These are true experiences, unembroidered, from junior and senior high school, some 60 years ago, starting with my first sex after puberty. All of this happened in the suburb of a central Pennsylvania city of about 40,000. In those days, there were guys known as queers, but nearly every boy (except the geeky or weird ones) had sex with his friends or, in high school, teammates. But especially in the Boy Scouts. We had no pedophile scoutmasters, but it was generally recognized that you would learn about sex once you joined the Scouts.
My first times with Ralph took place at Scout summer camp. We slept in cabins that had wood sides only to waist level, then roll-up canvas hung from the ceilings, and there were four lower bunks and four upper ones. Ralph was not a friend of mine, though we were in the same troop. He had the air of a bully, an air of danger. So I was surprised, the first afternoon, when he climbed up into my upper bunk and lay down beside me. Next thing I knew, he was fondling my dick through my pants, an amazing feeling the first time it happens to you (or anytime it happens, I guess). I didn't yet know I would live my life as a gay man, but I sure knew, at about age 13, that I liked guys. Anyway, the fondling led nowhere right then, but Ralph said we should get together after lights out. His had the other upper bunk on my side of the cabin.
After lights out, the cabin was totally dark, and with the open sides, the night sounds of the woods were loud enough to cover any creaking of springs or whispering. Soon enough Ralph was whispering to me to give him my hand. He put it on his cock, which was out of his pants, rock hard and hot to the touch. It gave me an electric shock that I remember to this day. I got my cock out, and we jerked each other for a while. We didn't dare climb into a single bunk, in case someone turned on a light, so this was arm's length jerking, with both of us finishing on our own.
I couldn't believe how great this new game was, and whenever I could in the daytime, my hand was groping Ralph. Every night we repeated the jerk-off sessions. Halfway through the week, we all went farther into the forest to camp out in two-man tents. My best friend, Ted, and I shared a tent. Ralph was in a tent about 10 feet away, with a younger kid, Jeff, who was pre-pubic, but had already made it clear to everyone that he was hungry for cock. (He later grew up into a school "queer," as opposed to a boy who had sex with other boys -- a clear distinction in those days.) That night, Ted asked me if I was ever "dirty" with myself. Insanely, I said no, because my whole mind was in the tent with Ralph and Jeff, pretty certain what was happening and jealous as hell. I now regret this a lot. Ted and I never saw each other after we went to college (he went to Annapolis and on into the Navy). It was not until 50 years later, when I googled him, that I learned that he'd lived his adult life as an openly gay man. So we missed a lot of high school fun.
After camp, I didn't do anything with Ralph until that fall, when the troop had a Halloween party at a farm outside of town. I was crazy to get back together with Ralph, but the urge seemed to leave him once we were away from camp. During the party I kept suggesting that we step away and have some fun. He resisted until he needed to piss and went behind the barn into the dark woods. I followed him and waited while he pissed. I don't know where I found the nerve, since this put me beyond the limits of ordinary Scout sex, but I asked him if he'd ever gotten a blow job. He said no, and I said me neither, then I said I'd kind of like to try it and offered to blow him.
The place he was pissing was damp, so we climbed a ways up a hill, and I got on my knees. His cock head was so large, it was hard to get much into my mouth. At first he was semi-hard, so I asked him to get hard before we continued -- a funny request to me now, since a little sucking would have got him there. But he did, and I went back down on him. I didn't get him off, and after a while we heard sounds that the party was ending and everyone was gathering for the rides home. I left Ralph to finish himself off, and that was the end of that episode.
But at the next Scout meeting, which took place in a Baptist church, Ralph came up to me and said, "I was thinking about you this afternoon, and I got a boner." He didn't need to say anything more. It took a while, but we found an excuse to leave the meeting and go two floors down, to the church basement where there was a mens room. It was dark inside, but we didn't waste time looking for a light switch. Once inside, he sealed the deal by asking if I'd blow him again. Which I was glad to do.
This became a regular routine, at least for a few weeks, though usually after the Scout meeting. These times, to this day, I look at as the happiest moments of my life, or at least the hottest ones. There's nothing like your first times. At one session I asked him if I could "goose" him, a term that I thought meant frot him (rub my dick against his ass), but which I think he understood (correctly) to mean fuck him. He said no, then paid me a funny compliment: "You're really dirty for such a smart kid."
My times with Ralph came to an end a sad way. I'm uncut, which was extremely rare in those days. Of all the guys I saw naked in locker rooms, only two others in our school were uncut. Or maybe more; I was so embarrassed that I always retracted my foreskin when I dropped my shorts, and who knows if others did the same. What I wasn't clear about was that every time you cum, you need to wash your cock or you end up with nasty-smelling cock cheese under the foreskin. Our final time together, after I'd sucked Ralph for a while, and we were jerking each other off to cum, I saw him raise his hand to his nose. At once he wanted to end it, and that was the end. It never occurred to me be honest about what happened. And frankly, I'd have been glad to keep my cock in my pants if I could keep him as trade.
I have nothing to relate that matches those times with Ralph, but I may as well give you a picture of what the sex life of boys in central Pennsylvania was like about 1960. At a Scout camporee (a gathering where many troops pitched tents on a school football field), four of us were in one tent looking for trouble. An oversexed guy named John suggested we get our cocks out, and he and I did as the others watched. Then John suggested that one of us blow the other. I said you first, and he agreed. He did only briefly before gagging and saying my cock tasted terrible. It may have been smegma once again. (I did eventually learn about uncut hygiene.) As we were being driven home by a Scoutmaster who was a college kid, one of the other boys casually mentioned that John had blown me. I thought the Scoutmaster would drive off the road, but he kept his cool.
During that same camporee, though I wasn't in the tent, one of the Explorers (high school age Scouts) was in a tent with some of us younger boys. Mac was legendary in the school for dating a pretty cheerleader, and for their practice, at lunchtime, of driving away from the school in his convertible to have sex out in the country. In the tent, Mac pulled out his cock and let one of the younger guys jerk him off. He asked them to suggest other Scouts who might like to help him that way.
Now it's time to introduce Steve, who was known as "the school queer." Steve later became a good friend, when the mother of the girl who was my closest friend from fourth grade on, married Steve's father. By then, I knew Steve because he'd joined me in a seat of the bus taking the band to a football game, and began groping me. We got together now and then throughout high school. I remember one time when he drove out to my house in the country to pick me up while his stepsister got ready for the prom. My folks weren't home, so he suggested we drop our pants and jerk each other off. Sounded good to me.
Another time, at his house, after I came, he zipped up and said he thought he'd drive out to Jeff's house (the guy who shared a tent with Ralph) and get a blow job. He said if I ever wanted one, I should visit Jeff and ask to see the family's dogs, who were kenneled in a building away from the house. He promised that Jeff would take it from there. One of Steve's close friends was a cute guy who lived in the same cluster of houses where Jeff lived. The friend told him that one day, the boys who lived there were hanging out, and after a while they realized they hadn't seen either Jeff or Charlie for some time, so they went looking for them. Charlie was the brother of the cheerleader Mac was planking, and he was hugely fat. That didn't deter Jeff, and when the other boys located them, Jeff was blowing Charlie.
Most of the rest of my information on sex at the high school came from Steve, who probably made it with 30 or 40 other guys, ranging from three years older than him to two years younger than him. He was happy to tell me all about it, and God, how I envied him. What really rocked me back was learning that about 10 of the football players from my year and Steve's (he was a year behind me) had formed a weight-lifting club, where they met at various homes, and afterward got out their cocks and jerked off together. He said that Mike, a super cute slightly chunky guy in Steve's class, had introduced the guys to blow jobs, which they made part of their routine. Mike was not a "queer" in their eyes; in fact, he later had to marry a girl he got pregnant.
Two of the members of the weight-lifting club had what you might call an affair. One was Rick, the school's star quarterback and wrestler, and for my money, the hottest guy in the school. We were in the same "accelerated class." (In those days, they followed the really bad practice not only of putting smarter kids in advanced courses, but also keeping them together in the same home room throughout high school, which naturally led to our being regarded as a snobby elite; I lost a few of my less-smart friends by this, to my regret.) But it meant I always had gym class with Rick, and got to watch as he developed from a hot young kid into an incredible full-blown hunk with a big cock.
Anyway, Rick and Dave, another weight-lifter, became smitten with each other, not in any romantic way. They were in lust, not in love. In class they would send each other glances and gestures that made it clear they couldn't wait to get together. There was a hand signal in use then (maybe it still is), very like the OK sign (thumb and first finger touching), but with the hand thrust forward as if it were holding out your cock. Its meaning was "blow me" and Dave and Rick were doing it openly to each other in class. Another time, in the locker room, when both guys were naked, they chased each other around the locker room, slapping at each other's ass. It amazed me that they were so open, but they guessed rightly that Rick's status in the school was so high that nobody would give him grief.
In case, you wonder if I was fantasizing about this, Steve told me that Roy caught Rick and Dave jerking each other off standing at the urinals in a restroom. (Roy was developing into another "school queer," until his father sent him to a private school to straighten him out, a futile move if ever there was one.)
My friend Steve blew at least three athletes from the class two ahead of mine (my brother's class -- my brother was astounded when I told him about this many years later). One of the guys was Mac. Another was Rod, the coolest guy in that class -- Steve dropped by his house and offered to do him. The third was a huge guy on the football team, Chuck, who was as hungry for dick as Steve. Steve told me that once Chuck and he were parked in a car, and Chuck was blowing him. Suddenly a homeowner knocked on the window, asking what the fuck they were doing, though I think it was pretty clear.
Which leads to the story of Dale, the music teacher with a taste for young cock. Dale was a sharp looking guy; the girls in the school went for him in a big way. Overnight the girls chorus went from about 20 to triple that number. But Dale's tastes went a different way. He gave individual instrumental lessons to boys in the band, and the lessons generally went this way. As the boy played his clarinet (or whatever), Dale began tapping out the beat on the boy's knee. Then his hand moved up until he was groping his crotch. Then he'd suggest they move to the instrument storage room, where he kept a big rag to wipe up the cum. When the story got around, we'd go in to look at the rag and laugh.
Nobody seemed to object -- teenage boys are pretty open to being groped, or they were in those days. I'd guess his stable grew to at least a dozen boys before word got to the principal. Then began the sad part of it, as boys were pressured to tell who else had taken part, and they and their parents were called in. One guy in my class, Buzz, a short, cute guy known from the locker room for having a monster cock, denied that it had happened to him. Then, due to I don't know what pressure, he broke down sobbing and admitted that he and Dale regularly sucked each other off.
Roy, the kid who caught Rick and Dave making it in the restroom, was the son of a county prosecutor. When his dad questioned him about his contacts with Dale, the dad said, "If he put his peter in your mouth, I'll kill him." We had a good laugh about this.
My own dad had the embarrassing habit of buttering up my teachers by inviting them to dinner -- which resulted in some painfully awkward evenings. He invited Dale and his wife. Later, when my dad heard about the scandal, he asked me if it had happened to me. I played tuba in the band, and I replied coolly, "No, because I never had individual lessons."
The segue from the previous story about football player Chuck getting caught in a car blowing Steve, was that I remember a band party that Chuck's family threw, and which Dale attended. I recall Dave urging Dale to break away from the party so he could show him his bedroom.
The school fired Dale after the scandal broke, but not a word of this became public. Unlike the Catholic Church or the Boy Scouts, the cover-up was not the work of the school, but of the parents, who wanted no scandal. The sad part is that though no boys were harmed by the sex, which I think they all enjoyed (Dale was very hot), several, at least Buzz, were traumatized by the school's investigation, not to mention the cringeworthy discussions (like Roy's) between fathers and sons.
I lost contact with Steve after high school, but 40 years later we found ourselves living near each outside of San Francisco. Steve was the most energetic satyr I've ever heard of, always on the lookout for cock. He told me that when he first entered the workforce, a young guy at his company let Steve blow him. But thereafter, the guy was almost afraid to enter any room where Steve was. Steve finally told him he had no interest in doing it again. Steve told me that was when he understood the rule that you don't shit where you sleep. He also told me that if you saw a young guy clerking in a store, the standard price for blowing him was $20. I'd guess Steve propositioned nearly every guy he hired to work on his house, or who came to the door selling something. When he moved to Florida and put in a hot tub in his back yard, he persuaded his gardener to come over and bring a few friends for fun. Steve lived in a sexier world than me.
He lived in Europe for a while, where he picked up a young Dutch-East Asian man and made him his companion. They lived together for years and moved back to California, where the young guy left Steve to be the partner of a chubby young tech millionaire, and the pair were always at Steve's parties. Steve replaced him with Dietrich, a young black guy with a drug problem, and no shame whatever. Dietrich's favorite game was going into mens rooms and persuading guys to show him their cocks. He once was riding with Steve on the freeway, saw a nice-looking guy in another car, and with gestures, persuaded him to follow them off the freeway and hook up.
In California, Steve had a house overlooking a huge canyon, and he put in a pool, a hot tub and other attractions. He held annual boy parties, with guests of all ages. By this time Steve was HIV+ and living on a generous pension, so there was one group of older guys who were in an HIV support group. There were younger gay couples he knew, and he encouraged me to find some other young guys. In one of the more foolish acts of my professional life, I invited three young gay guys from the meat company where I worked (all hired by me) and a fourth guy who was a boyfriend of one of the others. When they arrived, one of the other guests said, "Are you the meat packers?" One of them replied, "Well, some of us are." Also at the party was a very attractive guy, built like a football player, about 50, who volunteered at a high school and brought two beautiful, but very shy, students, who dazzled us. The guy was famous for having slept with two members of the band Queen.
As I said, Steve moved to Florida. The last time I saw him was on a visit to the Bay Area. He had invited some of his Bay Area friends to get together. He kept us laughing because he was in a fury. He had a relationship in Florida with a hunky young Colombian escort. Steve helped him start an internet business featuring videos of himself and other escorts. Steve was having sex with him, and he knew that the guy was taking clients, but what drove Steve off the deep end was finding out that the guy also had a boy friend.
Steve died 10 years ago, and I miss him greatly. We never had sex after high school. Middle-aged gays in general have zero sexual interest in each other. But whenever Steve's stepsister would visit (I hadn't seen since since high school), he went out of his way to be sure we all got together. It was really thoughtful of him. My own life has had not much sex in it, so though I could never live the way Steve did, he has always been my idol.
I'll throw in one more story, which I think says everything about the difference between how men and women regard sex. (You know the cliche that says men agree to marry in order to have sex, while women agree to have sex in order to marry.) George was a good friend in college, but closeted. I had my first adult affair, with a graduate student, in college, but didn't talk about it with my friends. Years later, I wrote to George mentioning a lover, and he wrote back that he had come out, though had not yet divorced his wife. He told me he'd been arrested cruising in a park in the homophobic (at that time) Cincinnati. From the police station, he used his one call to phone his wife, and the officer who arrested him said, "That's the first time a guy in your situation has called his wife." But that's not the story.
Later, when George began visiting me annually, mainly to go to SF's Pride parades, we briefly got into a same-time-next-year affair. One time, when we were just getting into it, kissing and grinding, he stopped and said, "This would be so much more exciting if we weren't friends."