Life Is Short #1

I had a dysfunctional childhood.  I was born prematurely, and I think I never felt ready for the world.  Neither of my parents were particularly loving.  Both parents were judgemental.  Our mother (I had six siblings) was more responsible than our father, holding the family together after he abandoned it.  During the years when he was with us, he was often frightening and violent (although I hasten to say that he wasn't the worst brute in the world).  Nonetheless, when he left, we were all relieved.  He left us in a large house in a wealthy town, and my mother didn't have the money to keep the house going.  She sold the house and moved us to another state, where she got a job.

Although I believe that homosexuality is an intrinsic thing, I do think that life circumstances can affect it.  (Saying this isn't "politically correct", but I believe it.)  Thus, my intense desire for male sex may have something to do with having an unloving father.  An attractive man who allows me to suck him or make love to his body (i.e., have access to his body) is revealing his acceptance of me (acceptance I never got from my father), which represents love.  My father didn't love me or accept me, so I continue to seek it as an adult.

Along the same lines, my mother was a somewhat frightening figure, and so my lack of attraction to women's bodies is all the more intense.

If you are reading my articles from the beginning, you'll recall the young man in the first article who was looking for a father figure.  The difference between us is that I sexualize my need for a father, and he doesn't.  I sexualize it because I am gay, and he doesn't because he is straight.  So yes, being gay or straight doesn't result from childhood trauma, but the way one relates to it can be affected by childhood trauma.

There is more to my story than just my childhood.  Now, in old age, I have very few friends (I'm not sure why).  My loneliness seems to increase my sexual desperation.  When I was younger and was actually getting some sex, I could go for long periods without it and still feel somewhat content.  Now that I'm not getting any at all, it is all that I want.

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I came out of my childhood with extremely low self-esteem, so much so that I was terrified to approach a man.  I certainly didn't consider myself attractive.  I remember once seeing a man standing in front of a building on 72nd Street near Riverside Drive in N.Y.C..  He was young and attractive, and he looked straight at me.  I was so terrified that I couldn't approach him.

For a while I wore a lambda button, hoping that it would help me pick up men.  I sat down near an attractive young man in a fast-food restaurant one day.  He saw my lambda button and started to talk to me; I was so terrified that I jumped up and left the restaurant.

My low self-esteem expressed itself in other ways, too.  After my father abandoned the family, my mother couldn't afford to give me much of an allowance, so I was chronically poor during my childhood.  When I moved onto my own in N.Y.C., I rented a room in an apartment that had been divided up into rooms.  I wanted music in my room, so I bought a radio.  The radio cost something like $25 (in the 1970's).  For me, that was a huge extravagance, and I felt extremely bad for spending so much money.  I mean that literally:  Spending so much money made me feel like a bad person!  (The cost of electronics has come down since the 1970's, and a similar radio today wouldn't be much more expensive.)

There were other things that gave me low self-esteem.  I was a little chubby as a young adult.  Also, I hadn't been athletic in high school, and I didn't have big muscles.  I quickly came to see myself as puny.  I also didn't have a sense of style, meaning that I didn't know how to dress.  In both high school and in the years after high school, I would ogle the athletic young men who knew how to dress to maximize their sexiness.  Those were the men I wanted -- not the ordinarily ones like me -- but I knew I was out of their class, so I would rarely approach them.  Consequently, I was alone and unloved most of the time.  It didn't help that my dick was only 5-3/4 inches.  In every respect, I didn't have the equipment -- physically, psychologically or stylistically -- to compete in the gay world.

In my late twenties I lost my excess weight in Overeaters Anonymous, but that didn't mean my body was suddenly gorgeous.  I still didn't have a lot of muscles, and I hadn't been able to eliminate every bit of fat, such as the fat around my waist (my love handles).  Also, by my late twenties I had started losing my hair.  As a result of all this, by my late twenties I had resigned myself to being an average-looking cocksucker, and my sex life consisted of mostly anonymous encounters.  That's not to say that I didn't have any relationships at all.  I did, but none of them endured, and I certainly didn't find a soul mate.

[This article isn't finished.]

Working as a Masseur in Rhode Island and New York

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It should be obvious now that I am something of a sexual predator -- not in the serious sense of attacking men and taking what I want, but in the sense of pushing the envelope as far as I can.  I'm aware of that and haven't decided whether it is right or wrong.  One thing is clear to me:  Men and women are different in this area.  Women, being the weaker sex, have to worry about forcible rape more than men do, and women also have to worry about unwanted pregnancy.  That makes women as a group more conservative than men are.  Men, on the other hand -- at least some of us -- seem to always be looking for an opportunity to have sexual contact.  Men are more willing to have quick sexual encounters in public than women are.  Gay men in particular are promiscuous because the dampening attitudes of women are not involved.  Thus, instances of gay men groping each other in crowded subway cars are not that uncommon, but you'll never find women behaving that way.  Men also expose themselves in public more than women do.

For a few years, I worked as a masseur specifically to get my hands on men.  For the most part, that worked out because 90% of the men who came to me wanted a "happy ending".  But not all of them did.  I will honestly recount here (and in articles to come) all of the experiences that I remember.  Most of the stories are hot, but a few are disturbing.

In the 1980's I had left New York City and was living in Providence, RI.  I was holding a yard sale one day, when up walked a man in his 20's in tight cycling shorts.  He had a large, delicious-looking bulge in his shorts.  Unlike most cycling shorts, which flatten out a man's bulge, these shorts were designed with a pouch to accommodate the genitals, so his bulge stuck out very prominently.  I thought to myself, "How can I get my hands on the bulge of a man like this?"  The answer came to me immediately:  Learn to give massages.  His bulge looked so attractive that day that it became a motivating image in my mind.

There was a local organization that gave classes to adults on various subjects, and I found a class on massage.  The class lasted several weeks, and I very carefully recorded the procedure for giving a complete Swedish massage.  I then purchased a massage table from a catalogue, and I was ready to go into business.  As it turned out, there were no laws in Rhode Island in the late 1980's that required me to get a license (at least, I couldn't find any).  Believe it or not, Rhode Island at that time allowed prostitution to be practiced indoors (apparently, there was a loophole in the law).  I didn't know that during the time that I was practicing massage there.  If I had, I would have been much more relaxed about what I was doing because I assumed that my massage practice was illegal.

I put an ad in the local paper advertising "full-body massage".  I told the first customers who called that I was still a student learning the skill, and I charged them very little.  The teacher who instructed me had taught her students to "drape" the body with a large sheet, and in the beginning, that's what I did.  That damn sheet, however, caused me to miss out on some sex play that I otherwise would have enjoyed.  The men who got the full-drape treatment probably assumed that I was a legitimate masseur, and usually didn't come back.  In the beginning, I wasn't as aggressive about seducing the customers as I was later, which is why so many of them got away without the "happy ending".  I learned very quickly, though.

I remember one client in particular.  He was a late-20's white man with dark hair.  I gave him a legitimate massage and was unable to find an easy way to molest him while it was proceeding.  I was, in fact, nervous that any client I molested might assault me in anger, so I was very tentative.  When he got up from the table, he made no attempt to hide his naked body -- he had a lovely physique and was gloriously well hung.  He needed to make a phone call (this was before the days of cell phones), so I brought him my phone on a long cord.  Out of modesty, he felt the need to hide his genitals from me while he spoke, so he crouched on the floor in a way that he imagined would hide them -- but it didn't.  They simply hung down between his thighs, giving me a clear view of them while I stood ten feet away.  His cock and balls were low-hangers and just lovely to look at.  I still fantasize about that moment.

So it wasn't long before I eliminated the big sheet.  I switched to a bath towel, and then to a face towel, and eventually to a small hand towel.  I would ask the customer to disrobe, lie on the table face up, and then put the hand towel over his crotch (while I left the room).  Of course, the hand towel barely covered the anatomy of many customers.  I remember one man incredulously holding the towel up to his crotch (before he had disrobed) to see if it would cover him -- but he didn't object.

Mind you, if the customer wasn't attractive to me, I would give him a bath towel and avoid the seductive strokes.

In all the time that I gave professional massage, I always started on the man's front.  I did this mainly so that I could get my hands on his privates quickly, but also so that I could end the massage with the back side, which is the most satisfying part for the client.  I would do a circular stroke on the lower abdomen (a proper Swedish stroke), and I would do it deeply enough to make the man's cock bounce out from under the hand towel.  It would then start to collide with my hand, and before long he would be growing an erection.  If he was embarrassed and apologized for it, I would simply say, "Oh, don't worry about it -- ninety percent of my male customers get erections.  It is a normal reaction to being touched all over."  That, of course, was true; and as I said above, ninety percent of my customers DID want some sexual contact.

My comment that most customers got erections subtly gave them permission to just enjoy their sexual feelings.  Even the straight customers felt that freedom, and I did end up masturbating most of them.  For many of them, I may have been the first male-male sexual contact they ever had, and that actually makes me proud.  As a gay man, I have an interest in opening straight men to their gay sides.

Usually, once the man was hard, I would make a comment that we "might as well dispense with the towel", and I would just remove it, leaving him lying there exposed with an erection.

Whether I removed the towel or not, I would choose one of two courses.  I would either massage his lower stomach for a long time, allowing my hand to collide with his hard cock, or I would simply start to massage his cock and masturbate him.  Some of the men's cocks got very hard and it was almost humorous to see them bouncing all over the place while I worked on the stomach.  If I masturbated the man at that point, the massage would still continue, and I might end up masturbating him a second time.

The reactions of my customers were varied.  For some of them, none of this was a surprise; they had received sexual massages from others.  For others, they came expecting to have to control their libido while they received a legitimate massage.  For those, being molested in a gradual and sensitive way was a relief (because they no longer had to "hold it in").  Almost none of them were turned off by what I did.  The ones who didn't want a "happy ending" just didn't get aroused no matter what I did.  Once, after I had moved to New York City, I massaged a very attractive young man who did not become hard.  I really wanted to play with his junk, so I touched his genitals and said, "I can take care of this for you", and he replied, "There's nothing to take care of!"

But none of them reacted as if they were being violated.  Whatever happened, they just took it in stride.

I wanted to suck many of my customers, but they rarely wanted that.  Partly, they may have been worried about disease, not knowing that it is very hard to get AIDS from a blowjob (I don't have AIDS).  But for many of them, getting a blowjob was just too intimate.  It felt too much like real sex.  They were happy to get a handjob from a man, but feeling my warm, wet mouth on their penises was just too much.

I had more techniques to arouse my customers, of course.  If massaging their bellies didn't get them aroused, then when I massaged their legs, I would massage very high on their thighs, "accidentally" touching their genitals with my fingers.  Or I would simply massage their groin area around their genitals, an area that a legitimate masseur usually won't touch.  The customers, of course, didn't know what was a legitimate stroke and what wasn't.  In some cases, the customer would get a hard-on as soon as he disrobed, and in those cases I'd just keep stroking it during the massage, and then jerk him to an orgasm at the end.

Once they had turned over, I could also massage too high on the backs of their thighs, allowing my fingers to brush against their testicles.  In New York, I had a Hispanic customer around 40 who had absolutely enormous, plump balls.  I just had to get my hands on them.  I kept brushing my fingers against his testicles, until finally he lifted his groin and pulled his testicles under his belly.  I don't know what was going on in his mind when he did that.  He might not have liked the feeling, or he might not have realized that sex was part of the massage I was offering.  Or he might have thought that I was doing it accidentally, as if I didn't know what my fingers were up to.  After the massage was over and he was standing naked in front of me (which he didn't seem to mind), I simply informed him that I would have masturbated him if he had wanted, and then I reached right out and grabbed his cock and balls.  But he didn't get an erection even then.  So at least I got my hands on his package for thirty seconds.  That man was one of the very few who didn't want any kind of sex.  I did feel a little bad for pawing him so much when it wasn't what he wanted, but he didn't seem harmed in any way.  He didn't seem unhappy when he paid me.  However, he never came back.

With the exception of the Hispanic man, I never just grabbed a customer's genitals if he showed no signs of arousal.  I considered doing that as a seduction technique, but I didn't have the nerve.  If I had done such a thing, and if the client had objected, I would have simply said, "Oh, I thought you knew that this is a full-body massage.  That's what the ad says."  My defense against clients that I didn't want to masturbate was to tell that that the term "full-body" didn't include their genitals.

On a few occasions, I had attractive customers who didn't want any sexual contact because they were getting enough in their regular lives.  One attractive gay man was upfront about that:  He was getting all the sex that he wanted already.  As you have probably guessed, I am a sucker for plump balls, and this man's balls, though not huge, were extraordinarily round, like golf-balls.  I really wanted to feel them, but he had no interest, and told me so.

In future articles I will describe more of the massage experiences I had.

Early Sexual Experiences #1

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In the 1980's there was an elderly gentleman who published anthologies containing true gay sex stories written by his readers.  I am not going to mention his name here because he may have used some of my stories, and I don't know whether they are still under copyright.  (He told me once that the copyright for my stories would revert back to me, but I need to investigate the matter.)  This man had an uncanny ability to weed out stories that were fictional and/or sounded made-up.  Indeed, people who write about their sex experiences often embellish them, and that destroys the sense of authenticity.  I sent him a series of letters containing my best sexual experiences, and I have decided to post them here.  Not every story is steamy hot, but I think my readers will enjoy some of them.

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September 6, 1985

Dear Bob,

Thank you for your letter in response to my note.

In your letter, you say that it is inspiring that I have several hundred cocksucking experiences to report.  Actually, most of those experiences were unremarkable and not worth mentioning.  Only a handful, perhaps two dozen, are worth writing about.

You made one comment in your letter which I must agree with:  You said, "The simple truth is more pornographic than pornography, which lacks credibility."  You are so right.  A good example of this is the magazine "FirstHand".  When FirstHand was first published, it consisted primarily of authentic, first-hand accounts of sexual encounters.  With each issue, however, it became more pornographic until, as of a year ago (which was the last time I read it), most of the stories were obviously fictional.  The magazine lost all its appeal.

Now, about me:

I may not be exactly the type of writer that you like, for several reasons:  First, I am one of those legions of young urban gays (yuggies?) that you have mentioned are so ubiquitous and who all seem to have the same story to tell.  Second, I do all my writing on a word processor, and nary a word leaves my fingers which is not then revised a dozen times.  (Sorry, but I can't change my habits overnight.)  Third, I don't like foreskins, body odors, scat, urine, bondage, dangerous situations, smelly underwear, etc.  I know it sounds boring but you must have some readers who like my kind of sex, so my stories will appeal to somebody.

I am 35 years old, about 5'7", a bit overweight at 165 lbs., with an average-sized cock.  I didn't get a taste for cocksucking until I was 27.  At that time, I had lost a lot of weight, was thin and attractive, and started going to bars.  I quickly became a regular at the International Stud (now defunct), a backroom bar on Greenwich Street in Greenwich Village.  The Stud became like a second home to me, and I went there four to five times a week, coming in from Brooklyn where I lived.  When I first started going I would spend most of the evening in the front room playing pool and pinball.  I would occasionally sneak into the back, sit on a bench in the thick of the action, and just watch.  I was afraid to get involved, partly because I didn't think I could satisfy anyone.  Also, the whole idea of just putting my hand out and touching the private parts of a stranger was new to me.  Once I got used to the idea, for a long time I confined my activities to feeling the asses and cocks of guys who were having sex with others.

I use poppers a lot and it happened that my popper habit started at the same time I got into cocksucking.  I remember the first time very distinctly:  One of the regulars of the bar was a large, stocky (but not fat), young guy with a cute face and straight blond hair.  His dick was obviously large and always hung several inches down his leg.  I had wanted him for a long time.  One night I found myself standing near him in the back (which was always crowded so that people got pushed up against each other).  I reached out and started groping him.  He was receptive, so I unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out.  At that moment, someone handed him some poppers, which he handed to me.  The poppers sent such a shot of anticipation through me that I felt faint.  His cock was long, thick and straight, and I sucked on it for a long time.  The poppers made the experience unbelievably vivid.  Finally, he came without making a sound.  After that, I was hooked on poppers and cocksucking.

The best person I ever sucked was a Puerto Rican man named Alberto, who also frequented the Stud.  Alberto was 41 years old but looked much younger.  The first time I saw him he was leaning against the back wall of the backroom.  He was about 6'2" tall, lean, and had a real seductive look to him.  I started to grope him and he was receptive.  His crotch felt substantial, and when I opened his jeans, I had to use both hands to lift his genitals out.  His cock was cut, about 8" and thick, and nearly straight with perhaps a slight curve downward.  The best part, though, was his balls:  They were unusually large, round and plump.  The balls inside the sack were large and the sack itself was large, round and firm.  I was never able to get even one of his balls into my mouth, much less both.

In the months to come I sucked Alberto perhaps 8-10 times.  Alberto really knew how to get sucked.  He would lean against the wall with his hips thrust forward; I would get on my knees and suck him slowly, using my hands and mouth together, and massaging his balls at the same time.  He would slowly grind his hips as I sucked.  When I would suck his balls, he would push his hips forward and grind them into my face.  I would alternate sucking his cock and balls and rubbing my face into his genitals.  Sucking Alberto was great because there was always a feeling of fullness:  My hands were full and my mouth was full.  I didn't have to scale down my hunger to fit smaller equipment.

Alberto's orgasms were nice.  He would grind his hips faster and, sometimes, hold my head in his hands.  He always came a lot, and I always swallowed it.  When it was over, everything would be wet -- my face, my hands, his crotch.  He wouldn't put his genitals away, though; he would remain standing against the wall with his hips thrust forward, and I would just massage his genitals while we talked, rubbing his big balls and cock every which way.  His genitals were so satisfying to touch that I never got tired of it.  I still have vivid fantasies about Alberto and wish I could see him again.

Alberto was a bit of a degenerate.  According to him, he went through an altruistic period when he was younger, but then became cynical and bitter.  At the time I knew him, he drank two quarts of beer every night (he said).  He had a boyfriend about his age who was emotionally dependent on him; when Alberto would start to feel cooped up, he would go to a backroom and fool around.  In the time that I knew him, he occasionally talked about leaving his lover for me, but of course that never happened.  Alberto was also selfish; he didn’t care about my health.  He would fuck guys without a condom in the Stud’s back room, and then he would feed me his cock without washing it.  I ended up getting intestinal parasites from him.  Still, he was a total turn-on.

Cocksucking wasn't the only thing I did at the Stud.  I also picked up several one-night stands.  One of them was named Brandt.  Brandt was 29 and very handsome, with classic facial features and hair that always sat just right.  He had one of those athletic-type bodies that are hard all over, even when the muscles are relaxed, and he had a slender waist and hips.  In Brandt's case, his body's hardness was genetic, since, according to him, he was not athletic.  He did do regular calisthenics, though, and his chest was particularly well-developed -- his pecs were large, round and hard and I couldn't keep my hands off them.  His cock was a bit less than average -- about 5" and average width -- but I didn't mind.  He was such a turn-on, it didn't matter.

We met in the backroom at a time when it was not crowded.  We kissed for a while, and then went to his place.  Our bodies fit together like they were made for each other.  He fucked me twice and I fucked him once, and I rimmed him.  We kissed passionately throughout.  I know that I was satisfying him from the way he reacted, but I was nonetheless tense the whole time because I just couldn't believe that I was in bed with such a gorgeous guy.  I was pretty insecure in those days and I was not as unattractive as I believed.

Of all the one-night stands I have ever had, Brandt is the one that I would have liked to see again, but I really screwed it up in a royal fashion.  First, I came down with amoebic dysentery; and since I had rimmed him, I implied on the phone that he may have given it to me.  Also, I called him too many times, each time getting angrier that he was not calling me back.  If I had been more relaxed about the whole thing, he might have called me at some point, but my attitude scared him off.  Finally, I saw him at the Stud.  I was so proud and resentful that I ignored him all night.  He spent a long time watching me play pool and I know I could have had him if only I had changed my attitude.  What a dope I was.

One of the most exciting experiences I ever had was when I was 23 or 24, before my Stud days.  At that time I was also in a thin period and I had a lover who was five years younger.  My lover had a friend named Warren who was about his age (18-19) and was a light-skinned black, very cute, and on the small side, being about 5'6" and slim.  My boyfriend had known him since adolescence.  It seems that they had been fooling around for a while:  They would watch TV together or talk and then Warren would pretend to fall asleep, at which point my lover would go down on him.  When my lover told me that Warren's cock was huge, I had to have it.

At that time my lover and I lived in adjoining furnished rooms with sliding doors between.  He invited Warren over one night.  Late in the evening we were talking in my room and Warren, who knew what was up, pretended that he was tired and started to fall asleep.  My lover left the room and I started to grope Warren.  He was wearing short-shorts and his cock made a long, thick bulge from his crotch to the waist of his shorts.  I unzipped him and took his shorts down.  His cock was at least 8" -- maybe more -- circumcised, shapely and very thick, easily twice the thickness of my own, with nice round balls.  At that time I hadn't yet learned the joys of cocksucking and at first I jerked him without a lubricant, and then I added lotion, and then I took my clothes off and lay on top of him and ground my cock onto his.  He made not one motion the entire time, pretending to be asleep.

Now, some men might not like that kind of scene, but I loved it.  His pretending meant that he couldn't tell me what to do.  I could have done anything with him, which gave me a sense of freedom and power.  (Too bad I didn't have more imagination.)  He came after about 20 minutes of jerking and rubbing.

What made this experience so exciting was just the type that Warren was:  Small, slender, cute, boyish, sweet, with a huge dick.  That combination has always made me wild.

There are two things, though, about this experience that I am not proud of:  First, my lover spent the entire time in his room upset and on the verge of tears.  He had set the scene up between me and Warren because he knew I wanted it, but he didn't like it.  Second, Warren was a confused and lonely young man, and I think the last thing he needed was to be sexually exploited, even if he did want it.  My hunger for cock was just so strong that I couldn't resist.

How would you like to hear about the biggest cock I ever had?  Everyone has a biggest-cock story.  It was at the Christopher Street Book Store when I was about 31.  I was downstairs and I had my eye on a white fellow who looked about 27-28, 5'10", slender and lanky, with long hair, and dressed normally in black jeans.  He had a slightly hippie-ish look to him, or like a rock musician.  At one point he disappeared into a large, dark area and I followed.  When I reached out my hand and felt him, a shot of adrenalin went through me.  What I felt was at least 11" long, very thick, rock hard, and jutting straight down his left pants leg more than half-way to his knee.  His cock, it turned out, was not only huge but shapely -- unlike a lot of huge cocks, which are hose-like -- with a nice, gentle curve to the shaft and a large, shapely head.  The skin of it was light-colored, even milky.  (I don't recall what the balls were like.)

Unfortunately, that first electric grope turned out to be the best part of it.  I could only get my mouth half-way down it and I couldn't keep my teeth out of the way.  Deep-throating, which I am not good at, was impossible.  In addition, his cock didn't stay hard; it fluctuated from hard to semi-hard almost continuously.  I wondered at the time how he could get a hard-on without getting faint from lack of blood.

So tell me, Bob, is this good stuff?  Is it publishable?  It is hard for me to tell since I am the one writing it.  I'd like to know your opinion.

All those revisions were not so extensive after all:  On the last go-round I deleted about 20 words, and the section about Warren was written with little editing.

I'll be away on vacation when you get this.  I'll send you some more in about two/three weeks, if you like.

Sincerely,

Getting Desperate

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