12-27-2015, 10:28 PM
I cannot tear myself away from the videos and stills at Helix. I am enthralled by the beauty and athleticism of the boys. I am jealous. Is it the money, exhibitionism, or the evident enjoyment of the encounter?
When I was their age in the UK, to act upon such impulses was an invitation to prosecution and prison. Living in a small conservative community some sixty miles north of London I was totally unaware of the gay underworld in the city and in nearby Cambridge. Indeed until I was conscripted into the services at the age of 18 I did not know for sure that there were others like me who liked boys. School was a tantalising experience, look but don’t touch. There must have been others like me, but who were they?
During my National Service, I spent two year in hot climbs where minimum clothes were the rule in off-duty times, but once again, look but don’t touch prevailed. I remember the universal hilarity and derision when two colleagues were caught in flagrante delicto. I never learned what happened to them, but fear the worst. I often wonder how many of the smiling critics were in self-defence mode?
Several years later in East Africa I came upon a Somali boy who was experienced, willing and was finally able to learn what I had been missing. We remained friends for a year until finally I had to leave.
Then, to foster the cloak of acceptable behaviour, I married and had a family.
In the 80s I discovered gay saunas and bathhouses but was able to use them only on infrequent visits to the city. Whilst they opened a window of experience, they filled a need, although in many ways I found them sad and largely unsatisfying. Denizens wandered constantly, in silence with earnest expressions, when in reality everyone was looking for the same thing.
One landmark was the appearance was of a man who pounced on me and declared that he liked older men. We went through the usual motions, but of more import to me, we spent intimate time together, close and communicating. This was what I was looking for, but alas it is the only occasion that it happened.
Sometimes I was impelled to take up the offers of an “Escort†and whilst this provided a physical closeness and a friendly hour with a desirable young body, it was less than I was looking or hoping for.
The unfulfilled longing and desire remains, but now in the aged joint replacement phase I can only watch with envy.
To young men in a similar situation today, I would say, “Carpe Diemâ€Â
When I was their age in the UK, to act upon such impulses was an invitation to prosecution and prison. Living in a small conservative community some sixty miles north of London I was totally unaware of the gay underworld in the city and in nearby Cambridge. Indeed until I was conscripted into the services at the age of 18 I did not know for sure that there were others like me who liked boys. School was a tantalising experience, look but don’t touch. There must have been others like me, but who were they?
During my National Service, I spent two year in hot climbs where minimum clothes were the rule in off-duty times, but once again, look but don’t touch prevailed. I remember the universal hilarity and derision when two colleagues were caught in flagrante delicto. I never learned what happened to them, but fear the worst. I often wonder how many of the smiling critics were in self-defence mode?
Several years later in East Africa I came upon a Somali boy who was experienced, willing and was finally able to learn what I had been missing. We remained friends for a year until finally I had to leave.
Then, to foster the cloak of acceptable behaviour, I married and had a family.
In the 80s I discovered gay saunas and bathhouses but was able to use them only on infrequent visits to the city. Whilst they opened a window of experience, they filled a need, although in many ways I found them sad and largely unsatisfying. Denizens wandered constantly, in silence with earnest expressions, when in reality everyone was looking for the same thing.
One landmark was the appearance was of a man who pounced on me and declared that he liked older men. We went through the usual motions, but of more import to me, we spent intimate time together, close and communicating. This was what I was looking for, but alas it is the only occasion that it happened.
Sometimes I was impelled to take up the offers of an “Escort†and whilst this provided a physical closeness and a friendly hour with a desirable young body, it was less than I was looking or hoping for.
The unfulfilled longing and desire remains, but now in the aged joint replacement phase I can only watch with envy.
To young men in a similar situation today, I would say, “Carpe Diemâ€Â
![[-]](https://gayspeak.com/images/duende_v3_local/collapse.png)
