History: Jimmy

 Well, here we are with the next step in my personal sex history.  I’d met Rob and all but moved into his apartment for the last bit of my junior year.  Now we were being separated as we both went in different directions for summer work in 1978.

 

I didn’t have long at the family house before I was put on a plane and flown to Texas for my first professional theatre job.  I was picked up at the airport by a friend of a friend (who’d helped me get hired) and driven to the tiny town where I would be doing summer stock.  The theatre was built in the 1880’s.  I loved the feel of history in the place.  My accommodations were not as nice.  It was an old, cramped hospital/clinic with sleeping quarters and a grimy communal kitchen, with cockroaches the size of my foot. Everybody had a roommate—except for one enterprising young man who found and cleaned out a broom closet so he didn’t have to share.   

The first night I had the room to myself as my roommate wasn’t due until the next day.  Jimmy arrived, just before the first company meeting, like a hurricane.  He was from Dallas and had the largest convertible I had ever seen.  It was packed with far too many suitcases and his drum kit—for he was the percussionist for the four shows.  I was drafted to help him unpack.  

I did.  He was affable, with a Texas drawl that at times was so thick I had to ask him to repeat what he’d just said.  Jimmy was just under six feet, with shaggy reddish blond hair and a handsome face.  Likely late 20’s, but he seemed older, with me being a very young 21.  My gaydar started blaring by the second suitcase.  I was sure he was queer…

I settled quite quickly into the routine there.  We were doing four musicals over the long summer.  We built sets in the morning (in a Quonset hut under the baking Texas skies) and rehearsed in the afternoon and evening.  Jimmy had a freer schedule.  And he had that car—so we could go farther afield to an actual supermarket for food.

Jimmy waited until the first show opened before he propositioned me.  I was more than ready.  (The shower here was so tiny, you didn’t want to jerk off in it as you might touch the moldy shower curtain.)  He had a cock that was just a little smaller than mine.  Bigger than anyone I had played with in my early years.  He was after all, only the fifth man in my life list. 

We sixty-nined on my bed.  He pulled off my cock, panting and asked if he could fuck me.  I told him I didn’t really care for it.  But then he began eating my ass.  I gave in.  Christ!  My first big dick—and it hurt.  He finished quickly and we realized that I’d actually bled on his cock.  He toweled me off and told me to straddle his chest and jerk off.  I did.  Shooting all over his face.

The pattern was set.  Almost every night I took his dick.  Bled. And shot on his face and chest.  Two thirds of the way through the summer, I finally had the balls to ask if we could just do some oral.

“It’s not sex if you don’t fuck,’ was his answer.

I told him I really got no pleasure when he fucked me.

“Then you’d better fuck me.”

I wasn’t sure this was the option I was after.  I’d barely fucked anyone.  But I found fucking ass so much better with Jimmy.  And I loved cumming inside him.  And he didn’t seem to care whether he was top or bottom—as long as fucking happened.  I did love his cum shot on me after I’d shot inside him.

Our switching of roles was the talk of the men’s dressing room the next day.  The conversation had been heard by a pair of queens in the next room through the paper-thin walls.  They recounted it, word for word, as I grew redder and redder.  When I told Jimmy after the show, he shrugged and said: “So?”  It took me a few more years to be able to adapt his nonchalance.

My parents drove to Texas to see the middle two shows.  They arrived to see the final performance of one and the first performance of the next one.  I was not doing anything notable in either production, but my mother was thrilled to see the theatre—and me in my first professional gig.  They met Jimmy, and he put on his best southern charm.  My mother was seduced—and I think my dad knew just what was happening.

When the fourth and last show opened—we had our days free.  Jimmy took me all over Dallas and Fort Worth.   I hated my first roller coaster at Six Flags, but loved the Kimbell Art Museum.  Jimmy was a drinker—and on each trip he would stockpile his bourbon, as you couldn’t buy it out where we were living.

All during this time, I was getting long letters from Rob.  He detailed his summer—where he was doing very similar things.  I wrote back telling him about our productions and I told him about Jimmy.  He’d had one brief oral session with a cast mate, but nothing like the prolonged summer of sex I was experiencing.  In one of the last letters of August, he brought up our living together come fall.  I said ‘yes’ without a second thought.

As the end approached, Jimmy wanted more.  He used the word ‘boyfriend.’  I had told him about Rob.  And Jimmy knew I had to complete my senior year, back in Michigan, but he was sure we could keep whatever it was we had alive. 

During the final few days, I finally told him I couldn’t promise him anything as I didn’t know what would happen when Rob and I actually lived together.   Jimmy sighed and said he’d wait.

He drove me to the airport.  We almost missed the flight—I’d never run for a plane before.  He breathlessly admitted he did it on purpose so he wouldn’t have time to say goodbye.  On the plane I opened a letter he’d given me.  Three pages of spilling out all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say to me in person.

I liked the guy—though his drinking scared me.

But I knew I had so much more in common with Rob. 

We were now above the clouds and headed north. 

I realized I couldn’t wait to see Rob again.  

A good sign. 

Wasn’t it?