Date: Sun, 14 Feb 2010 08:02:39 +1100
From: John Roy <johnrroy1@gmail.com>
Subject: A Trilogy (Suggest 'Beginnings' in Gay Male)

This is my first submission to Nifty. I was encouraged by a Nifty author
whose work I found inspiring. As my pieces are short, I have combined three
true stories at different stages of my life. I'm a mature-age gay
Australian and find Nifty an invaluable resource. I'd be glad to hear any
comments or criticisms from readers. My email is johnrroy1@gmail.com. Each
story is introduced briefly in turn.


Yes, I was shy in my early years and this story describes my introduction
to male bonding via the Boy Scouts.


SHY START


As a boy, I grew up in a small provincial city in Victoria, Australia,
being born in the latter half of the Thirties. We were a church-going
family, never missing a Sunday if we were not on holidays. There was never
any talk in that atmosphere about the possibility of a boy loving another
boy - it was outside the bounds of that narrow world. It never occurred to
me to even try to conceptualise a sexual encounter with a guy - it was so
alien to our local culture, especially in religious middle class families.
I convinced myself that I was a regular guy wanting to take girls to
dances, despite finding myself quite awkward in their company.
	In my sexual life, I was an early starter, jacking off in toilets
before I was 11.  It was a deliciously illicit act, but I found it hard to
shake off the biblical admonition that it was 'sinful'. There was always
something furtive about it all, a sense of a loss of control, a sense of
defiling the body. It took me years to shake off that induced sense of
guilt, and to finally see stimulation of myself as a celebration of my
humanity. Of course, I was fascinated with the bodies of other boys, as
well as those of men, looking at them surreptitiously in the changing rooms
of our public swim baths. I found the hairy chests, dark bushes and large
cocks of the older men a bit scary.  Always, when pissing in a public
toilet, I wanted like crazy to view the streaming cock of the guy on my
left or right. However, I kept my eyes looking rigidly forward, shutting
out any suggestion of a sideways glimpse. Self- inflicted torture!
	At school, I was outstanding academically, as well as being a very
good sprinter in track and field. However, I was not particularly good at
the glamour sports, cricket and football. Thus, it was inevitable that my
first boyhood heroes were sporting guys. I just wanted to be close to
them. I felt like putting my arms around them, but never did. I was
fascinated when they told 'dirty yarns' and always had a nice feeling in my
crotch.
	Our lives were fairly strictly supervised in the late 40's and
early 50's, with our schoolteachers being quite severe, and with discipline
being enforced at home. It was only in the freedom of the bush on
occasional weekends with our local scout troop that we felt free to discuss
our growing bodies and the nice feelings we had when touching them. I will
try to re-create one such weekend - it turned out (although I did not know
it at the time) to be my first intimate moment with a gay guy:

	We are pulling the wooden trek carts out of town along a gravel
road. They are painted black and have large red wheels, denoting the
colours of our scout troop.  The carts are piled high with camping gear
held down firmly with canvas tarpaulins.  A patrol of six boys stands in
the shafts of each trek cart. We are all of the sparse generation born
during the Great Depression and before the Second World War. We still lead
spartan lives and have known fear in expectation of the 'evil Japanese'
invading our country. We have crouched and practised in backyard air raid
shelters.
	On a fresh morning in late spring, about three years after the end
of the War, all this is left behind us as we stride out, full of hope, into
the countryside, relishing our freedom, our comradeship and the throwing
off of daily routine. Myriads of parrots squabble and screech in the gum
trees lining the road and strong eucalyptus aromas penetrate our
nostrils. It is hard work pulling the carts up a hill and we bend to the
task. When someone starts singing a trekking song, we all join
in. Gradually, we leave the outskirts of the town behind and enter the
bush. Wildflowers bloom in profusion on the rocky ground.
	After about two hours we arrive at the scout reserve and pull the
carts through to the campsite area. Upon unloading, some of us walk deeper
into the bush and select and cut down saplings to provide the two uprights
and two horizontal ridge poles for each tent. Then, we thread a heavy
ex-army tent over one ridge pole, place another about a foot above it and
lash the two uprights with strong rope to the poles at either end. We place
a canvas fly over the top ridge pole, to be stretched tight to keep out the
rain and dew. After lifting the frame vertically into position, heavy rope
cross guys are attached to secure the structure, with tent pegs being
finally sunk into the rocky ground. As soon as the tent allotted to a given
patrol is up, each member scrambles to secure the flattest and least rocky
sleeping spot and to dig a hip-hole.  We don't have sleeping bags or air
mattresses, just using sets of rough grey army blankets joined at the
bottom with large safety pins spread on a waterproof rubber
groundsheet. Our kitbags serve as pillows.
	At the same time another group is digging latrines and setting up
washstands, whereas others are preparing lunch. This is just bread,
sausages and tomato sauce, followed by half-set jelly covered with runny
burnt custard made from powdered milk.  After the meal, an assigned group
washes up, scouring the black greasy pans with steel wool in dirty lukewarm
water. The more senior boys tease the younger ones, asking them to perform
impossible tasks such as stirring water to stop it 'burning', buying black
and red striped paint from an outlying general store, or fetching
impossible gadgets, such as left-handed hammers and 'skyhooks', which hang
down from the sky to allow you to hang up your clothes !
	During the afternoon, we hike through a bush scarred with old mine
workings, avoiding the open shafts. We try to identify the wildflowers
whilst still walking at a brisk pace. We return to camp tired but relaxed,
with those not on duty playing quoits or a type of Indian volleyball using
a rubber quoit, called Sepa Ruga. Dinner is not too different from lunch
and we don't linger, in keen anticipation of the campfire, the highlight of
the weekend. We sing many songs and rounds and the bush envelops us in a
protective embrace. We are drawn to each other and to the exciting
prospects of the life awaiting us. The earth is a beautiful place and we
feel part of it. We link hands for a final dedication 'We are climbing
Jacob's ladder, Soldiers of the Cross'.
	Rowdiness returns as we proceed towards the tents. There we find
the freedom to discuss things forbidden at home or Sunday School. We are on
the verge of puberty or already there, but have been brought up with a
'Victorian' moral code, where natural bodily functions or pleasures are
never discussed openly. Our yarns seem to free us from these artificial
bonds, reminding us of our awakening bodies and the similar desires of our
comrades. Soon, tiredness takes over, and, one by one, the boys drop off to
sleep. I am too excited to sleep, with my blankets being tented out by my
erect cock. I suddenly realise that Ric, the guy on my left, is the only
other guy still awake. We both realise this delicious fact. Then, slowly I
feel his arm roll across my blankets, bit by bit, until temporarily braked
by the 'resistance' of my alert manhood.  He pauses there for a while and
then gradually returns his arm, filling my body with fire. But I am gutless
- although I want like crazy to do the same to him, my church upbringing
takes over and I can't respond, eventually falling off to sleep. Towards
dawn, many of us awake freezing, becoming aware of the mosquitoes which
have already feasted on our prostrate forms. Ric and I make no mention,
then or later, of that surprising mind-blowing incident.
	The scoutmaster makes a strident wake up call and we rise to wash,
using cold water poured into tin washbasins. Breakfast starts with lumpy
porridge and powdered milk, followed by pale scrambled eggs made from egg
powder. The toast is burnt, the butter already soft and we scoop jam from
giant tins. The meal is redeemed by cups of strong tea.
	After taking down the tents, re-loading the trek carts and
restoring the site to as close to its natural state as possible, we
participate in lectures on bushcraft and map reading, as well as in further
games. The overall feeling is now one of winding down, with the imminent
prospect of returning to our circumscribed daily lives. We find the carts
more difficult to control during the downhill return journey and brace
ourselves against the road surface with our heavy hob-nailed boots. The
town seems different to that which we left the previous day. But, it is we
who are different, with the experiences of shared physical hardships,
shared singing and shared yarns bonding us together as a select group. We
feel that we can positively influence our own lives.
                                       _____________________________

	Another sexual event occurred soon after at the Scout Jamboree in
Sydney, when I was close to 13. Unfortunately, Ric couldn't attend. During
one two-hour lunch break, two of the older guys, one a cheeky small guy and
the other with the largest cock in the group, spread groundsheets out over
the middle of the tent floor, stripped naked and the smaller guy started
jacking off the other guy, climaxing with a spurt of 'spunk' half the
length of the tent. We were all getting very excited during this and I
finally asked Macka, the guy lying down next to me, if I could feel his
cock and he mine. He agreed with alacrity and it was a lovely warm feeling
opening my body to a guy for the very first time and also feeling his
urgent erectness.
	As Ric took the technical stream at high school and I took the
academic stream in preparation for university, we saw less and less of each
other. He went on to become an air pilot and I went to Canada and the US to
pursue graduate studies. It turned out that Dad and Ric's father were close
friends. One day in Boston in the early 60's, I got a letter from Dad in
which he said in shocked tones "Ric is a homosexual and is living with
someone. His father is devastated". Imagine the stress on a gay
relationship in a small provincial city in Australia in the early 60's!!!!!
I stayed on in Boston for a couple of years more, working in a consulting
engineering practice.  Towards the end of that time, I got another
significant letter from Dad. Ric had died crashing his small plane, and
suicide was suspected.
	Ric, I want to cry for you. You dared try to realise your true self
where it was impossible for your actions to be accepted. Your open desire
and guts enabled you to reach out to me in the tent and attempt to help me
recognise my kindred feeling with you. You were an early martyr to
intolerance and bigotry. I salute you.




In my 20's, I studied in Boston and, in retrospect, had one or two close
friends with whom I was in love. I refused to consciously recognise that at
the time. Thus, when I observed two young guys travelling together, I
thought they were just mates!!  Anyway, when my studies were complete, I
left for home via ship. Ship voyages are notorious for producing surprises.

DELICIOUS SHOCK


It was February 1961, I was 24yo and had just completed a Masters degree at
MIT in Boston. I was on my way home to Melbourne via Europe and Asia. Those
were the days of travel by ship, and I booked a passage from New York to
Naples.  I was in a quite comfortable 4-berth cabin, but didn't strongly
connect with any of the guys there. I was still a virgin sexually –
except for some playing around in Boy Scouts. Also, I had no knowledge
about homosexuality and perceived myself as straight, despite being very
shy around girls.  We had a table tennis table at home and I always enjoyed
playing. I was in the table tennis area during our first day on board and a
friendly looking guy asked me if I would like a game. His name was Michael,
he was a New Yorker and was travelling with a friend to Europe. His friend
seemed to just sit around and didn't join in.  Anyway, Michael and I had
some exciting close games together and agreed to play more often during the
journey. It turned out that he was 25yo and his buddy 31yo.  Michael had
lovely eyes and a great vitality. I enjoyed all my games with him. After
each game when we changed ends, I took the chance to quickly spread my
right arm across his shoulders in appreciation. It seemed a natural thing
to do and I enjoyed touching him. We generally had our meals together and
his mate was always there but was a less outgoing person. I learnt that
they were going on to Rome after just 1 night in Naples. I wanted to spend
3 nights there, seeing Pompeii, the Archaeological Museum and the thermal
regions. Anyway, we agreed to meet up in Rome and I gave them the address
where I had booked to stay.  We arrived in Naples a day late due to being
caught in a fierce winter Atlantic storm.  The ship pulled into its berth
in the early morning. I packed my belongings together and waited and waited
for Michael and his friend to come upstairs from their 6-berth cabin. The
ship started emptying and there was still no sign of them. Finally, I
decided to go below to investigate, my steps echoing in the empty
corridors. When I arrived at their cabin, the door was shut and I knocked
but got no response. I decided to open it, and entered. There they were,
alone, spreadeagled across the lower bunk, head to toe and stark naked. I
now realise that they were in the classical 69 position and were finally
able to get some private time alone together in their 6-berth cabin. They
did not seem to be embarrassed. I was shocked out of my mind and literally
fled off the ship. However, nature has its own rules. That night, in my
single hotel room, I jacked off as never before.  When I finally arrived in
Rome, there was a friendly message from them, asking for us to meet up. It
was all too much for me – I didn't follow up their invitation. Looking
back, I can see that my life would have turned out quite differently if I
had responded.  I found Michael very attractive and my desire would have
probably surfaced if we had been alone together. There is not much point in
having regrets. After all, our beautiful daughter would never have been
born if I had decided then to live a gay life.




The final story was generated via the Internet. When I entered our local
gay chat room I found a new guy there and we started chatting. It turned
out that he was down in our area from Sydney to be with his mother to
attend the funeral of his father. His father had died suddenly and he was
devastated that they had never had the chance to talk man to man. As we
chatted, a sort of transference started to occur and he started perceiving
me as his father. This gave a special, very powerful quality to our
chat. In this message to him, I also took the chance to express my views
about gay love. We have corresponded quite a bit since then, but have never
met, as he prefers younger guys. I wonder if any of you reading this have
had the occasional chat where the words seem to flow and type themselves?
– it's awesome.


A BRUSH WITH BEAUTY

	Why does the perception of beauty sometimes reduce us to tears?
Tears are building in my eyes as I write this. It's partly because we are
profoundly grateful and feel undeserving. Perhaps it's also because beauty
is so rare that we try to hold on to it when it comes our way. But, in the
deepest parts of our soul, we are forced to realise that beauty is fragile
and transient. This is often very hard to bear; hence the tears continue
flowing. Quoting the great Indian mystic Rabindranath Tagore "Do not linger
to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on, for flowers will keep
themselves blooming all your way". I cite this excerpt not because I am
strong, but because I am weak, often wanting to 'possess' beauty. It is
shit hard to pass it by. In particular, when we are under the power of the
perception of beauty in the soul of another human being!! I experienced 'a
brush with beauty' two days ago. I am writing this note to calm my heart,
which is close to bursting.
	It was a random meeting on the Internet, where the conventional
wisdom says "Beware!!" He came across initially as a well-mannered guy, as
well as funny. It just seemed natural to continue chatting, one to one. I
soon found myself in this amazing situation, where he was able to clearly
express a thought which I at the same time was still groping towards. He
kept supplying extra 'notes' to enrich each harmony. These thoughts came
from his deepest being, and my spirit and feelings responded in unison.
	My heart first ached when he spoke of a recent tragic event in his
life and his current state of vulnerability. However, as our chat
progressed, my heartache started to lift as I realised that he had the
inner strength to transcend his grieving. He was still responsive to the
beauty in the world and to the healing balm of nature. My heart rejoiced to
see the hope emerging through the pain. I gave thanks for his compassion.
	In the early stages of a friendship, we are usually full of
questions as a means of understanding each other better. However, with him,
his comments at times so pierced my mind that I was transfixed, bathed in
the moment. I said to him "It's great to be quiet together". When he
answered simply "It is", a thrill went through my heart.  I felt like
kissing him, but kept this thought to myself.
	How did my body respond to this 'communion' with the deepest part
of the soul of another guy? I am not ashamed to say that my body became
more warmly charged as our trust increased. It was not that I saw him as a
sexual object. Rather, the deepening communion of our souls was giving my
body unmistakable signals that 'legitimised' the lifting of the usual
constraints. The communion of mind and soul was transformed into that most
potent of mixtures, the communion of mind, soul and body. This communion
embraced the world, as well as the two of us. I saw it as an unsolicited
gift from the 'world soul' to two human beings whose hearts were open.
	The next morning I sent him two messages and looked for him on-line
without success. Then, I left for my planned two-day trip, knowing that
e-mail contact with him would be very difficult. Tough!! Warm thoughts of
him accompanied me all the way. Towards the end, I sensed that I must
immediately counter any tendency to become obsessive. I steeled myself to
imagine that he may not reply to my messages.  I steeled myself to renounce
any idea of having influence over him as a result of our deep conversation
and the revelation of his current vulnerability. At the same time, nothing
could erase in my heart and mind the special quality of what we had shared
the previous night. My soul was calmed.
	During last night, thoughts of him came unbidden into my mind like
stray chords of music. This morning, my host allowed me to read my e-mail
via his computer. Imagine my happiness to find a strong, appreciative
message from him.  True, he didn't want to meet me face-to-face at this
point. Our conversation had a special symbolic meaning for him, and I
perceived that he felt stronger if it remained symbolic. It is still
tantalising that now he is so near, but later he will be so far away.  He
gave me so much during our time together - how can I not accede to his
request? I could not tell him this, as I wasn't able to reply to his e-mail
on my host's computer. I hope he will know in his heart that I am inwardly
bound to respect his wishes.
	I am not a 'saint'. If I were, I would be profoundly satisfied with
such brushes with beauty. They energise me for other creative activities in
my life. At the same time, I crave the fullest sharing of mind, soul and
body. These days, it is easy to share our bodies to achieve the rising
excitement, climax and delicious satiation during a sexual encounter. I
enjoy it and do not belittle it in any way. By exposing our naked need and
resulting vulnerability to another guy, and remaining conscious of his
reciprocal need even when our own need becomes increasingly pressing, we
are practising a sort of love. In this way, honour is preserved, also when
we are intimate with more than one guy.
	My ultimate craving is for something more. I would like to share
everyday activities in the spirit of love. When his hand finely cuts up the
garlic, I will caress it.  After he plays a beautiful passage on his
musical instrument, I will kiss his hands.  When he mentions his efforts in
visiting guys suffering from Aids, I will embrace him. When he is walking
through the bush in front of me, I will observe the delicious gyrating of
his butt and move forward and grasp it! He will respond to me similarly.
	Clothes will usually be superfluous. We will share both our
erectness and our limpness, the inevitable rise and fall. As we open our
souls to each other, our bodies will joyfully open and be filled with
wonder. Rather that regarding 'having sex' as a discrete act, intimacy will
pervade our every moment. We will thank whatever spirit is enabling us to
grow in love. Tears will return, this time, tears of joy.
	There seems to be no moral reason why we may not experience this
love with several persons. However, in practice, the level of commitment
implied sets a limit on how thinly each can spread his physical and
spiritual resources. At the same time, the wider sharing process will be
directly energising!
	Now, my dear friend-to-be, I address you directly. I have no idea
where our friendship will lead. We may never meet if that remains your
wish. The beauty that each has generated in the other remains. Beauty and
love are not 'zero-sum' games - there is not a fixed 'supply' of love to be
carefully apportioned - the more we give, the more we keep receiving. I
sense that we were 'fated' to meet on-line the other night.  The experience
was incredibly refreshing for me. I hope you gained from it as well. I also
hope that we can devise ways to continue to share our deep feelings, our
love of music, our love of nature. With rapport on the deeper things, let
lightness take over!

John