History: Losing It

 

The fact that I still have my ‘coming out’ journal is really helping me write about these years.  I recorded events, thoughts, desires—and sometimes even dialogue.  Here we go with the next round of my checkered history…

 

What started out as a simple steak dinner ended up giving me much more to digest than just the beef.  The discussion, the confessions, the disco and the neighborhood bar all swirled in my brain as I lay awake the next night.  It felt good to have someone in my corner, but the disco and the bar were so far removed from anything I knew.  Were they going to become my regular haunts?  I couldn’t see that at all.

I didn’t have long to worry about it as my summer job was coming to an end and before I went back to the University, I was taking a camping trip with a young man I knew from my high school drama club.  Yes, I was pretty damn sure he was gay—and I was going to do my damnedest to get to ‘know’ him better.

Theo was two years behind me in school.  He would be going into his senior year in September. We had been good friends in high school and I had gotten a lot of vibes that suggested he was more interested in boys than girls.  I had gone back to see his performances that first year away.  I had suggested he might like to come with me on a camping trip and see three shows at the Stratford Festival in Ontario. He jumped at the chance.  He even talked me into adding a day in Toronto to the itinerary.

On Monday, August 23, 1976, we were packing his car with a tent, sleeping bags and all the gear we thought we’d need either to camp or to sit in the theatre.  I was in charge of fitting everything in his trunk.  But I kept stopping just to look at him.  He was a short guy, with dark hair that tended to curl if he let it get a little long.  He had a quirky smile and a wicked sense of humor.  He also tended to be very intense and passionate in whatever we were talking about.

We had a flat tire somewhere on Highway 401 as we drove into Canada, but it barely slowed us down.  We found the campsite and pitched our tent.  We weren’t seeing a show that night, so we fixed dinner and made a campfire as the sun went down.

And we talked.  And talked.

Coming out to Theo was a breeze—barely any nerves for me at all.  He told me he, too, felt bisexual (that old stepping stone down from straight to gay.)  He had done some mutual masturbation with a friend I didn’t know.  He had tried to have sex with a guy I knew from the drama club and the guy ended up treating Theo like shit.  I told him about meeting our mutual drama friend at the disco.  He was floored—not once ever thinking the guy would be gay.

We talked forever.  If we stopped talking, God help us, we might have to do something.  The fire burned low.  We had no more wood.  We brushed our teeth, pissed and got ready for bed.  Our sleeping bags were on problematic air mattresses on either side of the tent.  It was a warm night, but we both lay inside our sleeping bags.  To disguise our erections—well, at least in my case. 

Finally, I found the courage: “Let’s try…”

Theo shook his head and said he was too tired, but tomorrow would be good. 

I barely slept at all that night.

*

The 24^th was a full day.   Getting a new tire took forever.  We strolled through quaint, though slightly touristy, Stratford.  We saw Antony and Cleopatra that night, starring Maggie Smith in her first of three seasons in Canada.  We were elated—good theatre does that. 

We went back to our tent and got ready for bed.  It was late—no campfire tonight.  He crawled right into his sleeping bag.  Shit, I thought, he doesn’t want to do it after all.

We lay there in total silence after all the babbling back and forth about the production.

Finally: “What are you doing over there?”  Theo’s voice held genuine surprise.

“I thought you had changed your mind…”

“Don’t be stupid…”

We moved the air mattresses, so they were touching.  I rolled over, as did he.  We kissed.  Tentatively.  My first real kiss.  Awkward.  Where does my nose go?  How much tongue?  Yikes.  We came up for air.  Now what?  Theo made no move. 

“What do you want to…”  My question hung there for a long time.  “Well, I’m just gonna…” and I put action before words.  I tongued my way to his neck, his nipples, stopping in his fresh pubes for a long time.  Finally, I took his hard cock into my mouth.  It felt familiar and strange at the time.  It was so much easier to suck than my own when I was self-fellating.  And he was smaller—I could really work my tongue all around his shaft.

I sucked him forever.  We tried a 69.  You read about young men shooting instantly, but surprisingly, neither of us shot that night.  We just fell into an exhausted sleep in each other’s arms…

*

I loved waking up holding on to a man.  We were both hard—but we ignored our dicks and got up and had a late breakfast.  It was a two-show day.  The Merchant of Venice with Hume Cronyn as a brilliant Shylock.  Then in the evening, A Midsummer Night’s Dream with Cronyn as Bottom and his wife, Jessica Tandy, as Titania.   Magical.

It was also magical, that once back in the tent, I sucked Theo to orgasm.  I loved the explosion of semen in my mouth.  I swallowed without a moment of debate—the most natural thing in the world.  Theo said he wanted to reciprocate—but he was too tired.  I fell asleep easily.  I didn’t care if I got off.

I sucked him again that morning and got another mouthful of cum.  He tried to get me off, but even then, I seemed to take so much longer to get there, that he gave up.  I didn’t care.  We were headed to Toronto—and had to pack up the tent, anyway.

On the trip in, he was in a bad mood.  I tried to coax it out of him.  But nothing.  Lots of silence on this leg of the trip.

We found a campsite out of town.   After set up, I was tasked to go buy whiskey.  Theo wanted to drink.  I found a liquor store and bought the pint.  After dinner, I had my Canadian whiskey with a splash of water.  Theo added Coke to his…and then orange juice.  He kept mixing and drinking it, no matter what it tasted like.

Suddenly he said, “I know I’m gay.  I love men.  But I hate sucking cock.”

I pointed out there were other things to do.  Eventually, he was back to his usual self, but a drunk version of it.  We had no sex that night.

We were meeting high school female friends who were also in the city.  Dinner and then went back to their hotel.  It all felt odd and all parties were glad when we took off for our tent.

Which was flooded.  A gloriously sunny day in the city and a rainstorm where we’d set up camp.  We were young.  We slept on his sleeping bag, the drier of the two.  And I sucked him off one last time.  Perfecting some skills.  I got him off even faster.

We went home the next day.

In less than a week, I was back to a new dormitory, with new roommates.  But I had an even better friend; someone I could now tell everything—even easier than my brother.  I wondered if I was in love.  Maybe.  I knew he wasn’t—but I could live in hope…