. After some minutes she asked my dad to take his right and have a turn at the girl. My father declined, and instead told the girl to perform falletio on me until I did climax. But this time, a second girl was there, she was face up on the floor performing conalingus on the young girl while she orally pleasured me. It took not 3 minutes for me to drip into her mouth, her chest, and the head of the girl sucking her at the bottom.
My dad laughed, patted me on the back and greeted me welcome to the brotherhood. He gave me that 1944 coin to pay the girl, but the elderly lady decline the payment. I went home still engorged, scared that it would detonate in my pants. My father chanting, drinking his wine. He’s boy had become a “man”. And that’s my story of the coin in my wallet that reminds me of the year 1944.