Date: Sat, 28 Aug 1999 14:37:24 EDT
From: Wilson583@aol.com
Subject: ADVENTURE part one by joe wilson M/M -young gay male coming out

                     Adventure - part one
                                       by joe wilson

When I checked into the Royal Hotel in the French Quarter, the clerk
handed me the room key and said in a quiet voice,  "This is your
admission to the 'Tongue and Tail'.  It's on the second lower level.
Stairs only, and opens at ten."  There was a smile on his face and
an almost imperceptible squeeze of my hand as I took it.  "You'll
enjoy your stay, I know.  There's no place in the world like Nawluns.
Be at the T N T by 11:30, Okay?  They lock the doors at midnight."

With that strange greeting I turned away from the counter.  It was
then that I first saw him, standing there, by the marble pillars,
where a palm tree grew in a ceramic pot.  Though his eyes appeared
closed I knew that he was looking at me.  Somehow I felt the magnetic
pull of him, a blending of compatible vibrations that could not be
resisted.  With reluctance, I turned away from his stare and followed
the bellboy to the elevator.  He had heard the desk clerk, I was sure
but said nothing until the doors closed and we began a slow laboring
ascent to the sixth floor.

"Watch out for ole Smitty," he said.  "He props all the young guys
who check in."  He shook his head and shuffled his feet a bit
nervously.  It was unusual for the southern negro to volunteer
conversation, but New Orleans was almost a northern city, and I'm
sure, he sensed the confusion in my response to the old man at the
desk.  And, as bellboys do in all the hotels, he described the
facilities ending with the cryptic remark that the 'T N T' was a private
mens' club.

"You wanna get blown, that's the place to go."

I had come to New Orleans for the purpose of checking Tulane, as a
possible college to attend next fall.  "The Ivy League of the South,"
they said.  I wanted prestige, but had no interest in the universities
of New England.  The cold winters of the north were not for me, a
Californian.  Besides, New Orleans was a fascinating city, and the
thought of going to college there, was exciting.  I had just graduated
from high school, and was there for a few days to check it over, and
to register for the fall term.

I was seventeen, going on eighteen, naive and virgin, anxious to learn
just where I fit into life's scheme.  I was away from home, and alone,
for the first time, propositioned by a man old enough to be my grand-
father, and I had to have it explained to me by a black bellboy who
was three or four years younger.  Wow!  This was an adventure!


I investigated Rampart Street and learned that every beer bar in town
was open to me despite my age.  Strike one in favor of New Orleans.
The first place I went into was topless.  Luckily, I found a stool at
the bar that surrounded the stage.  A woman, blonde, beautiful and
mysterious, danced in front of me.  Except for a red jeweled G-string
she was naked.  I looked at her breasts as she shook her shoulders in
time to the music.  The brown nipples were erect and were surrounded
by an aerole as big as a silver dollar.  She danced in front of the
man sitting next to me, and then stooped lower so that the G-string
rubbed in his face.  As she danced away, he slipped a dollar bill
inside.

"Thank you Ma'am," he said and leaned back with a sigh.

It was then she spotted me sitting there gaping at her, feeling
exhilarated by the beer, and by the sight of her naked breasts.  She
wiggled her backside in front of me and, as she had done before, she
lowered her body so the G-string was only inches away from my face.
My eyes were riveted on her nipples which attracted me a great deal.
She lowered her hands to her hips and took the dollar bill out of the
G-string and handed it to me.  It was as though she were buying me
and every one laughed.  Incredibly, she unfastened the G-string and
it fell away, revealing her pudendum, moist and hairy and smelling of
rich stale coffee.  The crowd roared with delight as she pushed it
into my face.  A sudden wave of disgust washed over me.  I jumped off
the stool and ran out of the bar, chased away by the mocking laughter
of those who watched.  The dollar bill was still clenched in my hand.
I was not sure which way I should go to get back to the safety of my
hotel room.

"Perhaps I can help you," said a deep, rich voice at my shoulder.

I turned around, and there he was behind me. The man I had seen staring
at me when I checked in.  My first reaction was that I was relieved to
see him.  A friend in a strange city.  His smile was broad and open,
offering friendship and help.  His eyes twinkled an almost hidden
merriment, as though he remembered a private joke.

"Oh..... Well I want to get back to the hotel."  I hesitated a moment
not certain of what I should say to him,  "I'm staying at the
Royal......"

"Yes, I know," he said, and touching my arm at the elbow, he guided me
across Rampart Street.  "It's this way," and then he added,  "That was
a rotten thing to do to you at that bar."  And saying no more he
guided me, in silence, to the comfort of my room.

"I know we'll meet again," he said and turned away.

I was reluctant to see him go, for I felt lonely in this strange
and hostile city.  I went into my room.  Stripping off my clothes
and lying naked on the bed, I played with myself, but was unable to
arouse my cock, for it remained a peepee.  It had a mind of its
own and refused to get hard.  Something that had never happened
before.


I began to feel better after I had dinner in the hotel coffee shop
that evening:  two cheese burgers with everything on them from
tomato to onion to pickle, bacon and cheese, plenty of fries, two
beers and apple pie ala mode.  It was late and I was the only one
left in the dining room.  As the waiter made out the bill, I
noticed there was an extra large bulge in his pants.

When he handed me the check, he touched himself,  "We close in
about ten minutes," he said, his fingers inside his fly, "You
want a friend tonight?  A little fun maybe?"

I shook my head from side to side.  An implied "No", and without
saying anything, went to my room and to bed.

Sleep was elusive.  Rambling around in my mind were the remembered
visions of the desk clerk, the woman at the bar, the waiter.  I
was worried that there was no physical response to my being alone
in my room, naked and horny.  Shit, I was always horny, but not
tonight.  There was no thrill to my probing fingers.  For the first
time in my young life my cock hung down like a piece of dead meat.

What was I, I wondered.  By any standards the woman was beautiful.
Really the first naked woman I had ever seen, young and lovely,
with bouncing breasts and suckable nipples.  In my fantasy, I
dreamed of waiting around until she finished her dance and then I
followed her to her dressing room.  She closed the door and kissed
me unbuttoning my shirt and loosening my belt.  Naked, I lay beside
her sucking her nipples, and then she spread her legs and I fucked
her.  But my cock remained soft.  Desire was just not there.

"Shit man," I exclaimed to my self, "I must be queer."

I looked at the clock by the bed.  It was eleven.  Shit!!  I was
never going to sleep tonight.

I got up and stood as the window and looked out at the Quarter.
It was dark except for the lights on Rampart, several blocks away.

The window was open and the breeze was gentle as it blew across my
uncovered skin.  It rustled the pubic hair, and felt good on my
balls.  Suddenly, I remembered the Tongue 'N Tail, and I felt a
stirring.  Shit, I'll never get to sleep anyhow.

I descended the two levels of marble stairs from the lobby, to
a small foyer about the size of an average living room.  There was
a life-sized statue of a man, his arms around the shoulders of
a young boy, protecting him.  Both were naked.  The anatomical
details were literal and obvious.  Even pubic hair was painted on
them.  Their genitals were oversized, accenting their erections.
Looking at them caused an awakening in my loins, a definite
exciting stirring.  "Yes," I said to myself as I had so often in
the past few years, "I guess I'm gay.  I might as well face it and
be queer and stop fighting it."

As I entered the club, I saw that it was a large room with booths
and tables surrounding the dance floor.  There was a bar at one end
and a small stage backed by a mirrored wall at the other end of the
room.  The booths and tables were taken, so I took the last seat
at the bar.

I was embarrased and self-conscious, for as I entered the room,
everyone looked at me.  Certainly I was the youngest person there.
The patrons seemed to be ancient old aunties.  I felt the glare of their
claiming lust, and saw it in their eyes.  And as I sat on the bar
stool sipping my beer, a wave of disgust came over me at being among
them.  The old tug of war seeped back,  "Was I or Wasn't I" and
familiar restraints clouded over me.

The customers were all pervert-gay, dressed in the extreme that
stated their queerness.  They wore rouge and wigs and lipstick.
Their clothes were bizarre and unbecoming.  There was black leather,
with shirts or vests, unbuttoned and open to reveal masses of body hair.
Abnormally large nipples, with gold rings or sparkling jewels.
Harem costumes of transparant material revealing sloppy fat bodies.
Travestites in womens' dresses.......  "Do I really belong in this
group of misfits?" I wondered.

In the short time I sat there observing the carnival, I refused
drinks, offers, embraces, and I fought off caressing hands.  This was
no place for me.

Just as I was about to leave, the room slowly darkened and the
dancers hurried off the floor to their seats.  A buzz of excitement
flooded the room, and the music changed to a loud introduction, and
the room became totally dark, a complete blackout.  When The chatter
of the excited patrons finally stopped, one solitary beam of light
picked up the face of man, standing in the middle of the dance floor.
It was the man who had led me back to the hotel from Rampart street,
the one who was in the lobby when I checked in.  But all you could
see of him was his face.

He was smiling; and he nodded to his audience, and began to sing.
His voice was a full rich baritone, and had a resonant quality that
stirred the heart and quivered the soul.

    "Blue moon, you saw me standing alone,
     without a dream in my heart,
     without a love of my own."

His dignified manner, his noble beauty and commanding presence, struck
a chord in the deepest corner of my soul.  I felt truly that he was
singing to me.  He walked from table to table, booth to booth, only
his handsome face shining in the light.  It was a captivating moment,
for sure.

    "And then there suddenly appeared before me
     The only one my arms will ever hold
     And I heard him whisper 'please adore me'
     and all at once the moon had turn to gold.
     Blue moon......"

I was enchanted by this virile handsome singer who so contradicted
all the grotesque members of the audience.

As the music rose to its' final climax, the light gradually expanded
to reveal all of him.  And as it widened its scope it diminished in
intensity, and an aura of soft pink light engulfed him.  When he was
totally revealed, a gasp rose from his audience, for he was stark
naked.  His body was athletic, masculine in all its' definitions.
Except for his natural beauty, there were no artifices to accent any
part of it.  He was tall and broad-shouldered, and carried himself
with pride and ease.  His head was up, gaze level and straight=
forward.  His erect cock was enormous, jutting out from his hairy
loins, pointing at all of us, swaying back and forth whenever he
moved his hips.  It was as though he were challengbing us.

He looked directly at me.  His stare was penetrating and long
lasting, and a half smile flashed across his face.  His tongue
rolled over his lips and his hands slid down his torso, from the
swollen brown nipples to his crotch, where they cupped his balls.
And then he began to sing again.  Never once throughout the song
did he take his eyes from mine.  He sang of gay lovers meeting for
the first time.

    "Come away with me and be my love
     And to some hidden isle we'll go to hide
     Where, like the gayest souls in Lesbos happy land
     We'll lay together on some hilltop, side by side
     Ourselves to love ourselves, and each to feel
     The sensuous pleasures and thrill of new found love
     And you will kiss my balls and suck my cock
     And I will fuck you from above...."

And when he sang the word 'fuck' he thrust out his right arm, and
middle finger, extended to me in an obscene gesture, only coming
from him it didn't seem obscene.  Everyone looked at me and
tittered their effeminate voices.

The spotlight went out and the room was dark.  When the lights
appeared, he was gone, and the babble of the audience rose to a
pitch that almost drown out the music that called the dancers to
the floor.

I left then.  There was nothing to keep me there.  The enchanting
vision of the naked singer was gone, and though he had touched my
life for so brief a time, he left shooting stars of pleasure in
the loins that convinced me that I was gay, and I loved the thought
of it.  Accepting it, I lay naked on the bed and masturbated for
hours with a phantom lover who sang "Blue Moon" in a quiet whisper.

As the light of early dawn crept through the window, I fell into
a relaxed sleep, sated, and at peace.

When I awoke I decided I was ready to go home.  I realized my quest
was not for a school to attend, but a private seeking of my own
identity, and last night I had found it.  I was homosexual, and
a great weight lifted from my heart.

I called the desk and told them I was checking out a few days early
and to prepare my bill.  When I opened my suitcase and began to
pack, the telephone rang.

"Is this Dan Tobin?"

"This is Danny," I said, surprised at the call.

"I'm Stoppel, the manager of the hotel."

"Yes?"

"We have a guest who is leaving tomorrow.  It happens he's motoring
to L.A.  He's looking for someone to help with the driving, and
thought perhaps, you'd be interested.  He said to tell you he would
pay all the expenses."

My heart leaped at the thought.  "Sounds great to me.  Sure is
better'n the bus."

"There's only one thing....."

"Yes?"  A sinking feeling.

"He wants to make a vacation out of it.  That is, he's in no hurry
....you know...could take several weeks."

"Great!  I don't have to be anywhere until September, and this is
June.  I'd like to go with him, Mr Stoppel.  I like to drive.  In
fact, I'd love to drive across the country and see something."

"Well, If you're interested, he told me to ask you to meet him in the
"Sidecar' at three o'clock.  You know where it is?"

"Is it the bar on the top floor?"

"That's right.  Take the elevator to eighteen.  His name is Davis.
Michael Davis."

"I'll be there, Mr Stoppel." and I hung up.  I looked at the clock
by the bed.  It was after noon.  Better shave and shower and get
some lunch.  My heart expanded and I began to sing.  I really felt
good.  "What a break!"  I said to myself, looking forward to a
nice trip and no bus.


to be continued

wilson583@aol.com