Sex Histories	Sex Histories Archive

Sorry it has taken me so long to get back to you. I have been too busy with school.

When I was in high school I checked out the various messages written on the walls of rest room stalls. In some cases I called the phone numbers written on the walls.

By calling these numbers I was hoping to make contact with someone who would understand and help me with my problem. At this point I was trying to reconcile being "born again" and my undeniable attraction to men other than Jesus.

One number that was left on the wall actually yielded something-- an older man of about late 20s. He badly wanted me to visit his house trailer and was disappointed that I didn't know any other horny young men (though I'm sure he wasn't as disappointed as I was). Eventually, after some good phone jack off sessions, I threw the phone number away in a fit of repentance.

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That same summer I had my first dose of sex in the rest room of Sears. The next few months were spent in prep school. I dearly wish that I had some good stories from there to tell you but nothing happened, though I did have a special lust for a guy on the hockey team.

After I left prep school and went back to South Carolina, I began to experiment more with sex. I went back to the Sears where I had my first blow job and I found a whole new batch of graffiti. I called one of the numbers. It was the same guy I had made contact with before. We planned a meeting. I chickened out. I called again (using yet another false name) and set up another meeting. I went.

I didn't want to suck him so after I would come-- usually in his mouth-- he would jack off and come on my stomach.

We saw each other at least 10 times and it was usually the same-- some small talk, then sex. Then, lying in his bed, side by side, after coming, he would always say, "Do you feel dirty?"

I would always reply, "Yes."

"We should pray to Jesus Christ, our Lord, for forgiveness," he would say, and we would say some crazy prayer and vow to not do it again. Crazy shit. I usually ended up crying.

This routine finally got to be too much for me and I stopped seeing him, I didn't even like him that much anyway but our fucking society made it so hard for me to find anyone I could have sex with.

Eventually I had a showdown with myself. I couldn't take jacking off or having sex with him and then praying for forgiveness as if I were the scum of the earth. I was on the verge of suicide. But I killed prudery instead. It was close though. It almost got me.

After that I got a whole lot better. I was still worried about people finding out that I was queer but at least I accepted it.

I started cruising Charleston's Battery, a small park on the coast, right in downtown Charleston-- the cruise area at that time. I think that it is still active but not nearly as active as it was. Fucking AIDS.

All but two of my experiences on the Battery were good, great, or better. The funniest (and most disappointing):

I was out for a night's cruising. I saw something I went crazy for: a sailor, most likely. He looked great. He had a short beard that I loved, dark hair, good build, jeans, leather jacket. He was working on, or pretending to work on, his Harley motorcycle. I was so fucking hot for him, and so fucking nervous. I didn't know exactly how to pick someone up, being new to it all and also being afraid of getting beat up or some shit. That fear has also always pissed me off. Anyway I walked up to him. He was kneeling before the bike. I wanted to kiss him badly.

I said, believe it or not, "Do you work on your bike here often?" What a dope. At least I can laugh now. We made some small talk. He wasn't interested. He probably was a little shy because of my age, my stupid pick-up line, and he probably just wanted his cock sucked.

That was the only opportunity I ever missed that I will pine over.

I met Joe (not his real name) on the Battery. I could stay out as late as I wanted, as Mom and Dad were out of town. You had to stay pretty late to get the good action.

I was in my car, he was on his bike. Some small talk, then I decided to take him to my house, as I was alone there. We ditched his bike in a yard behind some bushes and drove out to where I lived.

The sex was good but I was still a reluctant cocksucker and Joe took an amazingly long time to come-- over an hour and a half. This made me anxious, not excited. Joe devoured my cock. He was a good cocksucker and he drank every bit of cum.

After sex I drove him back to his bike. In the car, near his bike, he told me that he was married and his wife didn't know he was gay, and he wanted to see me again. I was happy with this because Joe was cute-- thin, dark hair, good features, and in his 30s. I liked older men.

Our affair progressed. We even had sex in his house while his wife was there. I believed Joe's tale that she didn't know, etc. Finally they told me the whole story, she knew, and she liked me a lot, and they wanted me to live there. They wanted the three of us to sleep together. So Joe's wife asked me to move in with them.

About this time my mother found one of Joe's love letters to me in the garbage. She hit the roof, especially because the letter referred to the first night and mentioned the fact that we got it on in her house. She was outraged. I couldn't take that shit. I moved out of Mom and Dad's and into Joe's house.

Then I realized how Joe and his wife had manipulated me. I became suspicious of their intentions-- they could throw me out of their house if I didn't please them. I left and returned to my parents' house. My folks would only take me back if I would promise to see a shrink. I said O.K.

A couple of days later Joe and his wife showed up at our house. My Mom and little brother answered. They handed my Mom a brown paper bag of things they said I left at their house-- some dirty underwear and a gay porno magazine. Both were not mine.

They added, in front of my 11-year-old brother, "Your son is very sick." Assholes.

By moving back in with my parents I was able to finish my senior year in high school and get into college and get the fuck out of Charleston. My parents found me a shrink. I went. He was a real asshole-- wanted to set me up with a whore so I could learn "normal" fucking. I wouldn't go back to the jerk.

We agreed on a different doctor. He was great-- helped me survive my last few months with my parents, who were always asking, "Are you better?" as if being gay were a disease. And I had met a guy in a rest room whose ass I fucked after nearly every appointment I had with my shrink. It was very convenient, as the doctor's office and the guy whose ass I fucked were not far from each other.

The most enjoyable and the weirdest thing that ever happened to me on the Battery were one and the same. It was the summer before I left for college, after my parents knew, etc. I was by this time working in the same Sears where I had had my first blow job. It was a really busy day and the line at my checkout was quite long. I often would cruise the customers but this particular day I was so busy I couldn't even make time for that. Some asshole in my line started yelling at me because I was taking so long. I tried to apologize but he just kept on being an asshole and yelling. He couldn't even sympathize with me.

After this long and hard day, I really wanted some action that night. I was still living with my parents so I didn't get out much because they didn't approve.

I made some excuse to get out and headed for the Battery. Eventually I met up with a bearded guy, dark hair, medium build, very cute, mid 20s. I made some small talk, then asked his name. "Steve," he said. Then came the shock: "Your name is Steve too, isn't it?" I was surprised, to say the least. I always used false names in those days because of some insane fear. "Yeah," I said. "My name is Steve. How did you know?"

"You work at ---- Mall, right?"

"Yeah."

"At Sears, right?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"I was in the line today at Sears when that asshole yelled at you. I read your name tag. I wanted to suck your dick right there but you were too busy."

It turned out to be coincidence. He hadn't followed me. We left the Battery and went to an abandoned church, actually behind the church. I had never had sex outside before. I was scared and it made the whole scene that much more exciting.

He had me drop my jeans to my feet. He kept all his clothes on. First he sniffed at my Jockey shorts, starting at my already hard cock and then going to my balls and then to my asshole. He pulled my shorts down. It was hot and humid that night and my butt, my whole body, was covered in sweat. Steve started slowly licking my ass, working his way closer to my virgin asshole. It had been licked but I had never had a tongue or cock in it.

He reached around and started jacking me off, then stuck his tongue into my asshole. I was in heaven, moaning. He came around to face me, now standing, and gave me a big wet kiss. The scent of my ass and sweat on his beard made me wild.

He knelt down and gave my cock and balls the attention that they deserved, fingering my asshole all the while. I had some pre-cum, which he readily ate up. He got behind me again to eat my ass once more. He must have spent half an hour on it and it felt great.

Something stirred in the bushes. It was probably a cat but it scared me so I left. I never came and never saw him again.

It may be the best sex I ever had. He was warm, tender, and giving, and I think that it was the first time that I ever was completely comfortable with sex. Now with AIDS it's impossible to feel that same kind of pleasure. I hate that and feel very cheated. I'm only 24.

I'll sign off now. Hope this letter isn't too rambling You may, and I wish you would, use my first name, Steven.

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.