Date: Sat, 28 Jun 2014 19:51:33 +0200
From: Morris Henderson <bigmoh@post.com>
Subject: DARKNESS INTO LIGHT

DARKNESS INTO LIGHT

Editor's Note: In my humble opinion, Darkness Into Light will be a
much needed story on the Internet.   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 naοve, 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 faηade 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 several 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
faηade 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.

To be continued...