I have a lot of very early childhood memories. When I openly recall them to someone, the response is often, “How can you remember something from when you were so young? I’m lucky if I remember anything before age ten!”
I actually recall my mother giving me a bath in the bathroom sink. It likely burned into my memory because I peed on her, and her subsequent surprise.
Before I even knew that girls didn’t have penises was when I saw my younger cousin using the toilet. I exclaimed, “You have two hineys!” It looked like a tiny butt, what can I say? I was probably four years old.
At around the same age, I liked to take the shirts off my older brother’s GI Joes. I ‘d pull down the pants, but pull them back up after inspections; I somehow knew it wasn’t acceptable. They had fuzzy hair and beards, which made them somewhat realistic, but I can still recall my disappointment when I touched the smooth area where there ought to have been a dick. There’s actually a picture of me in our house, sitting on stairs, with a bunch of shirtless GI Joes lined up on either side of me. I had a very big grin.
Before I knew the differences between male and female, I had this notion that men and women, without their children, would go to watch separate movies specific to their gender. Only one theater, but two screens, with a giant partition separating the men (on the left), from the women (on the right). I
that there would be a lot of nudity, and that women weren’t allowed to see men
naked, and vice versa.
My most profound early memory was of seeing a naked man for the first time. I was seven years old. This one really rocked my world.
In 1976, my parents took my brother, sister, and I (the youngest) to Washington D.C. on vacation. That was the Bicentennial year, which was a big deal. The hotel at which we stayed had. While at the hotel’s indoor pool with my family, I had to use the bathroom, so my brother took me to one which also had a shower. Vic opened the door for me, and when I looked in, I saw a very beautiful, dark-mustached, curly haired man (picture 70s porn) drying himself with a towel. I looked up at my brother, who merely shrugged, so I walked in and to the closest stall. I knew I wasn’t supposed to stare (we were taught never to stare, but this was especially true because I somehow knew I wasn’t supposed to like this naked man), so I didn’t completely close the stall door, rather I left it open barely enough to see through. This man was incredible! While drying himself off, he talked to another naked (!) man in a shower stall. But I couldn’t see him. I…well I stalled as long as I could, without alarming my brother or this completely naked, grown man that I was taking too long. Plus I desperately wanted to see the other naked man! I didn’t get to see him, but the one naked man was enough for me!
Did I mention he was actually naked?
I was hooked. Completely head-over-heels. It was the most amazing sight I’d ever beheld.
A year or two after that, in another pool/shower situation, I sat next to a naked man on a bench in the locker area. He had brown hair and no mustache, as I recall, but since I didn’t have any way to be stealth about it, I couldn’t stare. But just that he was so close to me sent me through the roof.
This was all pre-puberty, by the way.
Then, at age 12, I had yet another locker room/pool/shower situation. I attended a swimming event at the local high school (Sachem, on Long Island, from which I later graduated in 1987), with my friend Chad and his gorgeous father, Blaise. He was so fucking hot, and I’d always dreamed about spying through his bedroom window to see him naked. But this was real! This time, I stared right at him, agog. He was all soapy and his cock was flopping back and forth from being washed. It was at this point, with my tongue likely hanging out, that he said to me, “So Scott, how do you like it?” He was referring to whether I liked the swimming event, presumably, and I’m not even sure how I responded. Quite affirmatively, I imagine. I was also naked, and when I walked out of the shower room, into the locker area, I had a raging hard-on. One of the older boys saw that and had a disgusted look on my face. I quickly realized my “mistake” and covered up.
Very early on, like at age four or five, I began getting the boys on the block to watch me pee outdoors (a couple of girls watched, too, including my cousins) and to blow me (no girls!). We moved when I was five years old, and I got the new neighborhood boys to go down on me, too. For several years. I eagerly reciprocated.
It wasn’t until I was about thirteen or so that the blowjobs had to cease, since by that age we knew it was about being gay. And no one was allowed to be gay! So all of my teen years, save for one isolated incident when I was nineteen, were devoid of any sexual contact, which was really when I wanted it. Right around the time I could ejaculate was when I could no longer approach boys.
Besides, at that age I no longer wanted boys; I wanted grown men. That was actually true from my earliest years, but I had to settle for other boys, early on.
I had one experience at age twelve when I got an 18-year-old to jerk off for me. First time I saw cum. Huge dick. He looked like Kurt Cobain. I loved it, but I won’t describe it because I have no interest in writing about pedophilia. But know that I actually came on to him.
There was no internet until I was 26 years old, so I had no way of finding sex before I was old enough to go to bars at age 21. And other than one straight porn video I’d seen maybe three times, no porn at all. There was the park & ride highway rest area, but I didn’t discover that until, ironically, the day of my 21st birthday (I could’ve been going there when I started driving at age 18). For my birthday, my sister took me to see Phantom of the Opera in the city. I was still living on Long Island. She thought we were supposed to meet at the exit 52 park & ride, off the Long Island Expressway, but I thought we were to meet at the exit 49 park & ride. Cell phones weren’t a thing in 1990, so she had no way of calling to see where I was. By the time she realized it and made her way to exit 49, I’d already figured out what all those guys were doing there, and made a plan to return, the following evening.
I waited for Lori, parked near the entrance. It was a warm June day, so I had my window rolled down and was reading “No One Here Gets Out Alive,” the Jim Morrison biography. Two dudes in a white Toyota Celica kept circling me, but I didn’t understand why. Finally, they pulled up next to me and asked for the time. So I gave them the time, still confused, but kind of realizing they were gay. They pulled away, but about a minute later, they again circled my car, but this time the passenger was holding up a magazine with a lot of skin. That’s when I did the Rose/Betty White, “Ooooooh! Now I get it!” The entire time I was watching Phantom, my mind was still back at the park & ride. I planned to return, the following evening.
I did…and so my sex life began.
But there was an exact point when I realized I’m gay. After a few months of going to “49” every chance I got, I met this one particular guy, whom I’d seen cruising the spot several times, but never hooked up with. When we finally did meet – and after he gave me an “aiight” blow job – we talked. I was 21 and I think he was 35. He drove a black corvette and described himself as a “real” gypsy. Whatever that meant. But he said something that really resonated with me, which was there’s no such thing as bisexuality. Guys who said they were bi were really just afraid to admit to being gay. Although I’ve subsequently learned that there really are bi men and women, the part about my being afraid made me think.
On my way home, while driving on the Long Island Expressway, I realized, out loud, “Oh shit…I’m gay!” I can still see the literal road ahead of me, in my mind’s eye. You’d think my not being into women at all, and my total and undivided interest in men, would have made it a foregone conclusion. But it wasn’t. I didn’t give off enough of a gay vibe, growing up, to be called “gay” or whatever associated derogatory term. No one told me. So I made up my own narrative, that it was just a phase; I’d have sex with a grown man once, then with my itch scratched, I’d just move on to women, my true love and sexuality.
The other night, during a party and while standing at my “station” where I check guys in and out, I found myself watching one of my attendees undress. Now, I rarely, if ever, watch guys get undressed because it can feel creepy and disrespectful. So I really never do it. But this guy was very much my type. It made me think about how the mere sight of a naked man used to send me into outer space, but now I have dozens of them, stripping right next to me every week many thousands over the years and I’m so inured to it that I don’t even notice.
That’s a shame.
I watched this guy get blown, and I eventually watched him jerk off and cum while he was watching two guys fucking. The look on his face!
It’s such an amazing privilege to be able to have normal, every-day-type guys, right off the streets of Manhattan, come into my home, strip off their clothes, have sex, shoot their loads, then nonchalantly get dressed again. I mean, how fucking awesome is that? After almost 1,100 parties, over seven years, I am still occasionally awed by it.
I do wish, though, that I were still as blown away as I was when I was a kid. What a gift sexual attraction is.
Thank you for that gift, guys, and for the opportunities associated with it. I truly appreciate you, and I hope you appreciate these parties.
We. Are. Privileged.
Ö Ö Ö
The next Matchers event will be in September. Since I don’t yet have a date – and since the guy who does the scheduling is mad busy – I’m wondering if you can do me a favor.
Back in the late 80s/early-mid 90s, I was in a rock band, and when we wanted to play a gig at a certain place that was hard to get into, we used a trick. We’d get our friends to call the place, asking when our band, Tempest Rising, was going to be playing there. By the time we called to try to schedule, we not only got the gig, but there was already a buzz started.
I’m hoping one or many of you could either call The Center’s front desk (212-620-7310) or email them (email@example.com) to ask when the next Matchers event is. That’s it. The main person at the front desk already knows what Matchers is, but if you get someone who doesn’t know and asks, just tell them it’s a gay dating event. I’ve already put in the dates request (every other Friday starting in September), but I know they’re busy/on vacation, so it’d be good to light the proverbial fire under their proverbial butts.
To read about the updated Matchers event, please scroll down or click here. You can also email me at firstname.lastname@example.org. I encourage you to send me your ideas for discussion topics at the event. The types of topics we’ll discuss could be the 2016 Presidential Election, Islamophobia, Marijuana Legalization, Gay Rights, Immigration, Censorship. All sorts of interesting stuff. And with a system in place for the guys who attend, to make real contact with the guys they might want to get to know better. Whether he becomes your boyfriend or just a friend, it’s a fabulous way to start relationships.
The Örgy Guy