Sex Histories	Sex Histories Archive

Washington, D.C. (1991) I think I've read all your books. You have, perhaps unwittingly, been the best "shrink" a guy could have. Through you I came to accept that "we" are maybe O.K. after all.

Do I not, as Zorba said, "have a wife, a family, a house- the full catastrophe." I am also a role model for "Mr. Straight." I am a member of the establishment, a Republican, hold several degrees, served as a senior military officer and as a yet higher official in civil government. Big deal. I am also Gay in heart and mind!

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From almost as early as I can remember in my youth, I have always been in love with other boys, and then men, not girls or women (no matter my Mr. Straight Macho image). I will be thankful forever for having fairly liberal parents and for being raised most of my boyhood outside the U.S.A., except for summers on the family farm; for when my proclivities became apparent I was neither condemned nor unduly restrained (nor encouraged surely), but likewise never the subject of fag-bashing in name or deed. I reveled in my male sexuality and love of and for other males and was not "doing wrong."

Because of the yet prevalent homophobia I cannot, for the sake of those whom I hold dear and who trust me not to damage, perhaps irreparably, their own standing with their friends, family, and community, come out of the closet publicly, although those nearest to me know and have known for many years. They have kept the faith­ and the secret­ and we live relatively happily, each doing our own thing. And surviving.

The following is from 1968, roughly the time of the Tet Offensive in Vietnam. It was not an easy time and our casualties were horrific. Most of the Marine troopers and some of the Army America Division supporting us "out there" in the infantry units lived one hour­ not one day­ at a time. The Brigade/Regimental command center on Hill 55, southwest of DaNang, was active with combat units jumping off on operations and returning therefrom.

The shitters were where my sex life existed. On Hill 55 there was a six-holer located well away from the officer area, on the edge of the enlisted permanent staff and where the Headquarters Commandant billeted visiting troop units.

It was a very well constructed shitter, with plywood sides and good screening half-way from the mid-wall height to the roof. The floor was also plywood, sturdily built. The seats were a little high up off the floor, with a step to get up on the bench. The seats were, of course, side by side, with fairly good spacing between them. They were smooth sided around the hole, so you didn't scrape your ass or get a splinter when you sat down. The odor was virtually non-existent.

At night there was almost no light in the shit house, even when the moon was up, due to the low overhang of the roof. Of course no lights were allowed for fear of enemy snipers or mortar observers.

Most of the troops smoked, so as soon as someone came in, pulled his trousers down, and took a seat, he would light up. If someone else was already in, then there might be a light or a smoke borrowed. For most of the troops bunking in fairly miserable and cramped conditions, shit time was one of the few opportunities to be relatively alone and commune with your own thoughts. So folks at night would linger on the hole.

Scoops cum off the wall

There was one danger in this shitter. That was that you could slip and break your neck on the cum on the floor. It was incredible. I still reflect on the quantity of cum on that floor. It must really have been that no one came in there that didn't jack off and let it spurt onto the floor.

I can attest that I contributed to the collection. Certainly the troopers sitting beside me in that can did.

Unless you recognized someone's voice, there was really no way you could see anyone clear enough to make them out at night. If no one was Obviously" jacking off no one else would let it show what they were doing. If one guy would start whacking it openly other guys in there would get it going openly too.

Usually two or three guys would be stroking their dork at the same time. You could tell if the guy were a first timer. You could see by the glow from the cigarettes that he had his hand down in the hole stroking his cock kind of out of sight. The rest of us knew that was uncomfortable as hell; it forced you to hold your otherwise rigidly upright pole at a painful downturn. The old hands didn't worry about it. They just leaned back and whacked away, then leaned forward when they were ready to cum and let it go against the opposite wall. Or maybe it fell short onto the plywood decking.

The taste of cum is truly unique. Certainly to me. My first realization of that came in the shitter, although I had sucked down plenty before. But I had never savored it before, nor had I had such variety. On those occasions when I was left alone in there, after a guy had cum and left and no one else was present, I would get down off my seat and scoop his cum off the wall where it had landed and savor it on my fingers, licking them one by one. Or scoop off someone else's earlier contribution. I developed a real fondness for the taste, and the tastes were all seemingly quite different.

I visited that particular shitter at least once a week, sometimes twice. Had I dared I could have lived in there, but the fear of discovery was too great. It would have blown those troopers' minds, I'm sure, if they had known that the Officer was sitting next to them also jerking his dork, and eating their cum off the wall!

With all that jacking off, I only encountered one somewhat homosexual move by anyone. On this occasion it was kind of late, maybe two or three in the morning. I had been on watch and had stopped off on the way back to my hootch to bunk in. When I got to the shitter there was only one guy on a hole, and he left a couple of minutes after I went in. I had the place to myself, let my trousers fall down to my ankles, leaned back, and began a leisurely, steady stroking.

The door opened and a guy came in. I kept on doing what I was doing. Rather than taking one of the holes some distance away from me, he came over to the one right next to me, dropped his trousers, and settled in.

Naked soldier has a hard on

After a couple of minutes he asked if I had a smoke. I didn't smoke cigarettes, but I always carried some around with me. I said yes, and with my big bone sticking straight out, rummaged down in my jungle utilities for a pack. When I handed it to him our hands touched. He didn't draw back and neither did I. After he had taken out a cigarette and handed the pack back to me, rather than give him my lighter, I lit the lighter and I did so in such a way that it illuminated my erect cock. He couldn't help but see it. Then I moved the light towards him and at his waist level, and saw his hard on!

When the cigarette was lit, he slouched back and let his left hand come to rest in the space between us. I let my right hand come down, as I brought it back from placing the lighter in my trousers, so it brushed against his.

He didn't move and I extended the touch. It was only a couple of minutes before he had his hand on my cock and I had mine on his. I had a jackoff buddy!

I never knew his name. We met twice more by setting an agreed time when we would meet outside the shitter before we went in

Then he was gone.

Occasionally, I would inspect my enlisted troopers' living quarters, my responsibility to the Headquarters Commandant. Since my guys had 24-hour staff shifts, some were always on duty, the others sleeping. They lived in two eight-man hootches.

The first time I went in there I just about came in my jungle utilities One of my 19-year-olds was asleep on his back, sans skivvies, and had a super hard on. I hanged around somewhat doing my "inspection" in hopes he would awaken and find himself confronting me with that glorious erection. I wanted to see his reaction. But he didn't.

As I was getting ready to leave the hootch, I walked again by his rack. On the floor, where it had obviously fallen from his hand before he had gone to sleep, was a little booklet. I picked it up. Sex at its best! It was as raunchy as any I've ever seen. I stuck it in my pocket. I'd get my own kicks later from reading it, rubbing my cock, and thinking of his naked body laying stretched out on that rack­ and knowing that we had both read the same porn and gotten pleasure from it.

Next to where the booklet had been were his green Nam-issue jockeys! This was a rare find, for most troopers (and I) rarely wore underwear as unnecessary in the baggy utility trou we wore, and even uncomfortable in the heat and humidity. His were still wet from his body sweat and, I thought, from his cum load he had dropped in them. I grabbed them, stuffed them in my pocket, and rushed giddily back to my own hootch. I unleashed my boner and, holding his wet and raunchy jockeys to my nose and breathing deeply, exploded.

I made inspections of their quarters as often as I reasonably could after that, and had a few more "hits."

I also returned the booklet, knowing that I was contributing to the future cum flow in that hootch.

I also started wearing jockeys- theirs.

I have kept several of those green jockeys to this day, and occasionally wear them. Great momentos and memories.

Take care and keep up the good works.

Men's Most Masculine Quality: Guns

A judge in the High Court in London has ruled that it is legal to make and market a male doll with what the Washington, D.C. Times calls "the primary attributes of maleness." I assumed this means guns but it turns out that the judge meant pricks.

"The mimicking of male genitalia does not arouse sexual feelings," His Honor pontificated, "nor is it likely to lead to offensive behavior. Such dolls, even if seen by children, would not have any adverse effect."

A 52-year-old London woman has sold about 200 18-inch male dolls wearing kilts and, in accordance with tradition, no shorts under the kilts. Apparently, the dolls contain rudimentary representations of dicks and nuts. Her application for a patent became a court case.

The woman began making the dolls at the request of a newly-wed couple whose wedding photograph showed that "one of the guests was wearing nothing beneath his kilt." The couple wanted a doll made up to "commemorate the occasion."

The Times, a conservative paper, does not explain how a kilted guest in a wedding photograph could convey the information that he is not wearing underpants. He would either have to be sitting with his legs spread apart or, if standing, would have to be holding up his skirt to display his bare butt or hose.

Nude with Hammer is Menace in Michigan

A 27-year-old man wearing only a plaid shirt without pants is charged with armed robbery of a gas station and a convenience store near Detroit, according to a wire service report sent by two apparatuses in Florida.

He was armed with a hammer, which completely destroyed any positive effect he may have created by going around without pants. Nobody likes to be hit with a hammer, even by a man with no pants­ no matter how alluring he may look.

Author Profile:  Boyd McDonald

Born in 1925 in South Dakota, Boyd McDonald entered Harvard as a high-school dropout after serving in the army in World War II. Jobs with Time, IBM, and several Wall Street firms preceded Boyd's career as a chronicler of gay sex. He was the founder and editor of Straight to Hell (alternatively the Manhattan Review of Cocksucking), and later published a number of anthologies of true sex histories. Boyd died in September 1993, two months after completing his final book, Scum.