Sex Histories	Sex Histories Archive

The following is excerpted from Lewd, Boyd McDonald's 12th volume of true sex histories

Indiana-- In St. Louis, Missouri in the '60s I was a member of the staff of a small private library for subscribers only. The staff was all white. We had two black shelvers, Enos and John.

Enos was roly-poly and amiable. John as they said at the time, was "something else" -- moderately tall with closely cropped brown hair, and unusually small ears which I always suspected were evidence of possible meanness or cruelty. He was 34 years old, married with two small sons, which would indicate that John was no faggot. On the contrary, he loved to play around and declared himself a "tit man."

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John at first was quiet friendly, but not overly so. I think he spotted at once my extreme attraction to him. I found myself utterly obsessed with the person and presence of John. I hated to have him out of sight; he was almost continually in my mind. I lusted after him by day and beat off with his vision before we once I'd gotten home at night.

It was soon apparent that John was aware of my feelings for and toward him. I have always been partial to blacks and this was made most evident in my attitude toward both shelvers. I cannot recall how long it took for John to accept the situation. I'm sure he was hep from the start.

From time to time, once John was clear about my feelings for him he'd tell me that there was "something" for me in the pocket of jacket. Once it was a pair of his dirty jockey shorts into which he'd recently shot a load. This, of course was a real treasure although I was compelled later to wash and return it to him.

Usually the "something" in the pocket of my jacket would be a small jar or flask warmed with his piss.

The staff restrooms were one above the other, with steps leading to the men's room. Gail was an attractive young teenager, warm and friendly to us all. John was quite obsessed with her, as I was with him. Whenever possible, John would scoot upstairs when he'd seen Gail headed for the ladies' room, to enjoy what he called "my favorite sound" -- Gail's pissing in the bowl, followed by the scrape of toilet paper across her pubic hairs. I suspect it was during one of these "happy times" that John shot his load into the shorts he later lent to me.

Although I was white, and older, it was John who was in control of our association. We did whatever he wanted to, or agreed to do at my request. Now and then he'd nod in the direction of the stairs to the men's room, preceding me to the top, where he'd stand with the door cracked just enough to see anyone else who chose to mount the stairs.

Inside, there I'd be, in front of him, ready and waiting on my knees for the sight of his eight-inch, uncut dick, which he'd push into my mouth while he emptied his bladder. At such moments I was surely in heaven as his strong, hot piss hit my tongue and slipped quickly down my throat.

When he was young, John told me, an older man would pay him and a teenage friend to fuck a girl on the floor of a car while the older man played with the boys' dicks, butts, and balls. Sounds like fun.

Once, when we were alone together on Saturday (the library was open until one P.M.), John requested that I jack off behind the circulation desk while he watched. He seemed impressed when I shot my load clear across the room. This was almost the only time that John indicated a sexual interest in me.

Twice however, in my small room at the local "Y," John stripped off his clothes, lay on my bed on his back, grabbing his ankles to bring his legs along side his head thus exposing his hairy asshole for my delectation. I was too shy and uncertain to kneel down and plunge my tongue into that fuzzy hole; but I've regretted that missed opportunity many times since.

Once I requested that John fart through his pants while I had my face buried in the crack of his ass. He did so reluctantly I'm sure. The result was only a feeble puff of gas with scarcely any odor.

John's and my relationship if so it can be called lasted less than two years, until I left the library to move east. Later on I lent him a sum of money, after having paid for his thyroid operation. None of this was ever repaid. I suspect that John felt that I should pay to be his sexual slave.

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.