Date: Sat, 27 Oct 2012 08:58:31 -0700 (PDT)
From: Vincent Salerno <v_salerno@yahoo.com>
Subject: Working My Way Thru College: Unskilled Jobs & Unfulfilled Urges

		   Unskilled Jobs and Unfulfilled Urges

While going to college, I took some part-time jobs to have some spending
money.  One such job was in the A & P.  The job sucked, but nobody else
there did, as far as I ever found out, anyway.  There was some horsing
around when things weren't busy, as there is on any job. Stuff like, one
guy jumping another and pretending to hump him when the second was
crouching down to lift out stock from under the counter.  And the usual
horny male sextalk during coffee breaks.  I liked listening to the older
guys talking about sex.  One day I was fascinated as three guys from the
dairy department were poring over a magazine that showed a naked woman
riding a bicycle.

"Boy, imagine how hot that bicycle seat must make her pussy feel!"

"Oh, yeah, man.  I bet that seat must be all wet.  Look how the point of
the seat is aimed right for her hole!"

I was a little surprised that "older" guys (they were in their thirties and
forties), were still so interested in sex.  I was really taken aback when
one of the other part-time stock boys told me about "Wilfred, the queer
from Brooklyn" who fills in sometimes on Saturdays.

One weekend I met the much-discussed Wilfred.  He was an older man, perhaps
sixty, very carefully groomed, with slicked-back black hair, highly
polished shoes, tight, tight slacks, a pencil thin mustache, and a somewhat
feminine and ingratiating manner.  Several guys were in the locker room
getting ready to leave work for the evening.  One of the younger teenage
boys was teasing Wilfred, sort of flirting with him.  Wilfred was enjoying
it, and complimenting the boy's appearance, accompanied by light, feathery
touches on the boy's arm.  I was upset by this display, and years later
when I recognized and faced my own sexual feelings, determined to never be
made a fool of like Wilfred, but to strive to always conduct myself with
dignity and self pride.

When I quit the A & P it was to work at a factory job where small novelty
items were manufactured.  There were lots of college students working
part-time there, and since the work was so mindless, there was lots of
talking and kidding around to help pass the time.  One of the full-time
employees was a somewhat effeminate gay guy, named Alfie.  The floor
supervisor, who I believe was himself a closeted gay, publicly teased and
made fun of Alfie.  He may very likely have been envious of Alfie's open
lifestyle.  With some coaxing, Alfie would talk about some aspects of the
gay life, including his part-time modeling work.  One day Alfie brought in
photos of himself, both fully dressed and also in brief posing attire.  In
the latter shots, he was oiled and posed in familiar physique mag style.
Alfie explained that some of his pics had been published in physique
magazines, and others were sold privately to collectors.  Alfie had
received many passionate letters from admirers of his face and form, (both
were just okay in my estimation), offering all kinds of things.  Alfie was
proud of one letter from a sugar daddy down south who offered to keep him
in style forever, despite never having even met him. I was very interested
in Alfie and in his life, but dared not show too much interest.  I feared
revealing my own gay feelings to the several college friends who also
worked at the Pyramid factory with me.

At school, I was equally guarded.  My sexual outlets were few.  I dated
girls quite a bit, and tried straight sex, with mixed results.  Since this
was before the sexual revolution, it was neither easy nor expected for a
casual date to end up in bed.  But it happened.  A few of the girls from my
crowd became pregnant before graduation.  The boyfriend always agreed to
marry them, and the girl always quit school to have the baby.  Some of them
even lived happily ever after.

I liked being with girls, and liked the recognition of being part of the
crowd, collegiate and "normal".  I didn't mind straight sex, but I wasn't
crazy about it either.  I liked the kissing part the best.  They called it
french kissing or soul kissing.  I could do that in cars for hours, and
everybody did.  After dating the same girl for a while, it was expected and
understood that you would advance to touching a covered breast and then
bare tit, and finally mutual touching and finger fucking, before going
all-the-way.  Lots of times relationships, even relationships of long
standing, never got to the all-the-way point.  I, in fact, preferred when
mine didn't.  After a few months of seeing the same girl, after we had
passed the simple petting stage, and were advancing toward more serious
sexual involvement, I would often find a reason to break off with her, and
move on to a different girl.

There was no male sex for me during these years at all.  I did occasionally
look at the invitations and drawings on the bathroom walls with wonder and
longing.  But I didn't want a life of being devalued and despised.  So I
ignored the little voice in the back of my head that whispered those
delightfully smarmy lascivious ideas about men with men.

Once in a while there was an opportunity for a mild homoerotic experience.
When I joined the theater group on campus, for example.  One beautiful
actor in the group, Nils, was drinking with me and a bunch of other
students one evening, and the beer and exhaustion from hours of rehearsal
led to everybody feeling a little loose.  As Nils and I both rose to go to
the john at the same time, we laughed, and without comment, continued to
both go in together.  Unzipping, we rocked on unsteady feet as we prepared
to both piss into the same toilet bowl.  Nils let go of his stream first,
and after a small hesitation, I joined him, the pale yellow liquid
splashing noisily in the bowl.  We made the expected comments about how
great it feels to piss after four beers, the pause that refreshes, etc.,
and then without obvious embarrassment we both looked at the other pissing
dick.  It was done, perhaps, more out of curiosity in seeing a strange
penis urinate, rather than because we were interested in looking at a
buddy's cock.  Or maybe it was both.  Certainly for me, if I wished to be
honest, the pleasure of seeing Nils' pretty pinkish prick with the big
lopsided round head, was considerable.  I felt a rush of excitement that
caused my own cock to fill out nicely as I shook off the last drops.  I
observed that I normally took quite a bit longer than most in shaking off
my dick after peeing. Urinals on either side of me normally vacated long
before I was finished.  I decided, eventually, that this was due to my
being uncircumcised, and there being a greater need to milk out the last
drops of piss from a natural dick, to prevent them ending up as a spot on
my pants leg.  But that principle was certainly not in effect this night.
There was Nils, gorgeous and drunk, swaying next to me, clearly
circumcised, still shaking his penis over the bowl, as I was ready to zip
up.  Well, maybe it's not quite time to zip up yet, I thought.  Might as
well shake and milk it a bit more, just to make sure.  And so we two
friends stood, and looked, and massaged our own dry members for an
enjoyable minute or two longer.  Finally, able to delay no further without
naming this what it was, I tucked my dick back into my shorts and turned
away from the bowl.  Nils followed suit and clapped me on the shoulder in a
quiet comradeship as we left the toilet together.