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This is me, at the age when I was organizing
neighborhood nudity events for boys.
Early Days
As I have said, I was raised Catholic, from 1955 until 1975, when I renounced all of that, and came out as gay. I was the first member of my family who ever came out of the closet. Since then, multiple other relatives have been emboldened to come out as well, but I had to deal with being the first.
Sex was a shameful, sinful problem in the culture when I grew up. When I was twelve (and quite tall), my mother walked into my bedroom without knocking, and found me masturbating. She shrieked "YOU'RE GOING TO HELL!" and slammed the door behind her.
That was 100% of my sexual conversation with either of my parents. Ever.
I could go on and on about the repression, shaming and disgust that I grew up with, concerning my body and other people's sex lives. The Catholic programming was intensive, and never went away.
Despite all of this, I knew what every other boy on my street looked like naked, by the time I was eight years old. Writing this, I realize that this wasn't surprising. As an adult, I have hosted over 3,000 social events (here is a small sample), and I have been a natural, easy "Julie the Cruise Director" all of my life. I'm good at giving folks permission to have a good time.
I was thirteen years old in this photo.
The Invention of Masturbation
Even as a boy, I could convince the neighborhood boys to gather in the moonlight, and be sinfully naked together. Later on, I invented masturbation for the first time in human history(!), and taught it to them as well...
I was always the smallest boy in my class, since I was the youngest. This lasted all of the way through sixth grade. In the three months between sixth and seventh grade, I shot up to a height of six foot three.
I had a father who wanted nothing to do with me, and three brothers who were around ten years older than me. They were long-gone from my life by this time, so I was on my own, without any wise male mentors.
So, I discovered that Prell shampoo, used as a lubricant, felt GREAT when I stroked my penis. It didn't take long before white stuff came out of my cock, which was quite a shock. This coincided with my rapid growth, so I naturally assumed in my ignorance that the two were connected:
Stroking one's penis made people TALL! It surely must have kicked my hormones into high gear. I wanted to share the news with every short person on earth, so that they could be tall, too! I had invented a wonderful thing!
In my excitement, I told my friend Steve, who enjoyed mutual groping with me on a regular basis. He was a small boy, so he was pleased to hear about my breakthrough. A week later, he reported back that I was merely "masturbating", and that it was a common practice, according to his older sister. This grossed him out, and he stopped hanging around with me.
Incidentally, I also learned that Prell shampoo was a TERRIBLE lubricant. This was in the days before folks figured out pH-balanced shampoos, so Prell was alarmingly alkaline.
My penis started shedding skin in one piece, exactly like a snake. Until I figured out that grease made a better choice, my dick molted a LOT.
Even the DOG was female. No male role-models. I was nineteen.
My Sexual Crisis
I was a very good boy. My older siblings told me how good and sweet I was as a toddler, and I had a sunshine-y nature from the very start. I wasn't even a rebellious teenager. I was my momma's favorite child, out of ten.
I had starting having sex with women from age fourteen onward. I had to fantasize about my best friend to maintain an erection, and there was no joy in it. Technically, I am bisexual. However, in the 1970's, you had to make a CHOICE… one or the other... GAY or STRAIGHT, and I didn't want to make that choice, because I knew how mercilessly bullied and tormented those effeminate gay guys in high school had been.
Then, I joined the Navy. Suddenly, I was constantly around naked men in the locker rooms and showers, and I was constantly struggling to convince myself that I was straight.
After boot camp, I was shipped off to the Great Lakes Navy Training Center in Illinois for electronics classes. It was my first time away from home, and I had no friends. I was lonely, shut-down and horny, without any hope of expressing my desires.
Taking Drugs. Lots Of Them.
I nearly overdosed at one point, yet I kept going. Then, I tried what turned out to be PCP mixed with smack, and it was as close to dying as I have ever been in my life. Projectile vomiting. Inability to breathe, unless I forced myself. Blind panic. Blacking out, and waking up surrounded by anxious roommates, who thought that I was dead.
After forty years, my memory is faulty, but I believe that my own paranoia was the reason why nobody called for military medics. I recovered without medical attention, after a couple of days (it was a long, holiday weekend). It was a close thing.
Afterward, I was fundamentally traumatized. I had hit a wall. This epiphany made me STOP trying to end my life through the slow suicide of drugs. A whole life of shaming came crashing down on me all at once, and I couldn't go any further in this direction.
So, I gathered up my courage and went to the Navy base psychiatrist. To my great good fortune, he was a wise, supportive gay man. He told me that I was homosexual, that it wasn't going to change, and then he gave me the "It Gets Better" speech. In 1975.
He told me everything that I needed to hear. He contradicted every bit of the toxic programming that I had grown up with, and it all poured into my eager, grateful ears. It turned out, there was a CULTURE out there, where gay men supported each other. It wasn't about isolated perverts, going to hell.
THE Most Momentous Decision of My Life
I was FURIOUS with the culture that I had now left behind. All of that Catholic repression, shaming, ignorance and unkindness now seemed to be the very worst possible environment for a sensitive queer, and I wanted nothing more to do with it. I was no longer a good boy - I was a pissed-off rebel.
The Navy shrink had saved my life with his kind mentoring, and I made a powerful vow to keep seeking wisdom, and to never stop.
I was painfully aware of how little I knew of the ways of the world. I had no street smarts, and this made me angry. I considered my entire life up to this moment to be a waste of valuable time. It was time to create my new reality.
Decades later, I still have angry feelings that remain, In my current opinion, Catholic school in the 1960's and early 70's was no better than a madrassa.
A happier man. I was finally on the right track.
I'd sensually put all of my desires into it, switching between tender and powerful, and back again. It was pure seduction. All of my repressed passions would be dedicated to THRILLING this handsome stranger. I'd finish his back and neck, slap his ass and tell him to flip over, and he'd be sporting a boner, just like I was.
In a short time, I'd be fucking his ass, and he'd cum at the same time that I did. I have always a real fetish for that. It's a variation of cum control.
My First Boyfriend
This went on for months, with dozens of lonely men, and my electronics school grades went UP. I wasn't stuck any more. Then, a cute redhead named Philip showed up at my door. We became boyfriends. One of my roommates kindly swapped rooms with him, so that we could spend more time together.
In fact, ALL of our roommates were supportive of us. They thought that we were a cute couple. Several of our roommates told us that they had had sexual experience with men. This blew my mind, because the world of sexuality turned out to be a lot more interesting (and less isolated) than I had ever imagined.
I had no previous experience of having a man respond gladly to my romantic feelings (as opposed to plain old sex), and it was heaven! We didn't hold back at all, when we were alone. Our pleasure together was clumsy and ignorant, but we had a lot of catching-up to do, and we had a blast.
"Skin Hunger" is definitely a thing. Orgasms are nice, and I recommend them strongly. However, in my entire life, I have been most pleased to share intimacy, above all. With my innate perceptive nature, I have always striven to play a man like a violin, sexually.
Philip and I could sleep together in the same narrow bunk every night, and it was heaven. Nobody minded. As soon as the roommates went away, we'd be naked and swarming over each other, caressing and touching everywhere. After learning how to attract sexual partners, I had shifted to my next step, which was learning how to retain a man in my life, for romance.
After six months of thrilling "honeymoon time," the Navy suddenly shipped Philip off to another part of the world. That was the end of that relationship. I still miss that man. Ever since, I have had a special attraction to redheads.
The Anal Warts That Probably Saved My Life
My next boyfriend was a tall drag queen named Lamarr. Back in those days, it was hard to find accurate, kindly wisdom about sex. So, I was a little grossed-out about Lamarr's anal warts, but we worked around them. As a result, I caught a nasty case as well.
I went to the Navy Hospital to have them removed, and was treated contemptuously, with anger and shaming: "It's a FILTHY disease, and you can only get them in one way". This same attitude extended into the surgery room. I was laid legs-up on a conductive metal plate, and the warts were electrically burned-off, inside and out, with unnecessary and vindictive violence. They never came back.
Six months later, I was still hemorrhaging large amounts of deep, red blood with every bowel movement. Every time that I took a dump, it's was like shitting a rose bush. To this day, I still have extensive scar-tissue that is very delicate.
And now, decades later, I believe that this was a blessing.
Up to that point, I had been bottoming periodically, I had a sensational ass, and my nickname was "Thunder Buns," so a lot of men wanted to give it a ride. After surgery, there was no WAY anybody would get anywhere near my ass.
This was the late 1970's, and when I joined the Leather community shortly thereafter, I started attending hundreds of large, well-attended parties, where I would have sex with strangers for days at a time. I was doing everything that they did, except for two things:
- I was so paranoid about drugs after that last near-overdose, I wouldn't even take aspirin, much less get stoned like everyone around me. I'd be the only sober man out of 120 at the fuck-party.
- I would NOT let anyone fuck me, so that was strictly off of the list.
As an exclusive Top, I was vastly less likely to catch AIDS (once in 15,000 sexual contacts), during the days when nobody knew what was coming. I did get syphilis once, gonorrhea twice, and crabs a few times, but I had those treated, and haven't had any form of sexually-transmitted disease since 1981. I know this, because I compulsively had myself tested for decades.
This is next part is not a brag - It's just my true history:
I had sex with thousands of men during the late 1970's. After so much repression and shaming, I wanted to take a full measure of my abilities, and desirability. I craved external validation, and I used sex like most men use a handshake… to initiate contact.
I will talk about that more, soon, and often.
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