The Past Revisited

Tags

bio, coming out, gay, lifestyle

I return to this blog, not that I ever really developed it. My goal now, as it was then, is to try to describe my life in short vignettes.

It is not my purpose to push any philosophical, religious or political, what’s the word, oh, yes, b*******. However, I will push my philosophical, religious and political b*******. Just not my original goal.

No, my purpose is to talk about life. My perceptions, experiences and the oddities that have occurred. They are not really any different from anyone else’s, they are just different. My life is much like many others, just lived in a slightly different way. I hope by telling my little stories and how I dealt with each of the situations at the time that others may learn how to cope with their own situations. If there is anything I have learned in life, it is how to cope with anything. Except death. I refuse to accept that till it happens. All of this happens once and I’m not giving a moment of it up.

Someone conversed with on Facebook, but not yet in person, has reminded me of certain things in life. I do not know whether or not these are the right things, but I am going to try to teach you my heart. I cannot claim that they are right and I do not know if they are wrong, I just know that I have come about them honestly and from a place deep within my soul.

So, I am going to tell some stories. I am pretty sure that a great many of you will not believe a word of them. They will be essentially true, but time and memory shift and fade. It is the intent and emotion, the humanity that is most important. Details are insignificant. And, apologies in advance, but your opinions are insignificant. I cannot and will not debate my life experience. But my soul? I will give freely.

My stories are either interesting or mean something to me personally. Your interest, while satisfying to me, is not that critical. Indeed, some of them will be so off the wall or bizarre that you will run screaming into the streets, if that were currently allowed under covid restrictions. Check local restrictions.

You have been warned.

Fuck AI and it’s predictors, or am I too blunt?

I do not want to see

what some algorithm

curated for me.

I decide.

My interests.

My life.

AI analyzed and categorized?

No.

I am human.

Right or wrong,

The living choose.

Finish It Well

Life is a wine.

One must finish it to truly appreciate it.

Why Write, Right?

Life is in the details.

We must all rely on one another to remind us of our common memory.

We must pass it on, write/create or it dies with us.

David

April, 2019

Memory, persistent beyond reason.

I have this unusual memory.

Short-term is always problematic. Go to the kitchen to get a pitcher of milk and by the time I get there I’ve forgotten what I came for.

Long-term is something else.

Long-term memories of things that made me what I am feel as vivid today as they did decades ago. Periods of time in my life that my friends and compatriots have long forgotten are there and easily tapped. It’s really very annoying although it is useful in finding things long laid aside or when searching/researching. I may not always know the answer, but I’m really good at knowing where to find it.

My mother, with a similar sort of memory, except her short term was remarkably good, seemed to recognize this in me. She also understood that I was very aware of what was going on around me, although this may have come to her a bit later then she would have liked. She has stated, on more than one occasion, that she dreads the possibility that I might write a book about the family. Given the family history, I’m not surprised.

This particular post is, like many of my minor posts, merely a preface to what may or may not follow in blogs to come.

I suppose I should make it clear that this blog isn’t about you or what may entertain anyone.

This blog is a deeply personal expression of things that are important to me and those around me.

But it all seems to come down to memory. And other than our unique point of view, our memory is all we really have unto ourselves. Once we are no longer alive, that point of view and its unique set of memories and experiences are lost. Sometimes the stray bits get written down and left for others to ponder and obsess over generations later. Most of the time, no one else really seems to care. And that is as it should be. People have their own lives to live and worry about.

But that doesn’t mean the stray bits shouldn’t get written down.

Till the next one. Good night

On being Leonard Bernstein and not being Gore Vidal.

Tags

Bernstein, bisexual, coming out, gay, lifestyle, Vidal

Looking back on my father’s life, he seemed to be very accepting of everyone’s personal life. In this age where gay is everywhere, back in the 50s and 60s my parents seemed to have a lot of friends who had close personal living arrangements with someone of the same-sex. And these were long relationships, as well. And they were certainly longer than the short marriages some of my friends parents had had.

And, as I have mentioned previously, my father was a psychotherapist and had many patients in the closeted gay community in Houston.

I am also fairly sure that my father led a bisexual lifestyle when he was in college and medical school. My godfathers were his roommates at University and med school, and both were definitely of the Cole Porter school of life. My father had very broad intellectual and musical interests that seemed to embrace many people around him. That he enjoyed sex was an unstated given in our household. Well, stated at least once, right before my father’s prostatectomy. Some things you don’t want to hear your mother talk about, especially her fears about her husband’s “enjoyment” of life, my fathers manhood! No!!! (Although it is good to hear he took particularly good enjoyment in his sexual life! It gives me hope!! :-))

And my life was heading off in that direction, too. I was a happy, though closeted, bisexual in an age when just being gay could be a capital offense. But I liked girls and I liked boys. Each had unique facets that made play quite enjoyable in those wonderfully stray and delightful moments when privacy removed all pretense.

I am fairly certain my father had figured this out, as well. He seemed very good at offering advice, but often in terms that could be taken several ways. Advice that could be very useful coming from a knowing father to a possibly gay son, useful in dealing with the world and its many pitfalls.

It was the mid 70s. I was reading the novel Aaron Burr by Gore Vidal. My father noticed my choice of reading material and a curious look crossed his face. My father launched into the topic of lifestyle choices. It seems that he wasn’t a fan of Gore Vidal and his particular brand of in your face bisexuality he carried off in the 50s and 60s. No, sir, Mr. Vidal wasn’t exactly shy, particularly when he had been drinking. He seemed to be particularly good at annoying street conservative types at high society parties. Scandalous!

My father proceeded to slam Mr. Vidal and his public lifestyle as being indecent and unseemly. My father’s opinion seemed to be that one’s predilections and who they were sleeping with was strictly a private affair and not worthy of discussion in public. And his opinion covered both straight and homosexual lifestyles. He may have enjoyed sex with his wife, but he certainly wasn’t going to talk about it!

Then, by way of comparison, he brought up Leonard Bernstein. Both of us were very fond of him, a man worthy of emulation. Between my father and myself, I think we had much of Mr. Bernstein had recorded. I’d also spent many years listening to conversations about music and the people who made it at intermissions of the symphony and other social gatherings in Houston.

The scuttlebutt on Leonard Bernstein was that he preferred the company of men but was adequately bearded in that he was decently married with children, so he’s covered socially. Meanwhile, he enjoyed the company of other intellectuals and musicians, maintaining a closed personal lifestyle out of his residence above the concert hall. Reporters, unless a part of the inner circle, were never welcome. What happened there, stayed there

According to my father, When Mr. Bernstein was asked about his sexuality or anything concerning his private life Bernstein always deflected the question. He would state that the question was inappropriate, ill-informed or came from someone with no real right to deserve an answer. Bernstein kept his private life private and kept it strictly separated from his public life. This, my father seemed to indicate, was the more appropriate lifestyle.

My father attitude appeared to be that it didn’t really matter how you lived your life, as long as you did it ethically and in such a way as to not bring too much calumny upon yourself. If there was no discernible reason to talk about private matters in public, one didn’t. Remember,, being out was and still is a risky business in America. Many people are a bit bigoted and life is a lot easier and more fun when you didn’t rub your differences in their faces. And they aren’t about to change their minds no matter how you discuss it with them. Sometimes I think the best we will ever do as humans is to live and let live.

I must confess that I have taken the Bernstein approach to life. But sometimes, when I am at a party, the Vidal side starts to sneak out. I understand both points of view but I prefer a quieter approach to life. and I do think my father for helping me achieve it.

Swimming, Showers & Sex and Discovering My True Nature.

Tags

bio, bisexual, coming out, gay

Fair Warning. This is very personal and very NSFW or anywhere prudish. I feel no shame for my feelings and desires. They are what makes me. Carry on!

When I was young, so very young and scarily innocent, I was rather certain what I liked. I liked guys my own age who were comfortable around other guys. I was also pretty certain that this was something that you didn’t talk about with other guys, other people, especially your own parents!

But I also knew that it was out there even if it was strictly undercover, so to speak. Long before Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, we had don’t ask, don’t tell, seriously don’t tell and don’t even hint about it. People could be very obnoxious, and I didn’t have any great desire to look for trouble. However, that didn’t mean we didn’t have ways of finding out more about a cute lad that may have caught one’s eye.

I had my neighborhood friends to play and swim with. I always suggested skinny-dipping! Swimming in the nude! Hallelujah! “Accidentally” copping a feel while playing Marco Polo. And feeling their dick get hard between your butt cheeks while wrestling with a friend. Yes, skinny-dipping is so much fun when you’re young and gay and exploring the nature of your friends.

I was 13, he was a few months younger. We had both been swimming and playing hard. and, as young pubescent boys do, we also got hard, particularly when we were close to one another. We teased each other about it which usually only made the problem harder, so to speak.

Eventually we both made our way inside and headed upstairs to take a shower. The house was completely empty. considering the size of the place and how many brothers I had, this was very unusual.

As I said, it was a large, old house, and the hot water heater would fade after about a shower or two so I suggested we take one together. I’ve been showering with my younger brothers for years, so this didn’t seem overtly sexual, just the normal state of affairs to save hot water. But I’ve got to tell you, sex was in the back of my mind now!

G was so very cute. His body seemed so perfect. So much like my own but only fractionally smaller. I couldn’t believe how good-looking he was as we stood before the mirror getting undressed while comparing each other’s bodies. yes, I caught him looking and smiling every once in a while!

I got the shower ready and heated up the water and then he got in with me. It was a good size standalone shower with plenty of room for two people in it. We took it in turn soaping up and then I decided to take a chance.

I asked him if he would soap and wash my back, volunteering to wash his in return. He looked at me, smiled and said, yes, after only a momentary hesitation. he was pretty good about washing my back, I must say. If this was as far as we were going to go, I was all ready somewhat satisfied.

And then he turned around so I could wash his. As he turned, I glanced down and his cock was sticking straight out and up. I had no idea it could get so big! It was almost identical to mine. But he turned around like this was perfectly normal and I took up the bar of soap and washcloth and took to his back. my God, it was so lovely and smooth. My fingers felt almost electric touching his skin!

My eager hands works the length of his back gradually dropping lower to that lovely but of his, occasionally teasing the top of his butt crack with a finger or two. his head dropped a little bit, he sighed, and pushed his butt a little closer to my hand. This was the sort of sign I was looking. Soon I was washing/caressing his sweet cheeks. My hsnds gradually wandered around to his lovely cock and balls. I stood behind him, wrapped my arms around the front of his chest and hugged him to me tightly then kissed him on the back of his neck.

This was one of those moments when I began to realize just how intense sex and sexual attraction could make a body feel! It was almost painful in its magnificent priapasm. And yet my raging cock quickly became the last thing on my mind.

I turned him around. I was an inch or two taller, leaned into him hugged him tightly to my chest as if never daring to let go, eyes closed the entire time in case when I opened them it would all have vanished as if an errant dream.

Then, to my utter delight, he reached and took hold of my cock. At first he grabbed it so firmly and tightly but I felt like I had been stuck in a trap. then, suddenly as he had grabbed it so firmly, he relaxed and his hand became so soft and gentle as it caressed my cock. His fingers and soft palm fondled and toyed with me. In that moment I knew that we would have a great deal of fun together in the future.

Meanwhile, I lost it. I dropped to my knees and pushed him against the shower wall, the water spray playing across my back. And I inhaled him. It was as if I was trying to make his cock and balls a part of my body. I sucked and I licked and I squeezed his ass in my hands while I pushed his crotch into my face. Did I mention that this was the first time I’ve ever actually done anything like this outside of my own fantasies? Oh, yes, this was my first, and it was magnificent!

I teased and played with him till the water in the shower started to cool. At some point my fingers, while they were playing with his ass, slipped to his lovely pucker. I barely touched it and he came. he said something about being worried if he came in my mouth, and I grabbed his ass and swallowed his cock is it jerked in what had been my virgin mouth.

I stood up and he looked a little worried , and tried to apologize for coming in my mouth. I kept insisting that that was fine by me and he could do it anytime he wanted. He smiled , then reached over and grabbed my cock, still so very hard. He took my balls in his other hand and started to squeeze while muttering, wow, under his breath.

Then, I held my breath, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. I guess that clinched the deal. I was young, and I really haven’t had that many orgasms up till now, mostly when I was masturbating and a couple of times with a jack off buddy I had made at school. As I said, it clinched the deal. I came harder and more copiously than I had ever done in my short life. No, I didn’t decide I was gay, I just decided that if I was going to have sex with anybody in my life, it was going to be with guys like me whenever the opportunities were presented. I still loved looking at girls and how beautiful they were, but now I found myself wishing that they had cocks concealed under their petticoats.

Meanwhile, was that NSFW? Yes. Did I say suck and a bunch of other naughty words? Goodness mercy, yes! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to be so scandalous. What I meant to say that I took my friends cock in my mouth, sucked on their balls licked their glans and tried to stick my tongue down the little slit at the top while encouraging them to come in my mouth! Better? Certainly more descriptive of the moment and how I felt. I’ll take blunt honesty when I can get away with it.

And that, my friends, was the second time I had ever swallowed the sword. If I haven’t told you the story of the first time, we will get to it soon.

Till then, enjoy your life and don’t be ashamed of it.

Crushing, Junior High Style

(This story is evolving, patience, please)

Met my first junior high school crush on the bus. In those days, the bus meant many things. It was often a means to an end, but the rides and the people I met were often the best part.

There was this boy, a handsome young man about my age. Donald. Very cute! He had dark hair, a nice smile, like his uncle, a popular meteorologist on TV in the 60s. He seemed to be intelligent and fairly well read for his age. I remember discussing Papal infallibility and political satire with him. We, in our youthful arrogance, were very knowledgeable about world affairs, talking about high and mighty subjects. Meanwhile…

Bring on the testosterone and the full bloom of pubescence!

I became obsessed, for reasons not yet clear to me in my youthful ignorance, with getting him alone and undressed. I wanted to feel his body next to mine. I didn’t really know what I wanted to do with it when I had it, I just knew that doing something with him was probably going to be very exciting and feel very right!

There is a certain purity to the desires and wants of youth. It is an age where we really don’t understand consequences yet. We may understand the concept in our youth but we don’t really take it into the way we think and view our lives. We see a thing, we want a thing. And I very much wanted him. I wanted to hold him, hug him, kiss him, let my hands wander all over his body. I wanted to make him feel so good that he would let me be with him whenever possible.

Now, among the many books I’d acquired and avidly read, was a two story volume of Edwardian pornography, Forbidden Fruit and it’s equally descriptive sequel. Decently written by someone who had fun with the irony of life among the semi-nobility and upper-class of 1890s Britain and the progress of a young man from puberty on and his very broad sexual education. It also took bisexuality and equal interest in both sexes as a discreet norm. (The book is in the public domain and easily found.)

Even at that seemingly tender age I was fascinated with the parts where he discovered the joy of buggery with both his male and female companions. a time before reliable birth control, buggery at least never resulted in a pregnancy. The only limiting factor was that buggery seemed to be very frowned upon in both polite society. It was common knowledge that it occurred, but one never, ever discussed it or even allowed that it existed in conversation. But, exist it did and I wanted to participate!

Which brings us back to the true subject this little exercise. Don was cute and smart. We both rode the bus together from school, although he got off three stops on, just to the south of Rice University.

He was absolutely beautiful and smart enough to discuss world politics intelligently with! I wanted him! Naked and squirming in bed. Kissing and making out if he’d let me. and maybe, just maybe I could convince him that a little buggery and sword swallowing was just harmless fun between good friends!

For months I rode home with him. I would spend the afternoon with him at his place without benefit of his divorced parent or other chaperone.

I tried, oh, how I tried to find the way to bring up the subject dearest to my heart and my constant erection in his presence. I even set up elaborate and romantic scenarios where, like James Bond or Napoleon Solo, I save him from an evil or tragic fate, whereupon he would throw his eager self upon me! Yes, I wasn’t interested in saving the princess, I wanted the prince!

Alas, we never did do anything together of a sexual nature. Yes, a story of first lust, but unrequited lust. I suppose you were expecting more. And it, in the fullness of time, will come.

He became, however, the source of many onanistic fantasies. And those fantasies led to more than a few interesting fetishes and practices during my misspent secondary school years. I had fun, hidden away on the upper floor of my parent’s house, discovering the joys and gentle roughness of rope play, self bondage, even the gentle pain of hot wax dripping on one’s glans.

For my own pleasure, and hopefully yours, we shall be delving into these diverse and maybe even perverse stories in posts to come.

Adolescent Desires

Sixth grade. A warm spring day. Robin, a tall, thin girl with dark hair and pale skin had my entire physical attention as no other person had ever had in my entire 11 year old life. She sat in the middle of the class second row from the back. There was only a hint of bosom, an intention to grow there, but I was very much of aware of that intention!

It was a time of cute spring skirts, light blue in her case. The memories linger. I didn’t know what I ultimately wanted. What I did know was that I wanted to be in her presence wherever she wanted to be. I tried to be social, but I suppose my attention, and the driving forces behind it, were pretty damn obvious, particularly to any protective mother or father.

So, like so many other potentialities in life, nothing happened. I had the learned social graces to get through a church service or a night at the opera, but I was still very self-conscious. Worse, my other social skills, particularly the art of flirtation and a reasonably subtle expression of romantic desire were based on my readings of Ian Fleming, a host of science-fiction authors and classic literature. In other words, I really had none at all.

But my hormones were still driving me and they needed an outlet. And, much to my delight, I discovered a number of other kids my age in the neighborhood, mostly male, who had the same drives. I really didn’t have any notion at all of either gay or straight, all I was thinking of was, sex is fun. A cooperative partner, one who is willing to try to please you as much as you’re trying to please them, is damn spanking good fun! And, no offense, gender be damned! It sure as hell wasn’t on my radar back then.

And so, a year later I was rather enamoured with a close friend and his rather lovely and burgeoning young manhood. We were friends with with rather thrilling benefits! it was an innocent time, sex without preconceived notions of what it should or shouldn’t be. God, I miss a good tickle fight!

These were halcyon days when I really didn’t consider my sexuality, gender or what exactly I identified as or with. Sex was great as long as both of us went into it with eyes wide open and quite willing to try to please the other person.

Still, a certain type of woman, a bit more masculine than many, attract me. And I find I want to satisfy them sexually while encouraging them in how to satisfy me. This does not necessarily include a desire to frequently copulate with them. Every once in a while is just fine, thank you. I am more about the mutual experience. I rather enjoy helping another in a try for intense, mutual release, male or female. And, luckily for me, I happen to enjoy talented and enthusiastic partners regardless of my lover’s presented orientation or gender or whether it was considered culturally appropriate. I realized this at an early age that the gender of my partners didn’t matter. What was important was whether I cared for them.

The variations of fiddly bits between their legs or upon their chests was interesting, but not as important as it is for those driven by obsession for specifically preferred sexual organs. True, I generally prefered male thrills, given a choice. After all, they came with generally the same equipment, knew what I knew, brought something to the table or, best of fun, just wanted to play and brought an open mind!

Being straight never occurred to me, because that was considered the norm. Outwardly straight was the default. But the concept of straight wasn’t actually thought about or discussed. It was simply everywhere in society.

There was, however, this rather lurid conception called the Homosexual. It probably didn’t help that I read a few 1890s and 1920s vintage porn novels, thanks to the convenient Rexall drugstore soda fountain on the corner of Bissonet and Ashby! 007, Man from U.N.C.L.E. and Dark Shadows tie-ins and, thanks be to whatever gods there are, vintage Edwardian porn! And served with a vanilla float Coke with a little whipped cream on top. At a store the parents didn’t shop at, yet a quick bike ride away in a good neighborhood. I suppose you could call this part of a fortunate childhood.

It was in many ways, an innocent childhood. Acting on innocent impulses while being gentle and kind, never doing anything your partner didn’t want to do. This didn’t mean, however, I might not try to talk my way into trying something different. I didn’t hear about the concept of safe words until much later in life. But my friends and I always knew when to say that one thing that ended things, or at least slow them down, just in case it got a little too weird.

And that’s it for now, I think I’ll go ahead and publish this and add to something the next day. I am not really sure that this is going to be a discrete blog, with discrete stories. I am thinking that ongoing stories and vignettes that fit the current discussion are going to be more the mean.

Holiday Reflections on My Partners To Date

Tags

bio, bisexual, coming out, gay

Last serious boyfriend was in 1981.  We grew up next door to each other. His older sister granted me my first kiss with the tinge of sex about it. He never kissed me. We parted so he could play the dutiful straight son.

And was married to my, ahem, son’s mother, 20 years. I cleaved until we cleaved.

Relationships since were usually initiated by others, mostly 39 to mid 40s women, intelligent, assertive, opinionated, possibly bisexual, with a masculine femininity about them.

First, post-divorce, was an executive secretary to CFOs, Fortune 500 no less and later one of the largest medical non-profits in the country. We sang in the same choir. Her shoulders were sore. We parted quite amicably.

Presbyterian Pastor. Quite the nerd. Discussions of multiverses and spoke of god as “she.“  Excellent conversation and gentle reminders that, “Pastors need love, too.” She took a calling elsewhere, we tried, we drove, we still drifted apart. Long distance relationships suck.

A professional social media executive. Father had been a professor, African-American out of Louisiana and her mother a well educated woman and, for the record, white. We never had coitus, but some damn fine time was had by all! She was bisexual and liked to tell to tell lovely stories of elevator encounters with near strangers while blessing me with her damn fine tongue and delicate touch upon anything I directed her to. All hail the mighty and oft forgot taint!

Then lovely and direct Marie, 39 when we met. I was 60 when she rather expertly took my (other) virginity for her 40th birthday present. Had a nice strap-on rig that she had used with her old girlfriend. And her knowledge of the prostate rivaled mine! A delightful evening. Also learned much about the Galveston drag scene, at least at the time, at her lead. Distance, then more distance, when she took on professional work in Galveston, lead to an amicable parting.

A major issue was, that while I was rather good at pleasing women, I wasn’t much of a fan of coitus. The women, in their way, satisfied many kinks. and taught me at least a little more about pleasure. They also reminded me that vaginas just don’t attract me. It seems like I love bananas (because they have no bone.)

Meeting men has been an exercise in what I can only describe, using the latest references that apply, dealing with behavior that equals that of Spacey towards young men or Weinstein.  If someone on an excess of prescribed testosterone grabs my crotch or just takes his clothes off after because, well, why not, again, I may just resign myself to celibacy. This does not have that much appeal, either.

Then something happened that surprised me and caused me to reflect on my own desires and needs.  A couple of years ago, the boyfriend from my youth, the last serious boyfriend from 1981 and before, called me out of the blue. He never married, likes bad girls that drink a bit, like him. Many short term relationships that usually end badly.  So, we got together and frolicked liked old times.  I still love him and I might even marry him if he asked nicely, but he is not out and sex with me is still fun, but socially unacceptable to his peers. So we parted. He has called twice since, but I’ve ignored him. Good sex, but I am not up to being a sexual convenience.

A couple of years drift by.

And then I met this man and I sort of fell for him.

He wants take it slow. I have got admit that I don’t have a clue as to how to proceed.

But proceed is what I long to do. I don’t care how long it takes, I want him.

This also scares the hell out of me. Feelings thought lost have sprung anew. Wish I were younger, but he is, a bit, and so cute. Sigh.

A gentleman who seems like a gentle man.

Intelligent and well spoken.

Lips. Did I mention lips?

Cute and seems to be aging well.

I think it would be fun to make him happy. Oh, the many ways and possibilities.

Good night,

David