Darkness Into Light
By: Morris Henderson
(Copyright 2014 by the author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

EDITOR'S NOTE: In my humble opinion, Darkness Into Light will be a much needed story on Tickiestories site.   Poignant, moving, touching the soul, it's a reminder to each guy who reads it of the struggle, the joy, the trauma, or the memories (some good, some not so good) that he experienced and somehow got through, whether to stand up against family and society, whether to give in to un-common desires and hide in the shadows, or whether to push the longings, the pheromonic or hormonic attractions, or Lord Alfred Douglas' Love that dare not speak it's name, into the catacombs of his conscious mind.

Darkness

I grew up in a small farming community during the late 1950s in northern Utah.  I didn’t know it at the time but I was living in the dark.  Oh, I could see.  There was nothing wrong with my eyesight.  But cultural blinders obscured the infinite diversity of environments, values, and opportunities in the rest of the real world.  So you may understand my isolation and ignorance, let me briefly sketch out my background.

My parents owned a combination grocery/hardware store — it and a gas station were the only retail establishments in the tiny town that was little more than crossroads in the middle of vast expanses of farmland.  My parents worked long hours; the store was open Monday through Saturday from seven in the morning to seven at night.  Sunday was a day of attending church all morning with the afternoon and evening spent relaxing.  Sunday was the best day of the week especially in the summer when we could play games outdoors and occasionally cram into the ten-year-old car to go on a picnic on the river bank.  In spite of having to run the store, my parents always made time to show their love for my two older sisters and me.  As a small child, I was happy in my small world and was quite unaware of how different it was from the bigger world beyond the horizon.

A youngster in a farming community soon learns how animals are bred and how calves, ponies, and lambs are born.  It was therefore a simple deduction to conclude that people were no different.  Men had to have a penis like me; women had to have a vagina.  A man and a woman would couple just like the farm animals do.   But I had no confirmation of my conclusion because any discussion of human mating and child birth was strictly avoided and any comments or questions were quickly condemned.  I had never seen any genitalia other than my own.  One’s “private parts” must ALWAYS be kept covered — a lesson I learned as a toddler when I walked naked down the hall from my bedroom to the bathroom and was subjected to a severe scolding and a repetition of a lecture on “decency.”

Allow me to explain further the cultural blinders that I mentioned.  All my aunts, uncles, and cousins were adherents of the same religion.  Those that lived nearby attended the same church as my family, a Spartan chapel in town, and had the same beliefs as my parents.  All the farming families for miles around didn’t regularly attend church services but adhered to the religion’s strict code of behavior.  In the lower grades of elementary school, all of my classmates attended Sunday School with me.  I didn’t know the religious affiliation of the occasional stranger who stopped in the store or the truck drivers that delivered merchandise to stock the store shelves.  The subject of religion never came up and I assumed their religion’s beliefs were no different from those of everyone I knew.  What little I knew about the outside world came from infrequent comments from adult members of our tightly-knit community.  And from a few sermons in church.  From those sermons, I was convinced that big cities were unpleasant, unfriendly, and hot beds of iniquity.  More and more, I felt lucky to live where I did among people like my own family.

When I was twelve years old I knew, of course, that my voice would deepen just as all other boys’ did.  And I would get facial hair and would have to start shaving my beard.  But it was a complete surprise when hair started growing around my penis.  I thought I was a weird freak.  I wanted to ask my dad about it but I knew his reaction would be the same as any other topic that dealt with “private” parts.  Still, I worked up the courage to ask and his response was the opposite of what I expected.  “It’s normal, Son.  It just means that you’re growing up into manhood.”  He returned to reading his Bible (perhaps to ward off any further awkward questions).  I was relieved that his response was not scornful and that I needn’t worry about the fuzz around my penis.

Encouraged by his helpful comment and hoping for more information, I said, “There’s something else, Dad.  My penis sometimes gets hard and stiff.  Is that part of growing up too?”

His expression changed immediately to perplexed.  He just looked at me for what seemed like forever.  I was afraid I had crossed the line.  I became sure of it when he said very emphatically, “Yes.  But don’t play with it!  That’s sinful!  Wait until you’re married!”

I felt thoroughly chastised.  But I learned two new things.  Don’t touch your penis except to pee or to wash it.  Also, anything more than that was condemned in the eyes of God.  Later, upon reflecting on my experience and my dad’s stern warning, I solved a mystery that had puzzled me.  When a bull mounts a cow its penis gets very big.  The same must be true for people.  When the man’s penis is hard and stiff it can more easily be inserted into a woman’s vagina.  It was only a conjecture but it made sense to me.

In spite of my dad’s warning, I experimented and discovered two more things.  First, I could make my penis get hard if I played with it.  Second, it felt GOOD!  Why, I wondered, would God have created us to enjoy some things — liking alcohol and playing with your penis, for example — and simultaneously forbid us from benefitting from them?  I puzzled over that for a few weeks until a sermon in church resolved the dilemma.  “You will be tempted!” the preacher intoned.  “Never yield to the temptation or you will be damned!  Resist the temptation and you will be more worthy of salvation.”

I didn’t want to be damned but neither was I strong enough to resist the temptation that hung between my legs.  As with all twelve-year-olds, I ignored the inevitability of death and of God’s judgment in the distant future.  I played with my penis every night before falling asleep and often during the day when I was alone and sure of not being caught.

About six months later, something weird happened.  After I played with my penis for longer than usual, there was a strange, new tingling that seemed to spread throughout my body.  That was quite pleasant and enjoyable.  More troubling, however, was that a clear fluid oozed out of my penis.  That worried me.  I stopped immediately and didn’t touch my penis for more than a week except to pee or to wash it while taking a bath.  As I thought through what happened, it made sense to me that the fluid was like what a male farm animal released into a female.  Somehow that caused the female animal to start forming an offspring.  Something else influenced my thinking more powerfully.  The memory of the sensations haunted me, beckoned me, and tempted me.  In spite of my dad’s warning to wait until I was married, I was frequently doing what I would later learn was called masturbation. And thoroughly enjoying it.

First Rays of Dawn

My Boy Scout troop had been planning a camping trip to Bear Lake over the Fourth of July weekend.  I was extremely excited about it.  It would be the first time I had not slept in my own bed.  And the first time I had been more than a few miles from home.  I was most excited because my best friend and I were assigned to sleep in the same pup tent.  Craig was an athletic sort who taught me how to play baseball although I could never match his native ability.    We spent a lot of time together at recess and lunch at school.  He often visited me at home because I was able to help him with his school assignments.  Helping each other — his coaching me in baseball and my tutoring him in school work — added immeasurably to the rapport that had grown through the years.  I was thrilled by the prospect of spending a lot of time together during the weekend campout.

The first day of the campout was structured with a number of activities organized by the Scout Master and his assistant.  At nightfall, we gathered around a campfire swapping stories about what had happened that day.  Eventually, the Scout Master announced it was bedtime.  All of us greeted the news with boos, moans, and complaints.  But we all knew objecting too strenuously or complaining too loudly at a pronouncement by an authority figure was not only useless but inappropriate.  After the Scout Master led us in prayer, we reluctantly made our way to our assigned pup tents.

Craig and I chatted quietly for a long time.  It must have been after midnight when he said, “Tomorrow will be more fun.  But I think we’d better get some sleep.”  He then began to strip off his clothes and I did the same.  I stopped when I had nothing on but my skivvies and tee shirt.  Craig, however, continued until he was completely naked.  I was stunned.  It was the first time I had seen a penis other than my own and I was mesmerized, powerless to discretely divert my gaze.  Without any conscious thought, I scanned his fully exposed body and my eyes came to rest on his penis that dangled from a bush of hair much thicker than my own.    All too soon, he jarred me into awareness of what I was doing and he asked, “What’s the matter?  Just ‘cause I’m naked?  Does that bother you?”

“Sorry,” I stammered.  “It’s just that ... well ... I never ... you know ... I didn’t expect to see you take off ALL your clothes.”

Craig grinned.  “Let me guess,” he said.  “This is the first time you’ve seen somebody naked.  I know you and your family are very religious.  Does it bother you that I expose myself?  At home, I don’t.  But it’s very hot tonight.  I don’t want clothes or even a blanket to make me more uncomfortable.”

Our friendship had developed to the point where we felt totally at ease expressing our thoughts and opinions so I replied, “You’re right.  I’ve never seen anyone naked.  You’re the first.  And no, I’m not bothered by it.  It’s just that ... well ... it’s just that you took me by surprise.”

Craig smiled.  I took that to mean he was amused by my admission.  He stood, facing me, allowing me more time to visually explore his body.  (I would wonder later if he felt flattered by my astonished admiration and simply welcomed the chance to proudly show off his body.)  If I were not so captured by the odd turn of events, I may have realized that he may have been tempting me.  I caught myself wondering if he played with his penis like I did, got it stiff, and released the same strange fluid that mine did.  But in spite of our close friendship I felt it would be just too personal.  He interrupted my thoughts by saying, “Tell you what.  Why don’t you strip down like me?  It’ll be cooler for you.  And I won’t feel funny being the only naked guy.”

Being cooler was not a high priority for me.  But making my best friend more comfortable seemed to be important.  It wasn’t merely peer pressure that compelled me to strip off my remaining clothing.  Rather, it was the irresistible urge to be like my best friend, to show him that I respected him.  Most powerful (I came later to recognize) was the adventure of it all.  Sleeping naked was so different from anything I had experienced.  And exciting.  And what twelve-year-old doesn’t test the boundaries of acceptable behavior?

Craig seemed just as interested in my nakedness and especially my penis, as I had been with his.  If I hadn’t been so naïve, I might have guessed that his obvious interest in my exposed body was a sign of more than idle curiosity.  My emotions at the time were mixed.  There was embarrassment (but no sense of guilt) after years of enforced “decency.”  There was excitement over venturing into an unfamiliar experience.  Trumping those feelings, however, was a sensation eerily similar to those I felt during masturbation.  My penis responded to the sensations.  I felt it gradually engorging.  Without my even touching it!  I tried to will it to stop, to soften, to prevent revealing my arousal.  I failed.  It continued to swell, stiffen, and begin rising to an upright position.  I was frantic.

Craig eased my anxiety by saying, “NICE!  Not just nice but obviously capable.”

The “nice” compliment was appreciated but the full meaning of “capable” escaped me.

Imagine my surprise when he started stroking his own flaccid penis, which responded to mirror my own full erection.  “Wanna jerk off?”  he asked.

“What do you mean?” I asked in reply.

“You know.  Let’s jerk off and cum.”

The vocabulary was foreign to me and I asked again, “What do you mean?”

He correctly interpreted my confusion and clarified his meaning without a hint of condescension.  “Jerk off.  Masturbate.  Until you squirt cum.  You might call it semen or sperm.”

I didn’t reply immediately.  I had to absorb his explanation and weigh my options.  In the end, I decided that I would agree to his suggestion mostly because I wanted to maintain our friendship.  But enjoying the self-stimulation with another guy — especially my best friend — seemed to promise even more satisfaction and was a significant contributing factor.  “Okay,” I said.

We lay facing each other and set about to masturbate ourselves.  I was the first to reach orgasm and moaned softly.  I had just recovered from the overwhelming sensations that were far more intense than any I had experienced before when I saw him release an impressive amount of creamy fluid on the bare ground between us.

He wore a broad grin and said, “That was fun.  Never done it with somebody else.  Thanks for going along with my idea.”

I had to agree. “Yes it was fun.  My first time, too.  Lots better when you’re doing it with somebody.”

I had a hundred questions I wanted to ask him.  I wanted to know how often he masturbated, how long had he been doing it, whether he thought it Is sinful, and if his parents know he does it.  And on and on.  But I didn’t have the chance to ask.  He lay back down and said. “It’s late.  We gotta be up at six for breakfast.  We’d better get some sleep.”

It was a long time before I fell asleep.  I had long since accepted masturbation — jerking off, as Craig called it — as enjoyable and not the serious sin that my father had warned me about.  This, however, was different.  I wondered, without drawing any conclusion, if masturbation with someone else was a greater sin.  Far more troubling as I reflected on the experience was another thought.  I tried to imagine what it would be like to do more than see Craig’s naked body and watch him masturbate.  What would it be like to actually touch him, to play with his stiff penis like I played with mine?  And would my sensations be different and better if it was his hand stroking my penis?  I wasn’t sure that he would be willing and even less sure about how to suggest it.  After all, it was probably the sort of thing that had been condemned from the pulpit (in scarcely disguised phrasing) as degenerate homosexuality.  Surely God’s punishment for such behavior would be severe.  My blinders were still distorting my view of reality.  Nevertheless, just contemplating what it would be like to actually touch his penis, have him touch mine, and even jerk each other off, brought my penis to full erection only minutes after jerking off.

Morning came and the next day passed.  I didn’t enjoy the day as much as the first day because my thoughts were frequently dominated by what Craig and I had done the night before.  Neither of us mentioned what we had done but by evening my memories of the daring event and of my enjoyment of it had firmly replaced any thoughts of sin and punishment.  That was coupled with anticipation of a repetition after the campfire when we were alone again in our tent.  Oddly, the mere thought of what lay ahead caused a tingling in my penis that twice almost embarrassed me by getting stiff.

As soon as we returned to our tent that night, I boldly asked Craig if he wanted to jerk off like we had done the night before.  “Nah,” he said.  “We may get caught if the Scout Master checks on us.  Besides, I’m tired and just want to sleep.”

My hopes were dashed but I had to honor his decision.  Still, I relived the previous night in my imagination.  My penis responded by getting very hard.  As soon as I was sure Craig was asleep, I gave my penis — and me — the relief so desperately needed.

Early Morning Light

Throughout high school, Craig and I remained friends but, regrettably, never had the opportunity to engage in what my parents would regard as “carnal sin.”  Nor did I have any chance seeing another naked boy much less to do anything like what Craig and I did.  That may sound strange but it was due to the small size of the rural high school that did not have any sports teams or even a locker room and showers for the mandatory physical education classes.  I had to be contented with the still vivid memory of a glorious night with Craig at Bear Lake.  I joined in clandestine conversations with other boys at school comparing notes and opinions of the girls in our classes.  But my contributions to the discussion were only a ruse to maintain expected appearances and not to be labeled as an abnormal pervert.  However my lack of fascination with females was a source of concern.  I was never able to answer the question: Why am I aroused by recalling that night with Craig and not by the possibility of doing something similar with a girl?  I consoled myself with the rationalization that I would one day develop the same level of interest that my peers had — assuming they were not just projecting a false macho interest.

Upon graduation from high school, Craig stayed home to help his father with the farm.  I was fortunate enough to get a scholarship to the University of Utah in Salt Lake City because of my academic performance in high school.  My parents were disappointed that I didn’t attend Brigham Young University, a church-owned school but, God bless them, supported my choice and tapped into their savings to cover the costs of housing, meals, and books.

Living in a big city (Salt Lake City was not big except by comparison to what I had experienced before.) did a lot to open my eyes to life in the wider world.  It was not what I had been told, not unfriendly, more crowded than my rural roots, and certainly not a hot bed of iniquity.  What else that I heard from my parent and from the pulpit, I wondered, was similarly false?

Recognizing Darkness

While in college, I spent the summers at home helping my parents in the store.  During these times, I would chat with the customers and, of course, accompany my parents to church.  I became increasingly aware of the insularity of the rural community in which I grew up.  And increasingly aware of the poorly disguised narrow-mindedness of the population.  The blinders imposed on me as a child no longer hid their underlying bigotry — not bigotry born of meanness but of innocent ignorance with, perhaps, a generous portion of self-righteousness.  I was recurrently reminded that if you’re a fish, the whole world is nothing but water.

My understanding of the larger world was substantially improved by college classes — particularly those in physics and biology.  Philosophy also played a role by stimulating in me an interest in the astonishing variety of often contradictory religious beliefs.  It forced me to reluctantly examine the “truths” that I had learned from my parents, neighbors, and most especially in Sunday school.  Science often contradicted a religion’s dogma.  Faith and demonstrable fact were often incompatible.  Which is truer?  Each religion teaches many values that are commendable but also has some principles that are questionable.  My religion and others teach attitudes and behavior that are undeniably bigoted — for example, regard for and treatment of women and minority races.  Could it be, I wondered, that the threat of damnation for nontraditional sexual behavior such as infidelity, masturbation, and attraction to those of the same gender be due to a flawed interpretation of scripture?  If so, it’s an error that propagates throughout society until it is no longer challenged and is universally accepted.

The blinders that had restricted and distorted my view of the world had, not without a great deal of anxiety and regret, fallen off.  I now saw the world in a new light, a world that was extraordinarily complex with greed, aggression, and ignorance often rendering ineffective the more desirable behaviors of compassion and social cohesion.  Navigating in that world would be a challenge.

Living in the dorm with its communal shower gave me plenty of opportunity to see other naked guys ... always with quick, discrete glances.  Muscular guys and trim ones.  Cut penises and a few with foreskins.  Profuse and sparse hair.  Uptight and pendulous testicles.  Mostly average size penises but a few short, stubby ones and a few longer ones that hung down and swayed when their owners walked.  My undeniable interest in the male body and my frequent recalling of what I had seen — became a major concern, a concern that rose to anxiety and triggered increasing fear.  Was I one of those degenerate perverts that my religion had vilified?  Was I doomed to damnation for my thoughts?  The conflicting urges — to adhere to the morality I had been taught or to admire males and fantasize about doing more than merely look — was a dilemma that caused increasing torment.  The anguish was only partially abated by almost convincing myself that a “normal” attraction to girls was just late-blooming in me.  I also believed that by keeping my hands to myself through solo masturbation was not so very bad.  I recognized in more rational moments, however, that my reasoning was only self-deception because my enjoyment and satisfaction when masturbating was significantly enhanced by the mental images of guys I had seen in the shower.  And magnified by fond memories of one glorious night in a pup tent with Craig.  My fantasies expanded to include particularly attractive men in the dorm’s shower room.

In my Junior year of college I joined a fraternity, which was the last thing I thought I would do because I had become a bit of a loner with few social skills.  A friend, Keith, was a member and persuaded me to join.  Living in the fraternity house was less expensive than the dormitory and would minimize my parents’ expenses.  The decision turned out to have significantly positive benefits.  Keith became my big brother in the fraternity and spent a lot of time coaching me on how to more effectively interact with fraternity brothers in particular and the student population in general.  Both my confidence and participation with others increased thanks to Keith’s help.  More than appreciating his help I admired him as a person.  He was bright, compassionate, patient, and always a pleasure to be with.  I became very fond of him, but not, as you might think, in a sexual way.  He was never a part of my fantasizing.  There were other brothers living in the fraternity who provided ample fodder for my imagination.  Nudity was allowed on the second floor and quite common to see naked guys walking down the hall to the shower ... except for a few shy members who always had at least towels wrapped around their waists.  I did a lot of looking.  And wishing.

My roommate, Tom, was not one of the shy ones so I had numerous occasions to see him in the nude not only in the hallway and shower but in our dorm room.  He was muscular, very well endowed, and was the most common object of my fantasies.  In spite of his frequent talks about girls and having dated several girls in high school, I allowed myself to think that his bluster was, like mine, a camouflage for his real interests.  But I never had the courage to attempt to penetrate what I felt was a façade of “normal” sexual orientation.  Only in my imagination was he a willing and active partner in jerking off together.

Daybreak

Tom was indirectly responsible for opening my eyes to the ways two males can engage in intimate contact, the sort of contact that lurked in my yearnings.  But my yearnings were pitifully lacking in detail.  Until one weekend in early March, just before Spring Break. 

On a Thursday night, Tom stayed up late to cram for an exam on Friday.  He was quiet and his desk lamp didn’t bother me so I easily fell asleep.  It was about three in the morning when a strange sound awaked me.  I looked across the room and was astonished to see Tom lying on his bed stark naked and looking at a magazine.  He was fondling his rigid cock.  My logical assumption was that the magazine had pictures of naked, well-endowed young women and that had caused his erection.  Therefore, I didn’t pay attention to the magazine.  Instead, I was intently focused on his impressively large cock.  My own cock responded to what I witnessed and rapidly inflated.  I made no sound.  I wanted time to admire his masculinity ... and to fantasize about joining him and jerking off together as Craig and I had done at Bear Lake.  The urge to jerk myself off was intense but I resisted because it would alert Tom that I was watching and embarrass him.  That would surely put an end to the stimulating performance I was watching and possibly to our friendship.

All too soon, it was apparent that he was close to cumming.  His strokes were rapid.  His eyes were closed.  His face was contorted.  He dropped the magazine on the floor, raised his hips off the bed, and spewed cum across his chest and abdomen.  A few moments later, I was flabbergasted to see him scoop up his cum with his hand, transfer it to his mouth, and swallow it.  I thought it was totally bizarre but I resolved to try it if for no other reason than to see what it was like.

He lay there for a long time.  His heavy breathing returned to normal.  His cock deflated and lay limply nestled in his thick pubic bush.  It was then that I got another surprise.  I glanced down at the magazine and could see that the cover had a picture of two young, very well-built men lying on a beach with prominent bulges in their skimpy swim suits.  Could it be?  Might Tom have been aroused not by pictures of buxom women but by handsome men scantily clothed or completely naked?  If so, would Tom be willing to reveal his secret to me and to engage in sexual stimulation with me?  The possibility made my mind race.  My contemplation of the likelihood was interrupted when Tom rose, picked up the magazine off the floor, and tucked it under his mattress.  He put his boxer shorts back on, turned out the light, and crawled into bed.  He probably fell asleep quickly.  I could not.  What I saw and the hopes it spawned in me kept me awake for well more than an hour.

Immediately after his last class on Friday, Tom left to spend the weekend with his family in Payson, a two hour drive away.  When I was sure he was gone and would not be back, I retrieved the magazine from under his mattress.  Immediately, my suspicion of his interest in men was confirmed.  More significantly, however, was the education I got from page after page of graphic photos showing, in addition to men posing in the nude, an astonishing variety of oral and anal sexual activities between two and sometimes more men.  Until that point in my life, knowing how animals were bred and extrapolating to human intercourse, I hadn’t had the slightest idea of what two men could do together.  Essentially, they would substitute a mouth or an anus for a vagina.  After an initial and very brief sense of revulsion at taking a cock in my mouth or inserting my cock into an anus, the activities depicted in the magazine grew more and more desirable.  My cock was rigid for longer than it had ever been as I absorbed what I saw.  Like Tom the previous night, I yielded to the demands of my throbbing cock and quickly achieved an almost debilitating orgasm.

I accessed Tom’s magazine numerous times over the weekend, tasting and swallowing my cum until it became an enjoyable culmination of my repeated masturbation.

I also spent a great deal of time that weekend in self-examination, reflecting on what I had been taught as a child about “self-abuse”, about “normal” relationships, and about the wrath of God for straying from the straight and narrow path to salvation.  It was not easy to reconcile my interests and behavior with the beliefs that had been implanted in me.  I would remain conflicted for a painfully long time.

By the time Tom returned to campus late Sunday night, I had resolved to carefully — very carefully — lure him into admitting his secret.  I hoped my plan was foolproof.  I would proceed gradually and always leave myself an escape route if he reacted negatively or even became uneasy with my questions and subtle cues.  As it turned out, all my careful planning was wasted.

I was lying in bed reading when Tom came back to the dorm late one Friday evening after a birthday party for one of his friends.  When he staggered into our dorm room, it was obvious that the party had included plenty of alcohol and he was feeling it.  I asked him if he had fun at the party.  “It was a blast!” he declared, slightly slurring his words.  He proceeded to tell me about it, grinning and giggling at some of the jokes that punctuated the evening.  While recounting the merriment of the party, he was sitting on the edge of my bed.  I toyed with the idea of activating my plan since his moderate level of inebriation might overcome any hesitance to divulging his interest in men.  While I was debating with myself whether to take advantage of him in his weakened state, he asked, “Would you mind if I turned off the light?  It’s hurting my eyes.”

“Not at all, Tom.”

He switched off the light above my bed, leaving only the dim ceiling light on.  Then he lay down next to me.  I thought that was strange but didn’t fully grasp the significance of the act, much less what was to follow.

After a few more minutes of senseless chatter, he laid a hand on my crotch.  There was only my cotton brief between his hand and my cock and it was not enough to prevent it from gradually engorging and put my mind into a state of chaos.  The shock of his action left me speechless.  And I just couldn’t believe that he was so drunk that he didn’t realize exactly what he was doing.  His intentions became even clearer when he began fondling my cock, which, of course, accelerated its stiffening.  As soon as he whispered, “Nice!” in my ear, all doubt about his goal was eliminated.  I knew that my dreams were about to come true.  To confirm my willingness, I reached down and laid my hand on his crotch.

He smiled and said, “I’ve wanted this for a long time.  It seems you have, too.”

“Yes,” I replied, underscoring my meaning with a prolonged squeezing of his cock.

“Good!” he enthused.  “Let’s do it!”  He arose and quickly stripped off all his clothes.  I could have used the time to slip off my briefs but I was mesmerized by the progressive disclosure of his magnificent body.  It was a sight I’d seen often but it had very special meaning this time because it was a prelude to something marvelous.

Tom got back into my bed but rather than lying side by side, he straddled my bare legs and took my fully erect cock into his mouth.  The sensation was indescribable.  Everything in the world vanished.  My only awareness was the sight and feel of his warm, wet mouth licking and stroking my throbbing cock.  I wanted the experience to last forever but all too soon I realized that I was on the brink of orgasm.  I didn’t even have enough time to warn him and shot several volleys of semen down his throat before collapsing into a state of erotic ecstasy.

When my heart rate and breathing returned to near normal, I found his beautiful cock (Yes, in my euphoria it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.) dangling just an inch from my mouth.  I raised my head slightly and welcomed the half-hard shaft into my mouth — or at least as much of it as I could manage.  I tried my best to duplicate what he had done for me.  I must have done all right because his cock gradually stiffened.  I didn’t mind the time it took because it was something I had wanted to do for a long time.  Or at least since sneaking a peek at his hidden magazine that enlightened me on what men can do to and for each other.  Tom’s loud moan accompanied the release of warm, creamy fluid to coat my tongue and throat.

We slept together in my bed that night.  Two guys in a twin bed can be awkward but we were pressing our naked bodies together so tightly that there was ample room.  Memories of what had happened and what I never expected to happen were so vivid and affected me so deeply that sleep would not come for more than an hour during which time, I relished the warmth of Tom’s naked body pressed against me.

Storm Clouds Darken My Day

I awoke alone in bed.  Where was Tom?  I grabbed a towel and walked down the hall to the shower room hoping to find him there.  But I was disappointed; the shower room was empty.  I showered quickly and returned to my room.  Maybe he was having breakfast.  I dressed and walked to the cafeteria.  A careful scan of the room found only a half-dozen students, which was not unusual for a Saturday morning.  Tom was not one of them.  Where the hell was he?

I waited in my room all morning unable to study for wondering — no, worrying is more accurate — about why Tom was missing.  Ordinarily, his absence on a Saturday morning would not be uncommon.  But the completely uncharacteristic behavior the previous night changed the situation (and perhaps our relationship) dramatically.  I would have preferred to spend the day or most of it in bed with Tom or, if not that, fondly remembering the thrill of being intimate with the guy who had dominated my fantasies.

It was late afternoon when Tom walked into the room.  I wanted to rush to him, hug him, and thank him for making my dreams come true.  Instead, I blurted out, “Where have you been?  I was worried about you.”  I instantly regretted what I said when he shot me a look that likely meant I had no right to keep track of his comings and goings,

“Out walking.  And thinking,” he replied.  Turning very serious, he continued, “We need to talk.”  He immediately sat at his desk, elbows on his knees, and staring at the floor.  “First of all, I want to apologize for what I did to you last night.  I think it’s unforgivable but I beg you to forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” I replied.

“Yes, there is,” he almost shouted as he looked up at me.  “I was half-drunk.  But I was also half-sober.  I should have known better.  I was thinking with my cock instead of my head.  I had no right to accost you like I did.  I’m truly sorry.  I promise it won’t happen again.”

I slid my desk chair over toward him.  I placed a hand on his knee.  He recoiled and swept away my hand.  But I had something to say.  “Listen to me, Tom.  What you did to me — what we did TOGETHER — is exactly what I’ve wanted for a very long time.  I was a completely willing participant.  I was more than that.  I welcomed what you did — what WE did — you made me happy ... happier than I can ever express.  There’s absolutely no need to apologize.  If anything, I need to tell you how grateful I am that we did it.”

He stared at me for a long time with an expression I could not interpret.  I felt a need to emphasize what I had said.  “THANK YOU, Tom.  You gave me something that I’ve wanted more than anything else.”

Finally, he spoke in a tone of disbelief.  “You’re not angry with me?”

“HELL, NO!  How many ways do I have to say it?  I’m grateful.  Last night was my dream come true.  If you hadn’t started it all, I’d still be frustrated with only the impossible wish that you and I could do what we did.”  Tom’s slight smile told me that he believed me and was relieved of any guilt.

“It was fun, wasn’t it?” he said.

“Much more than fun, Tom.  It was thrilling and extraordinarily pleasurable.  We can do it as often as you like.”

His smile evaporated into a scowl.  “I don’t know about that.  I mean maybe we shouldn’t do it again.”

“Why not?  We both enjoy it.”

“But it’s ... it’s wrong.  Two guys having sex?  That’s not normal.  A man and a woman is normal.  So long as they’re married.  But two guys?  That’s not the way it should be.”

There followed a long conversation about religious and societal taboos.  I argued that, like red hair or left-handedness, homosexuality was not uncommon ... and not abnormal.  Attraction to men is neither sick nor perverted nor sinful.  At first, he took the opposite view, saying that it was definitely abnormal and something that must be “cured” or at least rigorously managed.  We couldn’t find a common ground and the discussion (argument?) ended when he said, “Look.  Let’s agree to disagree.  The fact of the matter is this.  Homosexuality is universally condemned.  Homosexuals are subjected to vicious persecution.  That’s not the life that I want to live.  I don’t want to suffer the abuse and torment.  Moreover, I will not subject my parents to the humiliation of having a queer son.  So here’s the bottom line.  What happened last night will never happen again.”

That last pronouncement, delivered with such conviction and finality, was devastating.  All the joy that I experienced with him was replaced with a crushing sense of loss.  I wanted to cry and to beg him to reconsider.  But I knew it would not change his mind.  Deep within me was the hope — that I would only later consciously recognize — that, given enough time, his resolve would soften and that both he and I might gratify our common needs for intimacy.  But I was to be disappointed.  For the duration of the school year, Tom behaved quite differently around me.  His demeanor could best be described as “coolly friendly.”  Significantly, he was very careful not to be naked around me, always facing away from me to undress and promptly wrapping a towel around his waist when going to or from the shower.  I was not surprised when he requested a different roommate the following year.

Author’s Note:

In college, exposure to the broader world allowed me to recognize the dark, insular world of my youth.  And welcome the challenges and opportunities that were revealed to me.  My college experience also provided my first gay sex experience.

I was prompted to write this personal memoir by a news article I read a few days ago.  A federal court ruled that Pennsylvania’s 1996 ban on same sex marriage was unconstitutional.  Significantly, the governor announced there would be no appeal of the decision, which will make that state the nineteenth along with the District of Columbia to legalize gay marriage.  The governor, a Republican and opposed to same sex marriage, made his decision in part on the basis of a poll of Pennsylvania voters in which 74% of Democrats supported the right of gays to marry and only 59% of Republicans opposed it.  He also stated that as governor he was obligated to abide by the law.

How times have changed!

The environment in the 1960s when I grew up was toxic for homosexuals.  Discrimination, condemnation, and persecution were ferocious.  I — and an unknown number of others — were afraid to reveal our innermost longings and, like Tom, chose to maintain a façade of normality.  Perhaps reading my story will resonate with many of my generation.  Those in a younger generation will, I hope, appreciate the improving climate of tolerance that is more accepting of same sex attraction and love.

And finally, my thanks to Iatia who expertly edited this story and, more importantly, is a treasured friend.

Posted: 05/30/14