DRIVE (Part 2)
But, things really started getting confusing for me. Even in my head as I try to remember how things occurred, I don’t remember how they happened, just that they did happen. I don’t know how or why, but I got my hands on copies of Jon-Jon’s gay porn movies. I can’t even imagine what excuse I must have given for wanting to see them. But, I did and I copied them for myself. Watching gay porn was even more exciting than straight movies. For one, watching it felt really dirty. Take the male guilt of watching regular porn and amplify that by a hundred. It felt taboo and forbidden. I’d watch it late, in the dark; petrified my father would wake up and see me with it. But, that wasn’t the only thing exciting about it. I liked what I was watching.
Gay porn is different in that the situations presented are more likely to happen. What are the odds that a pizza delivery boy would knock on some blonde’s door and next find himself in a one-man orgy with a sorority house? But, it was very possible that a guy taking a shower after working out, looking over at the next guy and start something up. The one that really stuck in my head and excited me was this scenario of two guys in an adult theater who end up masturbating themselves and then each other. Later, another guy shows up and goes down on both of them. Gay sex was so accessible. Just like the Eddie Murphy joke, you could play basketball with a guy, have a couple of beers, then go home and rub one out or shoot one off together. I used to laugh at that, but there I was getting off on it years later. Yeah, I touched myself and masturbated to gay porn. Once I did that, I guess having sex with a man was only a matter of time.
I remember why I stopped going to the bars with Jon-Jon. If I have my order of events correct, it was when he got himself a girlfriend. There was this teenage girl living in Jon-Jon’s condo complex with her little brother. She was sixteen or seventeen and seemed to come out of nowhere all of a sudden. First, Jon-Jon was hanging out with her. Then, they seemed to get much heavier and physical. Next I knew she was his girlfriend. I was pissed off and jealous, but not because Jon-Jon had no more use for me. More because a gay man had achieved what I always wanted. A girlfriend. A white, blue-eyed, blonde girlfriend. Their relationship didn’t last too long, but as it was going on, I distanced myself from Jon-Jon as much as possible. Then it ended. It wasn’t Jon-Jon’s only experience with a woman, but I think it was something he had to do to confirm who he was. You’d have to ask him how it happened and why.
I found out about the split a while after it happened because I hadn’t seen him in a long time. When I went to see him out of the blue, I ended up at the girl’s house and she told me what happened. Basically, Jon-Jon had dumped her for a guy. That night, Jon-Jon wasn’t home, so I spent my time with the girl. I was flirting and when she walked me out we ended up kissing. I’d broken the golden rule all guys live by, but I didn’t think it counted because Jon-Jon was gay. Certainly, that had to be an exception. I started walking home and looked to my right, into the complex’s parking garage, and saw a dark figure looking back at me. I looked closer, and it was Jon-Jon. I waived at him, but he didn’t respond. I knew what was going on. He must have seen me kissing the girl. But, he couldn’t be pissed about that. He’s gay, and they broke up. I later found out he was very pissed about that. Nothing ever started up with the girl. Jon-Jon and I eventually got back into each other’s lives. And, last I knew, the girl became a lesbian with her best friend.
From then on, my going to gay clubs with Jon-Jon was against my will. He always had to guilt me into it. Or, just plain get mad at me. He entered into his first serious relationship and vanished for months. This was the beginning of a pattern; he would enter and leave my life based on his relationship status. His first real lover died from cancer. The second was “Dug-Dug”, an accountant who took care of Jon-Jon in every way imaginable. Jon-Jon eventually moved out of his father’s home and in with Dug-Dug who became like a father financially. It was then, when Jon-Jon was on one of his excursions in the “land of love”, that I went on my own expedition into the unknown.
It started in my 19th year and ended before my 21st. Often, it’s not a good thing to leave me alone for a long time. I get to thinking about things, dangerous things.
The first thing I did was asking my father for a telephone in my room and I knew exactly what I was going to do with it. Once that was in, I went to Boys’ Town and grabbed a Frontiers Magazine, the gay equivalent of the Weekly. In the back were personal ads for sex. I picked up a copy of LA Express, a paper where LA prostitutes advertise their services, many of them she-males. I never understood how a city with laws against prostitution could allow such a paper, but I was happy for it. From one of those sources, I came across a gay phone line, 976-WOLF, and I called it. I listened to various sex ads in my area and then I placed one. My phone rang off the hook all night, and that same night that I met my first male partner.
I don’t remember his name. He was black, skinny, but taller than me. An Air Force officer recently discharged. Our first conversation was nice, it was almost like we were two guys just chatting it up until the topic went in certain directions that broke the illusion. He came over the next day while my dad was at work. I remember he wore funky disco sunglasses, tight blue jeans, and a waist bag where the earphones from his Walkman wrapped around his back to his ears.
We sat in my room for a while, looking at All My Children and vamping over Erica Cain. I was nervous, but excited. This was the dirty underbelly of sex. I was on the verge of something taboo, forbidden, and that excited me. The anticipation was uncontrollable and I began to shake violently, something I still do today when I’m sexually anxious. I think he made the first move, kissing me on the lips. It was weird. The difference was immediate. This was not a girl and there’s no way I could pretend myself through it. As he moaned the bother went away and it became bearable. Not good or nice, I was just able to get through it. His response fed into something not sexual, egotistical maybe, but not sexual. I was doing something right, someone was getting off on me and I liked it. What I’d always wanted from a girl I was getting from this man. My kissing became more aggressive and he made another first move, grabbing my crotch. I was more surprised by my reaction; I was erect and responding to him. It felt good. And, putting my hand on his crotch, feeling the bulge in his tight jeans excited me even more.
I wonder if my pleasure was masturbatory because I touch myself today in the same way I touched him. I liked the feel of it beneath the jeans. The shape. And, its strength. He was much bigger than I was. I'd discovered for myself the myth about men of color was very true. Long story short, we went down on one another, but it wasn't as I expected. My turn was disappointing. Here I had dreamed of this, getting blown. It didn't matter anymore who did it, just that it got done. I'd had it from a woman and it was horrible. Now, I was on the verge of experiencing what I was told was the major positive of being with a man, because who could know a man's equipment better, right? The only word to describe how it felt is "wrong." It felt wrong. I couldn't even look at him because it was a man I was looking at. I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy it that way, but it didn't work. Sure, he did more, but there was a tenderness that was missing. That's when it got really hard to finish. Everything about a man is harsh, hard, quick and forceful. Women, no matter the level of skill, are soft, slow, and tender. The word "wrong" just kept repeating in my head over and over and I fought back tears because, at that moment, I knew I had hit a bottom and there was no coming back from it. I'd crossed a line. From that day on there would always be this "option", a "possibility" that wasn't there before. If I could do this now, I could do it again later.
I stopped him when it became obvious that I wasn't going to climax, put him on his back and went all the way. There was no going back now. I couldn't get out of this. What would I say: "Sorry, but this isn't what I thought it would be and I'm done." I honestly felt bad for the guy because I had misled him. I didn't tell him he was my first or that I was straight. I played it gay all the way and now I had to go somewhere most men outside of prison can’t imagine. But I liked it. I mimicked the women in each porn I'd ever seen. Soon, I got into it. His response to me was enticing. The more he squirmed, the more I wanted to see what I could make him do next. The pleasure I got from it was pure power and validation. It was like hitting that fly ball in little league, the only ball I hit that went outfield and had everyone on his or her feet. It was the same as hearing my father say he's proud of me, or having my friends pat me on the back for an accomplishment. Just having someone tell me something good about myself. I was getting that feeling as this man squirmed and called me his baby.
TO BE CONTINUED
Gay porn is different in that the situations presented are more likely to happen. What are the odds that a pizza delivery boy would knock on some blonde’s door and next find himself in a one-man orgy with a sorority house? But, it was very possible that a guy taking a shower after working out, looking over at the next guy and start something up. The one that really stuck in my head and excited me was this scenario of two guys in an adult theater who end up masturbating themselves and then each other. Later, another guy shows up and goes down on both of them. Gay sex was so accessible. Just like the Eddie Murphy joke, you could play basketball with a guy, have a couple of beers, then go home and rub one out or shoot one off together. I used to laugh at that, but there I was getting off on it years later. Yeah, I touched myself and masturbated to gay porn. Once I did that, I guess having sex with a man was only a matter of time.
I remember why I stopped going to the bars with Jon-Jon. If I have my order of events correct, it was when he got himself a girlfriend. There was this teenage girl living in Jon-Jon’s condo complex with her little brother. She was sixteen or seventeen and seemed to come out of nowhere all of a sudden. First, Jon-Jon was hanging out with her. Then, they seemed to get much heavier and physical. Next I knew she was his girlfriend. I was pissed off and jealous, but not because Jon-Jon had no more use for me. More because a gay man had achieved what I always wanted. A girlfriend. A white, blue-eyed, blonde girlfriend. Their relationship didn’t last too long, but as it was going on, I distanced myself from Jon-Jon as much as possible. Then it ended. It wasn’t Jon-Jon’s only experience with a woman, but I think it was something he had to do to confirm who he was. You’d have to ask him how it happened and why.
I found out about the split a while after it happened because I hadn’t seen him in a long time. When I went to see him out of the blue, I ended up at the girl’s house and she told me what happened. Basically, Jon-Jon had dumped her for a guy. That night, Jon-Jon wasn’t home, so I spent my time with the girl. I was flirting and when she walked me out we ended up kissing. I’d broken the golden rule all guys live by, but I didn’t think it counted because Jon-Jon was gay. Certainly, that had to be an exception. I started walking home and looked to my right, into the complex’s parking garage, and saw a dark figure looking back at me. I looked closer, and it was Jon-Jon. I waived at him, but he didn’t respond. I knew what was going on. He must have seen me kissing the girl. But, he couldn’t be pissed about that. He’s gay, and they broke up. I later found out he was very pissed about that. Nothing ever started up with the girl. Jon-Jon and I eventually got back into each other’s lives. And, last I knew, the girl became a lesbian with her best friend.
From then on, my going to gay clubs with Jon-Jon was against my will. He always had to guilt me into it. Or, just plain get mad at me. He entered into his first serious relationship and vanished for months. This was the beginning of a pattern; he would enter and leave my life based on his relationship status. His first real lover died from cancer. The second was “Dug-Dug”, an accountant who took care of Jon-Jon in every way imaginable. Jon-Jon eventually moved out of his father’s home and in with Dug-Dug who became like a father financially. It was then, when Jon-Jon was on one of his excursions in the “land of love”, that I went on my own expedition into the unknown.
It started in my 19th year and ended before my 21st. Often, it’s not a good thing to leave me alone for a long time. I get to thinking about things, dangerous things.
The first thing I did was asking my father for a telephone in my room and I knew exactly what I was going to do with it. Once that was in, I went to Boys’ Town and grabbed a Frontiers Magazine, the gay equivalent of the Weekly. In the back were personal ads for sex. I picked up a copy of LA Express, a paper where LA prostitutes advertise their services, many of them she-males. I never understood how a city with laws against prostitution could allow such a paper, but I was happy for it. From one of those sources, I came across a gay phone line, 976-WOLF, and I called it. I listened to various sex ads in my area and then I placed one. My phone rang off the hook all night, and that same night that I met my first male partner.
I don’t remember his name. He was black, skinny, but taller than me. An Air Force officer recently discharged. Our first conversation was nice, it was almost like we were two guys just chatting it up until the topic went in certain directions that broke the illusion. He came over the next day while my dad was at work. I remember he wore funky disco sunglasses, tight blue jeans, and a waist bag where the earphones from his Walkman wrapped around his back to his ears.
We sat in my room for a while, looking at All My Children and vamping over Erica Cain. I was nervous, but excited. This was the dirty underbelly of sex. I was on the verge of something taboo, forbidden, and that excited me. The anticipation was uncontrollable and I began to shake violently, something I still do today when I’m sexually anxious. I think he made the first move, kissing me on the lips. It was weird. The difference was immediate. This was not a girl and there’s no way I could pretend myself through it. As he moaned the bother went away and it became bearable. Not good or nice, I was just able to get through it. His response fed into something not sexual, egotistical maybe, but not sexual. I was doing something right, someone was getting off on me and I liked it. What I’d always wanted from a girl I was getting from this man. My kissing became more aggressive and he made another first move, grabbing my crotch. I was more surprised by my reaction; I was erect and responding to him. It felt good. And, putting my hand on his crotch, feeling the bulge in his tight jeans excited me even more.
I wonder if my pleasure was masturbatory because I touch myself today in the same way I touched him. I liked the feel of it beneath the jeans. The shape. And, its strength. He was much bigger than I was. I'd discovered for myself the myth about men of color was very true. Long story short, we went down on one another, but it wasn't as I expected. My turn was disappointing. Here I had dreamed of this, getting blown. It didn't matter anymore who did it, just that it got done. I'd had it from a woman and it was horrible. Now, I was on the verge of experiencing what I was told was the major positive of being with a man, because who could know a man's equipment better, right? The only word to describe how it felt is "wrong." It felt wrong. I couldn't even look at him because it was a man I was looking at. I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy it that way, but it didn't work. Sure, he did more, but there was a tenderness that was missing. That's when it got really hard to finish. Everything about a man is harsh, hard, quick and forceful. Women, no matter the level of skill, are soft, slow, and tender. The word "wrong" just kept repeating in my head over and over and I fought back tears because, at that moment, I knew I had hit a bottom and there was no coming back from it. I'd crossed a line. From that day on there would always be this "option", a "possibility" that wasn't there before. If I could do this now, I could do it again later.
I stopped him when it became obvious that I wasn't going to climax, put him on his back and went all the way. There was no going back now. I couldn't get out of this. What would I say: "Sorry, but this isn't what I thought it would be and I'm done." I honestly felt bad for the guy because I had misled him. I didn't tell him he was my first or that I was straight. I played it gay all the way and now I had to go somewhere most men outside of prison can’t imagine. But I liked it. I mimicked the women in each porn I'd ever seen. Soon, I got into it. His response to me was enticing. The more he squirmed, the more I wanted to see what I could make him do next. The pleasure I got from it was pure power and validation. It was like hitting that fly ball in little league, the only ball I hit that went outfield and had everyone on his or her feet. It was the same as hearing my father say he's proud of me, or having my friends pat me on the back for an accomplishment. Just having someone tell me something good about myself. I was getting that feeling as this man squirmed and called me his baby.
TO BE CONTINUED
posted by QABBAL at 2:15 AM
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