My First Time With A Guy
As much as I've written about sex over the last couple of years I don't think I've shared this. Probably because they are thin, fragmentary memories.
Sex in Savannah Gardens
My guess is that I was 11 or 12. Possibly Victor hadn't yet introduced masturbation to me. (I do remember the first time I jacked off. I was in the tub. Felt good, don't know if I thought about anybody or just pumped my cock.)
I was out in the woods Savannah, Gardens with a neighbor kid. He may have been my age, couldn't have been more than a couple of years older.
He said he wanted to put his cock in my mouth. I said OK. But I quickly yanked my head away. The taste was icky. Don't know if his penis had a nasty taste or it was just my kiddish sense of taste. The more mature me has always found the human body from the crown to the toe, clean or maybe not so, pretty tasty.
Then he asked to stick is cock up my ass. I assented easily enough. We heard some other people nearby and left. He never asked again, I never thought anything about it.
Not long after I dimly recall a couple of attempts to have sex under a house with another guy. Can't say whose idea it was. Probably his. I don't think our bodies managed to achieve anything.
Impossible to go back and reconstruct my mind when I was that young. I don't remember desiring anyone until years later. The guy's requests didn't seem odd to me. Surely some sort of nascent sexuality was alive in me. My body probably wasn't producing the appropriate hormones in quantity yet. I was ignorant of what people did with their genitals. With straight sex a blank, queer sex couldn't have suggested anything.
About 14 sex gained its typical adolescent power; I was masturbating frequently and furiously. I can remember several of the girls and boys I fantasized about. They all had blonde hair. The image of a particular slender, tanned blonde boy in Savannah's Schuman Junior High School that still makes my body respond.
Gay in Savannah
If I hadn't told Victor's sister Ebba I wouldn't remember not being able to fantasize about women without fantasizing about men. Don't know when that started. All of my early fantasies were girls, the school beauties, women in magazines (not Playboy which I'd never seen, comic books and old issues of Esquire).
At 18 Victor came home from work and kissed John. Their way of coming out to me. I'd swear to this day I can hear the gears whirl and the solenoids click as my sexuality fell into place. Guys! I wanted guys.
Walking down the street in Savannah changed instantly. Everywhere I went were lovely guys. I remember walking through a park twice so I could get an extra look at a guy with perfect white skin. And mooning over a long-necked beauty in a local production of Good Woman of Setzuan. Days were alive with excitements I never anticipated.
Boys in Makeup
Not much later I escaped to Atlanta. Within a couple of days, walking through Piedmont Park, I saw a gay guy wearing eyeliner. He seemed so amazing and fascinating I didn't know how much I desired him.
Thankfully, when lust came to dominate my waking life I quickly shed my fat. Not long after moving to Atlanta a short, soft, sweet boy who found my 'steely blue eyes' intimidating but sexy had me out of my clothes and his fingernails digging into my back.
There were failures and confusion. But I was living in the 70s, sex had just become easy, deadly diseases were a long time away. Boys without glasses were always ready to make passes.
At 25 I found myself in love and having sex with a woman. Did my discovery of my love for guys cause me to forget that I could love a woman? Was I happy to be gay because it put me outside the ever-tedious norm?
Many years later I'd discover the tragic beauty of certain sexual outsiders: crossdressers, transsexuals and intersexuals persons.
Hermaprhodite Shame
I need to come clean about this. In my early 20s I did want to have sex with a classical hermaphrodite. Tits with a cock seemed pretty hot. Never thought much about it.
In San Francisco I did answer a personal ad from a pre-op transsexual. Not that I had any understanding of the condition that embodied. The voice on the other end wanted a 'donation.' I'm not sure if the money was what stopped me. I'd always planned to pay for sex when I was young. Just to know what it was like (never did). The voice was so ugly that I hung-up.
Much later I would have some idea of the social estrangement she may have felt; the brutality of having to sell herself so that she could achieve her goal. My young self was just looking for a peculiar thrill. I've sometimes felt ashamed of myself. The fantasy wasn't that important. And it wasn't until the web arrived and, perhaps, sissyphobia deepened that I'd come to have any appreciation the struggle of guys who don't want to be men or to express manhood.
Feminine Gay Guys
Wising up a few years ago I've tried to make sure I treat every crossdressers and transsexual with affectionate respect. The contemporary treatment of 'sissies' was my biggest cultural surprise when I rediscovered my own queer sexuality. If I hadn't heard from so many feminine gay men I'd dismiss it as a hallucination born of my own sexual biases.
When I was a young gay man straight men were certainly an ideal for most gay men. Ideal, is really the right way to say it. I kept meeting gay men whose sexual appetite was directly only at heterosexual men. But plenty of gay men were delighted to meet a gay guy who was 'butch' (i.e., a gay man who was indistinguishable from straight). How can I bitch? If my persona were wholly conventional male, if I hadn't worn masculine clothing I'd wouldn't have slept with the pretty boys.)
Sissyphobia
I've woken up in a world of straight-acting gay men. That is the expected outcome of gay cultural assimilation. I wouldn't much care except that I've encountered a surprising amount of hostility to nelly guys. Straight-acting gays seem to treat them as pariahs, somehow challenging their own masculinity. 'Fem guys' are ostracized. Back in the 70s they were an accepted group.
Erotic sanity is easily unappreciated by people who possess it. I wasn't in danger of staying in the closet. But naïve guy that I was my revelation might've been long delayed. I might not have had the skill to rid myself of the fat. Maybe I would've stayed in Savannah. I was blessed to have every necessary change come about. Whenever I see a man whose sexuality is frozen or confused I know that maybe it could've been me.