Date: Thu, 10 Sep 2009 13:55:09 -0500
From: Morris Henderson <bigmoh@post.com>
Subject: Look_and_Learn

PREFACE

During spring break of my junior year in college, I was reading the "New
Yorker" magazine and came across an article with the intriguing title of
"The Naked Face.  "Rarely does one read a magazine article that has a
profound effect on one's life.  But it happened to me.  This is the account
of the life I had before reading the article and the stark contrast to the life
I'm able to lead now.

Before chronicling the change in my life, permit me to briefly summarize
what I learned from the article and subsequent research.  All of us, when
communicating face-to-face, send signals to others through facial
expressions, body posture, gestures, and other nonverbal means.  We also
receive those signals from others.  Some are obvious: a grin or a frown.
Experts claim that as much as 90% of the meaning is carried by nonverbal
cues.  Many are not so obvious but still influence the interpretation of the
spoken words.  That much has been known for a very long time.  Since the
1960s, however, some extremely subtle -- almost imperceptible -- facial
expressions have been identified.  Interestingly, they are completely
involuntary and cannot be suppressed.  We may not even be consciously
aware of our own instant and instinctive facial expressions. We rarely if
ever notice them in others because they are extremely brief, lasting less
than a second before the conscious mind has a chance to take control and
mask, if necessary, the initial reaction.

Because they are so short, they've come to be called "microexpressions."
Each of the seven universal emotional states (disgust, anger, fear, sadness,
happiness, surprise, and contempt) is revealed by unique movements of
different facial muscles.  It requires skill to recognize a microexpression
before it is replaced with what the listener's brain dictates as a socially or
politically correct reaction.  Learning to recognize them can have a
powerful influence on understanding of others' true feelings and on a
relationship.  Whether the other person is a stranger or someone close to
you, microexpressions can confirm or refute the spoken response to what
you say.  Because they are unconscious and cannot be controlled, they
more accurately reflect emotions, attitudes, and opinions.  Unfortunately,
it takes concentration and a lot of practice to develop skill in recognizing
them.  [If you want to know more, Google "microexpressions."]

Now, on with the story.


PART 1 -- BEFORE I KNEW

As I entered puberty, I was fascinated with the male body -- and in
particular -- male genitalia.  My brother was three years older and we had
never been shy or modest around each other.  I was amazed at how his
penis grew, how his pubic hair gradually changed from a sparse sprinkling
to a thicket, and how his testicles hung lower.  He noticed me frequently
looking at his emerging manhood but dismissed it with a casual comment,
"Yours will grow too, Jimmy."  That was little consolation.  Ted was not
only my brother; he was my best friend and I idolized him.  I wanted to be
just like him.  I wasn't ashamed of my little stub of a penis but I wanted it
to grow to be like his.  I wanted to be manly like him.

I found that my fascination with male genitalia intensified in gym class at
school.  In the shower and changing in the locker room, I paid close
attention to my classmates' development.  But only for a while!  I soon
learned that it was unacceptable to look too often or too long.  The
comments elicited by too long of a visual examination went beyond the
rude to the vicious.  Still, I was able to catch quick glances.  I envied those
who were farther along toward manhood than I was.  When I finally
started developing, I was delighted.  And proud.  But by that time, I knew
better than to display my achievement too flagrantly.

My nearly constant fixation on other guys' body and equipment forced me
to face a disturbing reality.  I came to realize that I was not merely curious
about naked guys; I was sexually attracted to them.  I had no interest in
females.  There was but one conclusion: I was gay!

I went through periods of denial, guilt, and depression.  And there was no
one I could talk to that might put my mind at ease.  My parents' devotion
to their religion and politics expressed itself as disgust for gay behavior.
My brother echoed their sentiments.  I felt isolated.  Afraid.  Ashamed.

But my feelings could not be dismissed.  As I masturbated in my private
world of fantasy, Alex Carpenter was my frequent, imaginary companion.
Alex and I had gone to school together since the third grade.  He lived just
two blocks away and we would sometimes have sleepovers at his house or
mine.  One sleepover was particularly difficult for me.  We stripped down
to our underwear to go to bed.  When I saw his half-naked body, those
forbidden feelings arose to consume my thoughts.  I turned off the bedside
lamp but we continued to chat.  After a while, he started talking about
Shirley, a well-developed girl at school, and wondered what it would be
like to "get in her panties."  I had zero interest in Shirley or any other girl
but, to bolster my disguise as a straight, I said, "I get horny just thinking
about her."

"Me, too," he said.  Then, in a surprising admission, he added, "In fact,
I've got a hard-on right now."

I was also hard -- from thinking of Alex, not Shirley.  I had seen him
naked several times in the shower after gym class.  He seemed to be fully
through puberty and carried a lot of weight between his legs.  But I had
never seen him with an erection.  His hard-on was right there under the
covers next to me.  I suddenly got an overpowering desire to see it.  I had
never seen a hard-on other than my own.  My desire became an obsession,
which, after some more sexy talk, caused me to ask, "You still hard,
Alex?"

"Yeah."

Summoning all my courage, I said, "Wanna jerk off?  I do."

"No!" he answered emphatically.

He was lying but I didn't know it.  Much later I found out that he wanted
what I wanted but was afraid to admit it.  If I knew then what I know now,
I would have seen by his microexpression that he was lying.  I could have
guided further discussion and might have won his agreement to jerk off
together even though his initial response was "No!"  As it turned out, we
both fell asleep frustrated.  It was a lost opportunity that meant I had to
forego sex with another guy for longer than necessary.

Three months later, the situation changed.  I was staying overnight at his
house.  Our conversation again turned to sex.  Unlike before, however, he
agreed to jerk off with me.  During several subsequent sleepovers, we
routinely jerked off together.  I was delighted to have a jerk-buddy.  But I
wanted more.

One night, I suggested, "How `bout we jerk each other off?"

"No!" he said.

I'm sure his microexpression would have revealed his willingness before
his conscious mind took control and refused the suggestions.  Once again,
the chance to engage in something approaching real sex was delayed.  It
was several weeks before he agreed to mutual masturbation.  We had lost
several weeks of time to pleasure each other.

Once he had grown comfortable with jerking each other, I asked if I could
suck his dick.  "No!" he shot back.  "That's gay!"

If I knew then what I know now, I might have seen a microexpression that
contradicted his words.  It's likely that his true feelings were immediately
overpowered by his conscious mind.  Had I known that, I might have
pursued the matter and got what I wanted -- what we both wanted.  I had
to be content with jerking off together throughout my high school years.

Late in the summer after we graduated from high school, he let me suck
his dick and he sucked mine.  "That was awesome," he said.  "I wish we
had done it sooner."

I wished the same thing.  While I was delighted that Alex and I eventually
enjoyed sex, I regretted that we had wasted too much time before it
happened.  I was reminded of a line in a poem by Whittier: "For of all sad
words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: It might have been."

By the time I went away to college, I had accepted my sexuality although I
lived with two problems.  One was that I felt it necessary to keep my
interests in the closet; I feared the ridicule, condemnation, and persecution
from friends and family who meant a lot to me.  The second was more
painful.  I was increasingly frustrated over the apparent impossibility of
finding a partner and enjoying sex with him.  I didn't know what to do
about it.  I craved intimacy with a guy but had no clue as to how to attain
it.  Whenever I thought there might be a remote chance of coupling with a
guy, I would very carefully make subtle but suggestive remarks but they
were completely ignored.  If I knew then what I know now, I may have
detected an interest that could have been exploited.

Sean Grady was a perfect example.  We became very good friends and not
only because we were in the same fraternity pledge class.  We had a lot in
common and he was always fun to pal around with.  He was strikingly
handsome, which only added to my fascination with him and caused me to
fantasize about exploring his naked body.  But he dated several girls over
the course of the school year and, in a few rare moments, would confide
that he wanted to bed one or another of his dates.  If I knew then what I
know now, I would no doubt have detected that his comments (bragging?)
about his girl friends were nothing more than an act to cloak his true
nature, which was revealed two years later when he became an activist for
gay rights.

That were surely many more missed opportunities because I was not
perceptive enough to recognize signs of interest in possible partners.

There were also disappointments.  One was Chad Adkins.  We sat next to
each other in a sophomore history class and became good friends.  Just
before midterm exams, he asked if I wanted to study for the exam
together.  I readily agreed.  After three marathon hours of reviewing the
text and our class notes, he said, "I'm exhausted.  I think we're as ready as
we'll ever be.  Okay if we quit?"

"No problem," I replied.  "I don't think continuing would do any good."

We closed the text and put away our notes.  But he didn't want to go back
to his dorm room.  Nor did I want him to leave; I enjoyed his company.
We talked for a while and then he started to send signals that I thought
were increasingly suggestive.  For example, it was he that turned our
conversation toward sex.  It was he who first mentioned how horny he got.
It was he who, when we went down the hall to the toilets, took the urinal
next to mine and looked too often and too long at my penis.  Encouraged
by what I felt were deliberate signals, I matched what I thought was his
progressively suggestive remarks with more of the same.  Judging from
what he said, I was sure would be willing to have sex.  Right then and
there!  But I was judging based on his comments only and was totally
unaware of his microexpressions.

I was quite sure that he was leading me on but lacked the courage to say
what he wanted.  So I got bolder, "You can't wait for a chance to get sex.
You have to make a chance.  Nothing ventured, nothing gained."  He
smiled at me -- a good sign.  I pressed on, "For example, suppose you're
horny right now.  Suppose you want to spend the night here.  If that's true,
you gotta seize the opportunity."

He gathered his stuff, stood, and said, "I'm not horny.  I don't want to
spend the night here.  See ya tomorrow in class."  He walked out, leaving
me to wonder whether, in spite of his previous behavior, I had come on
too fast and too hard.  I wondered if, like Alex and Chad, he wanted sex
but couldn't bring himself to say so.  Or was my interpretation of his
behavior biased by my wishful thinking?

We remained friends.  I'll never know whether he forgave my brashness
or regretted passing up the opportunity for sex.

There were other disappointments during my first two years of college --
times when I felt sure that another guy was a potential bed-partner but,
when the conversation began to get more explicit, it ended abruptly.  To
this day, I wonder whether I would have had more success if I had been
able to recognize microexpressions and capitalize on the information it
provided..

I sadly admit that my goal at that time was no more than sex --
gratification of primal urges -- carnal pleasure.  It would be later that I
recognized the importance of respect, commitment, and love in a
permanent relationship.


PART 2  --  THE TRANSITION PERIOD

The article on microexpressions stimulated my interest enough that I
researched the topic as thoroughly as I could.  Midway through my
research, it occurred to me that having the ability to recognize and
interpret microexpressions might have prevented the frustrating delays and
disappointing failures I had experienced in finding a sexual partner.  I
resolved to develop my skill in order to achieve what I yearned for.  I
created opportunities to test and refine my ability.  For example, I would
mention in casual conversation some real or invented pain I had
experienced as a child.  I hoped to detect instantaneous movement of
facial muscles associated with sadness.  I would mention something
revolting, hoping to spot the immediate but very brief signs of disgust.  I
would refer to a politician whose views were opposite to those of my
listener and watch for a microexpression denoting contempt.

Three months into my experiment, I became discouraged.  Too many
times, I didn't see what I expected to see.  Too many times, I confused one
microexpression with another.  What was I doing wrong?  Or was the
whole concept wrong?

Encouraged by a few successes, however, I persisted.  I began to see more.
I was able to recognize and interpret instantaneous facial changes more
often.  I gained confidence and was motivated to continue honing my skill.
A great help was another interesting discovery in my research of
nonverbal communication.  Movement of the eyes while speaking
(up/down/straight ahead and left/right/centered) indicates whether the
individual is recalling something from memory or fabricating.  These eye
movements are also subconscious but are much easier to identify because
they last far longer than an instantaneous microexpression.  They are
nearly infallible evidence of whether the person is speaking the truth or is
lying.

Sometimes, the microexpression was the polar opposite of what a person
said.  For example, in a conversation with another student, I brought up
the subject of gay rights.  His words expressed sympathy for persecuted
gays but the microexpression that preceded his words signaled contempt.
He was only mouthing what he thought were politically acceptable words
in the situation when, in fact, they did not correspond at all to his
fundamental attitudes and opinion.  At other times, the microexpression
and spoken words were aligned, confirming that the person was speaking
truthfully.  My brother, Ted, for example, was not merely expressing my
parents' values when he condemned homosexuality; his microexpressions
confirmed that he felt genuine contempt.

Months of concentrated effort was beginning to show results.  I continued
to experiment and practice.  I still made mistakes but the percentage of
successes gradually increased.

My practicing continued throughout the summer and, as I began my senior
year in college, I was determined to use my skill to find a willing partner
among the majority of straights and those (like Alex, Sean, and probably
Chad) who shared my interests but were afraid to admit it.


PART 3  --  EARLY SUCCESS

I met Brian Moore in the Student Union cafeteria.  The place was crowded
and he asked if he could sit with me at my table.  Over lunch, we
exchanged information in casual conversation.  As the friendly banter
continued, I found I was attracted to him; he was remarkably handsome.
What better time to practice my skill -- this time with a goal of assessing
his sexual interests.  I asked him if he had a girlfriend.  I was quite sure
that I saw a microexpression of fear before he grinned and said, "No.
Maybe someday."

Why would he be afraid?  He might be secretly gay and in the closet like
me.  That would make him a potential fulfillment of my need.  But there
could be a host of other reasons.  He might have had a careless encounter
with a casual date and she was pregnant.  There were too many possible
reasons.  I would need more clues.

I pursued my oblique interrogation.  "I'll bet you've had lots of girls flirt
with you."

The fear microexpression was more pronounced.  "I suppose," he said
with a grin that contradicted his spontaneous reaction.  "But all girls do
that, don't they?"

He then changed the subject.  Why?  To avoid revealing whatever it was
that he feared?

We finished eating.  As we rose to leave, I said, "It was good to meet you,
Brian.  We should get together again.  How about supper tonight?"

We agreed to meet back in the cafeteria at six.

You've probably guessed the outcome of my meeting Brian.  Over our
evening meal, I deftly guided the conversation and read his reactions
sufficiently well to convince myself that he was a closet gay.  Upon that
evidence I invited him back to my dorm room with the hope and at least a
moderate degree of confidence that I could persuade him to spend the
night.  Once in my room, I kicked off my shoes and took off my shirt.  His
overt glance at my bare torso was brief but it was accompanied by a
microexpression of happiness.  It took forty five minutes of carefully
guided conversation but I came out to him, thinking that it would reduce
the barriers in his mind over revealing his interests.  Thirty minute later,
he came out to me.  We spent a glorious night together in bed.  Two virgin
adventurers in the thrilling land of carnal ecstasy.

We became frequent bed partners.  Within a few weeks of our first
meeting, we agreed that there could be no permanent relationship; both of
us needed to maintain our straight façade.  But also, until our graduation
and we went our separate ways, we would enjoy fantastic sex whenever
we could.

Shortly after Christmas break, we were cuddled together after another very
satisfying sexual experience, I was feeling grateful for my good fortune in
having a sex partner.  But he had become more than that.  I fancied a
permanent relationship with Brian who was not just great in bed but was a
very good friend.  He was intelligent, had a fine sense of ethics, and
frequently displayed a refreshing sense of humor.  Our personalities
seemed to fit together.  When I was with him (in bed or not), I felt
fulfilled.  He offered everything that had been missing in my life.  When
we were apart, my thoughts frequently returned to Brian and the
anticipation of seeing him again.  The thought of graduation and parting
ways was an increasingly troubling cloud on the horizon.

By that time, I had told him about my reading of microexpressions and
how it had facilitated our coupling.  His first reaction was anger as
evidenced in his microexpression and confirmed by his outburst, "So you
used that to seduce me?" he exclaimed with undisguised emotion.

"Guilty as charged," I replied.  "But I would never have done it without
being convinced that it was what you wanted.  Can you forgive me?"

His anger faded.  "Yes, I can forgive you.  But more than that, I thank you.
I'm glad you did!"  His smile was just what I had hoped for.  After a
pause, he added, "So that's how you so often seem to read my mind?"

"'Fraid so," I grinned.

"And why you always seem to know when I'm holding back and not
telling you how I feel?"

"'Fraid so."

"Can you teach me how to do it?" he asked.

"I think so.  It will take a lot of practice but I think you can do it, too.  And
by the way, there's no need to use the skill with me.  Since we've become
good friends, I've always been honest with you.  I don't conceal anything
from you.  I won't even try if I know you can read my microexpressions."

Brian was a very good student.  I pointed him to a number of reference
articles that he studied intently.  I often pointed out the need to confirm a
suspicion based on a single instance.  I encouraged him when his early
attempts, like mine, were not successful.  I sometimes tried to trick him by
overtly saying something that contradicted my real feelings; in each case,
however, I would either congratulate him for detecting the discrepancy or
correct the deliberately false impression that I given him.

There was a bitter-sweet nature to his new-found ability.  On the positive
side, it significantly deepened the trust in our relationship.  I felt -- and he
agreed -- that each of us had become far more aware of the other's needs
and wants and therefore more eager to do what would please the other.
When our needs and wants were in conflict, we more easily arrived at a
compromise.  For example, when our relationship had progressed, I asked
if he wanted to try anal sex.

He said, "Okay," but his microexpression revealed disgust.

"You really don't want to, do you?" I asked.

"Well," he began hesitantly, "I don't.  But if it's what you want, I'll do it."

After more discussion, we arrived at a compromise that we were both
happy with.  He would bottom for me but I wouldn't expect him to
penetrate me.  (That agreement was modified later when he confessed, "I
never realized how good it would feel to be fucked.  Let me do it to you so
you'll know how it feels."  From that point on, we satisfied each other
anally as well as orally.)

Our emotional bonding steadily grew stronger.  That, however, exposed a
negative side: we had agreed to part ways as friends upon graduation.  The
pain of that thought became intolerable.


PART 4 -- ULTIMATE SUCCESS

During spring break, we were sitting on the grass on a knoll in a park on a
warm, sunny day and watching some boys playing soccer in the field
below us.  "Brian," I began, "We initially got together for sex and it's
been the best thing that has ever happened to me.  We agreed that it was
jut for sex ... just until graduation.  I want to reconsider that because ...
well ... because I've fallen in love with you and I want to spend the rest of
my life with you.  Would you be willing to ... that is ... how do you feel
about living together?"

He turned to me and said, "I've learned that I can't lie to you, Jim, so I'll
tell you the truth."

The beginning of his answer to my question encapsulated the bedrock of
our relationship: we were consistently honest with each other.  No hidden
motives.  No compulsion to deceive in order to cover up secret thoughts.
Instead, a complete willingness to open ourselves to each other and to
mutually work our any disagreements.  What could be more essential and
fundamental to a committed relationship?  All of which, I'm convinced,
was made possible by our ability to precisely assess the other's feelings
first through reading microexpressions and later by explicit and honest
sharing of information and emotions.

He continued.  "I would like to.  Very much.  But there are too many
problems.  My family.  Your family.  We would both lose something we
care about.  Even if they accepted us, even if they tolerated our
homosexuality, there would be damage to family relationships.  That
would be painful.  To them and to us.  And then there's the persecution
from friends who would no longer be friends.  Believe me, I've thought
about it a lot.  I've enjoyed the sex but I enjoy being with you more than
just for sex.  I'm very fond of you as a person.  I guess I could even say I
love you.  But we're between the proverbial rock and a hard place.  Both
choices involve pain.  Not living together means we would lose what
we've enjoyed.  Living together would cause pain to our families.  And to
us because of the loss of our families' love.   Do we really want to subject
our families to that pain?"

How like Brian!  Thinking of others instead of or in addition to himself.  I
knew he was being truthful when he said he loved me.  We had long since
abandoned the need to read microexpressions and we trusted each other to
be honest with each other at all times.  I knew that his concern for
maintaining a close relationship with his family was very important to
him.  Therefore, I could think of nothing to say to change his mind.  The
loving relationship we had developed, that started with sex but grew into
something far more meaningful, was doomed.  I couldn't help feeling as
though graduation from college would be the death of an extremely
important part of me.

A week later, we were locked in a loving embrace, naked, and in bed after
a glorious hour of intimate bonding and sexual gratification.  I hoped that
the time was right to revisit our plans for the future.  This time, however, I
was prepared with a suggestion that might resolve our dilemma.

"You know, Brian, we could live together as room mates, not as a gay
couple.  It's not that unusual for recent college grads to share rent.  We
don't have to come out to anybody.  But we'd be with each other.  We
wouldn't have to give up what we have together.  To our families and the
outside world, we would just be friends.  But when we're alone we could
be lovers.  Sure, it's a game of deception but it's a game where everybody
wins.  We're happy; our families are happy.  I think we could do it.  What
do you think?"

"I think you're a mind-reader.  Not only can you read my expressions but
now you seem to be able to probe into my brain.  I had the same idea --
even the part about living straight in public but loving each other in
private.  I was going to suggest it to you but ... well ... I wasn't sure what
you'd think of me for changing my mind.  After all, I was quite firmly
against it just last week."

"Not only do I admire you for changing your mind," I enthused, "But
you've given me the happiest moment of my life.  I don't know what I'd
do if we separated at graduation.  Now I can look forward to loving you
forever."

We sealed our agreement with a long and very passionate kiss.

It was as if a migraine headache that had persisted for a long time
suddenly dissipated.  The painful dread of losing the man I loved
vanished.  I could think of nothing but the joy of lasting love.