03-24-2014, 07:03 PM
By the time I was 12/13 I was two meters tall, had been "out" for four years and shaved at least once a day. In other words, I looked more like a junior executive at BBD&O than a 13 year old. Wore a business suit, smoked and was not averse to a Bourbon neat with a beer chaser. Some have commented that for my age, I was advanced in all ways. Perhaps they have a point. My parents weren't particularly permissive it's just that A. I had been bought from another country (South Africa) and B. I didn't look like a kid to them. This is the early fifties and everyone both drank and smoke and if you can find someone who will tell you that they NEVER, EVER snuck a cigarette or finished a drink after a cocktail party, you've also met someone whose check is in the mail, will not cum in your mouth and still has their cherry. Avoid them. Thanks to a wonderful man I'd been introduced to sex and carefully instructed and prepared for sex. I was no virgin-he said virgins were a bore-in any sense of the word or in any place on my body: I'm prepared for whomever may come along that I want. Notice, I'm 13, I call the shots and the one I called was a great guy, an airline captain who was lonely, knew he wanted a man but also yearned for someone younger than his 43 years. If you're counting, he was 30 years my senior. Seducing him was a matter of taking him outside at a cocktail party in Tucson, putting my arms around him and saying if he'd hold still, with his back to the plate glass windows, I'd show him why he was needed and wanted. (Okay, I'd had his bio in advance so while this was love with the proper stranger, it wasn't love with the unknown stranger. Cheap, I ain't.) The next day he flew off to Dallas....with me in First Class and to his apartment there. Keep in mind this was a long time ago and being gay, much less having a live in boy friend and having his position of authority presented some difficulties; Well, a lot of difficulties but somehow we worked them out. Again, my parents while a little stunned, liked him and a friend of theirs, Marion Sadler, was the Vice Chairman of American so they could make sure "my man" was okay. Did they approve? They had no choice. Of course, my looking 25 didn't hurt, indeed it was a help in many ways. Also, I commuted back and forth to Cape Town frequently only many of those frequencies found me in Dallas in bed with him teaching him things I was surprised he didn't know. You can teach middle aged dogs new tricks. He was a wonderful guy, great pilot, good man. When I was writing my dissertation at USC and going crazy, he physically dragged me to a shack we had near Lake Elsinore, took away my paper, pens, references, books, oh, and my clothes. (It was a remote shack.) His idea was that for once I was not going to be an adult in disguise, bought me used Levis-button front-torn t shirts, a motorcycle jacket and motorcycle boots. He also took me parachuting also in the nude. Lake Elsinore then, not now, was this great little known place where it didn't matter who are what you were, if you had a bike-he did- and hung out with the group, you were in. Our relationship, although assumed, was never discussed. It was summer, hot, no air conditioning so we slept outside in hammocks-the presence of snakes argued against sleeping bags-in the nude and fucked like a pair of rabbits who believe Armageddon was tomorrow. Just what every school boy should do on their semester break....At graduation, he and my parents were all there, proud, congratulated each other on the fine job they'd done raising me (?) and wondered what was in the future. Unfortunately we found out. Two years after that he was killed in a crash of a private plane in which he was a passenger and that was that. I mourned, moved to Europe, mourned some more and then....well, I didn't exactly take a lover but I did have an affair or perhaps "L'Affaire" is a better choice of words which landed me on the cover of L'Homme Vogue. We had 15 years together, not one of which I would exchange and, cruel as this may sound, would not have asked for more. The dead past does bury the dead. My point in this is for the young of today. I am, candidly, rather shocked when I see young men paired off at 15 and protest their love is here to stay. Too many events have happened to verify that but, if they can be happy and sensible enough to be realistic, then enjoy it.
As for me, nothing was ever as great as that shack in the dust and the heat and the smell of bike exhaust and falling from a plane with all my appendages dangling next to the man I loved. It just doesn't get much better.
As for me, nothing was ever as great as that shack in the dust and the heat and the smell of bike exhaust and falling from a plane with all my appendages dangling next to the man I loved. It just doesn't get much better.
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