That Was Then

Title: That Was Then, But This...? Part 12 Date: November 4, 2000 Contact: Ritch Christopher at ballmusic69@hotmail.com

Usual disclaimer: This is a fictional gay story, based loosely on facts. It contains graphic language and explicit sex. If you are underage and/or offended by such, please exit now!

This segment will contain names of famous people. They are used with free literary license, emphasizing that these people did NOT play any part of this story, but are used only for effect and license to better exemplify the period of the piece, so PLEASE, do NOT draw any conclusions!!

R.C.

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that-was-then-12-IAN and BEYOND:

The first night with Ian, was both wonderful and memorable. It was the first of many weekends we would spend together. Because of my "evenings in the night", hustling and doing my tricks, Ian would not trust me enough to ask me to move in with him. I was put on a two month probationary period...no tricking or no moving in. This placed a hardship on me, as my nightly activities was my chief source of income. It was decided that when Stan, Ian's roommate (and former lover) came into town with the new musical, would be asked to find me some kind of job with the show...So I continued living with my two "straight" roommates, and fellow classmates, Antonio and Jerry.

Antonio was about my height, Italian, with curly locks. Every night he would diligently massage his scalp, for fear he would develop male pattern baldness, which he assumed he would inherit from his dad. Every night after his shower and shampoo, it was fifteen minutes of scalp therapy and much close examination in a hand mirror.

He constantly asked Jerry of me. "Hey guys, look! Do you think I lost any hair today?" Jerry and would reassure him most of the time, but at other times, we would lie and kid him by saying that there was a tiny spot on the back of his head that we were worried about. One time, a girlfriend of Larry's brought him a sack of poodle clippings from her newly cropped black pooch. We had put the doggie curls in the lavatory and got them soggy, then Jerry emerged with two hands filled with black hair, and asked Antonio, "Hey Tony, is this yours?"

Tony screamed, "Oh my God...it's started!!"

We bent double in laughter at our joke. It took us an hour that it came from a puppy, not him. Years later, Tony would be a very successful movie and television actor, playing, not leads, but character parts, with a totally bald pate.

Jerry was very straight laced, coming from a religious background. I never understood why he chose to go to an acting school. He had talent but could not rid himself of a very thick Louisianan accent. I know you can make a career playing Tennessee Williams' roles, but the subject material was not his bag.

Antonio was more animated and liberal in his thinking. Many times, I almost told him about my being gay and what I was doing on 8th Avenue every night, when I left after dinner. But I decided they, both, had led too sheltered lives to accept me or my lifestyle. Antonio, had the typical Italian, olive smooth skin. He and I shared the bedroom while Larry slept on the fold-out in the living room.

Antonio loved long shower. He also like to parade around our hotel "suite" with nothing on, but a towel wrapped around him. He had not trouble turning the heads of an array of girls at the "Academy" (a pseudoname). Movement, dance and mime classes quite often left us with sore and aching muscles, and it was quite common for any of us to ask each other for a neck or backrub. They thought nothing about it...but it drove me fucking crazy...especially rubbing that smooth Italian back.

One night, Larry had gone to another classmate's apartment to rehearse a scene that was due, the following day, leaving Antonio and me alone. He and I were both huge fans of the "Jack Paar Show". I thought that Jack was the greatest thing to ever be on TV. In all the years he was on, I think I missed only five shows. Jack was my idol and mentor. He had a stutter in his speech, and subconsciously I was developing one, too. Yes, I was very impressionable.

It was nine o'clock, still two and one-half hours before the show. Tony came out of the nightly shower and poo, and complained how Jim Brooks, the movement instructor, had tortured them in class today, and his back and legs were suffering, so it was not unusual to hear...

"Markie", as he called me. I don't know why northerners always put and "i e" on the end of everyone's names...their way of being friendly, I guess.

"Markie, would you rub my back and the backs of my legs?"

"Where do you want to do it...in here by the TV, or in the bedroom?"

"We still got time before Jack, let's do it on my bed."

He had on his customary towel and I was dressed in a black t-shirt and tight jeans. He lay down on his bed, wearing the terry cloth wrap, on his stomach, arms cradled under his head. I made an attempt to straddle his buttocks, but due to the tightness of the Levi's, my mounting was futile, so I removed them, leaving on, my white Jockey briefs. Once in position, I coated my hands with Johnson's baby oil which we always kept on the nightstand, separating our two beds. I rubbed my hands together to get them warm with friction, and slowly reached forward sliding up his spine to his aching, outstretched shoulders. As I applied pressure, Tony sighed and said, "Oooh, Markie, that feels great." I knew how good it felt from the massages in the past that he and/or Jerry had bestowed upon me.

As I sat on his buttocks, I began, rocking, to and fro, up and down his back from his waist to the back of his neck. His breathing had become less rapid as he relaxed with each of my long strokes.I scooted toward the enc of the bed between his slightly parted legs. I applied more oil in my palms and began to knead the back of his thighs and calves. He was responding with little moans. Again, I started a rocking motion, stretching from his heels to the top of his thighs, managing not to disturb the towel but reaching under it each time I arrived at the top. I bent his knees one at a time. raising his foot in the air, and massaging his feet and encircling his toes with my fingers. All this time, I was beginning to feel a stir in the pouch of my briefs, but I knew to play it straight. I would not let him know that this activity turned me on.

Thinking I could get away with it in a "butch" fashion, on my next upward stroke, I went farther up on the the towel and pressed my hands against two of firmest mounds of flesh I could ever have hoped to find. I knew that if he objected to this, I would feel a tenseness in his buttocks. I didn't though. He let out a small whistle of air and say, "Yeah, that's it...I'm sore there too."

Being granted permission, I began to work on those gluteous maximus muscles as a top priority. He was beginning to move his body ever so slightly in delight. I really got brave, when I decided to remove his towel as it was hindering my hand ballet. Now I could start at his ankles and slide all the way to his neck without interruption. This was more intimate than any of us had ever been with each other. After about fifteen of these long body slides, I thought it would hurt to ask if he wanted the front of his legs rubbed also.

"I don't know, Markie,...there might be a problem with that."

"What kind of problem? Don't they need a massage, too?"

"Well, yes, but you see...I...uh...Mark, I've got a hard-on and I'm too embarrassed to turn over."

"Shit, man, I've seen hard-ons before."

"Yeah, but not mine...I mean...no guy has ever seen me like this before."

"Tony, I'm not going to molest you, I'm only going to rub the fronts of your legs. Just promise you won't attack me, while you're in that condition," I joked.

"Well, all right."

He turned over and there were seven inches, standing tall, around a moat of black curls. His cock matched his body...smooth and olive with a tannish-purpled, perfectly shaped bell head. I kept one knee on the bed, while my other foot steadied myself on the floor. I would work on each leg one at a time. After about seven or eight strokes on each leg, it was impossible to keep the tips of my fingers from touching his scrotum. After apologizing three times for my "accidents", on the fourth touch, he said, "Sssh, that's O.K...it sorta gives me goose bumps."

I was putting it all on the line when I finally reached up and grabbed the whole sack and started kneading.

"What does this do to you?"

"Makes me want more...oh...don't stop." he said as he was hiding his eyes with one arm.

I couldn't resist. I cupped his balls and slid my thumb and forefinger around the base of his shaft. I moved them up toward his tip and his whole body flinched. I took that as an invitation to unfold my three remaining fingers and grabbing hold of him with a full fist. Still no resistance, so I began to jerk up and down on the swollen pole. He was writhing in ecstasy. I wasn't feeling too shabby, either, as the front of my briefs were risen like an army hospital tent.

"Want me to stop?" I asked.

"You do, and you'll die...Italian style!!"

I continued to motion and decided to give this "virgin" the full treatment, as I bent forth and took him in my mouth, sinking deeply, sliding his manhood all the way down into my throat. His curly pubes were tickling my lips.

"Oh, God, Markie...don't stop...just keep it going."

I was having an emotional recall of all the great blow jobs I had received by so many experienced mouths, and I wanted to re-create all those feelings on him. in this, his first time with a man. If I did it "right" and made him think it was "right", then maybe I wouldn't suffer the consequences for overstepping the boundaries of being straight roommates.

"Markie, you better stop or your gonna get a mouthful of Primavara."

"Just you try, stopping me." I said, in between plunges.

It was more like creme freche. Yellow and milky and heated just to the right temperature as he shot several spurts in a row. He was groaning and had moved his other arm to cover his face in an embarrassed stance.

When he stopped cumming and whimpering, (in that order), he still kept his face hidden and said, "Markie,...don't tell...please don't tell...Jerry...or anyone...just don't tell...."

"I won't...I promise to keep this our secret, if you promise not to tell....that I'm gay..."

"You're gay?"

"Yes Tony, I've been gay nearly all of my life, I just didn't know how you, guys, would react if you found out...Can I trust you to keep my secret?"

"I promise...but we must never do this again..."

"Thanks."

He kept his promise until the next time we were alone, together, ..and the time after that...and the time after that...Poor Jerry, never knew.

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Stan, Ian's roommate, got me a job as a production assistant with his musical. I was nothing more than a "go-for", primarily catering to the personal needs of the composer of the show, an elderly little Jewish man, with black, slicked down hair and sporting black horn-rimmed glasses. He was such a great man, filled with shyness and humility. It was somehow impossible to imagine that he was the father of so many popular "American" anthems.

"My name is Irving," he said rather shyly. "I write music. I wrote the music for this show."

"Yessir, I know," I replied, so much in awe of him, I felt I should, at least, kiss his ring or something. "Can I get you something, sir?"

"Er...I would like a little glass of Sprite."

I would have climbed Everest for the ice to do anything to please this "giant".

During the weeks that followed, before the show officially opened, he and I would become good friends. It was through him, and my always, constant desire, to social climb, that I met a lifetime of celebrities. I had a knack of always being in the "right place". When he found about my piano talent, he wanted to hear every tune I knew of his. God, there were hundreds. Later, other names would pop up...names like Rodgers, Sondheim. I even got to spend a weekend at Helen Hayes house and listen to her and Lillian Gish, trade recipes on the easier way to can green beans. Once, I was asked to perform at a private British party at the Waldorf, and found myself sitting on a couch, between Robert Morley and Bea Lillie. It was here that I was to sing and play a tribute to Anthony Newley...I was on the second chorus of, "I Wanna Be Rich", when I looked up and saw Anthony Newley standing by the piano and smiling. I forgot the next line, out of sheer fright, but he picked me up by joining in and singing with me. I had met and worked with the likes of Spencer Tracy, Lucille Ball, Kirk Douglas, Geraldine Page, and on and on. I was rubbing elbows with the show biz elite and I thought I was "hot shit". I didn't have time for Ian or Stan. I had surpassed their importance to me.

I came home one night to find Tony and Larry entertaining a 35 year old street urchin, who looked like "Huggie Bear" on TV. I found out his name was BillyBoy. It seems Billyboy was a heavy drug dealer up and down Broadway, and was in our apartment to make a sale to my two roommates. As soon as I got a whiff of the marijuana aroma, I went ballistic. I ran to BB, picked him up and ran across the room with him fighting in my arms. I yelled, "Get the fuck out of here," as I tried to throw him threw the door. I hadn't remembered that all front doors in New York hotels were metal firedoors. I was so angry that he wouldn't go THROUGH it, I swung it open and flung him down a flight of stairs. I slammed the door behind me, never knowing or caring what had happened to him...I mean, I looked at Tony and Larry, as being my only family...and here was some stranger trying to desecrate them. I've never tried drugs, of any kind, in my entire life. No booze and no drugs...just Pepsi and/or Coca Cola, with a twist.

Junior year at school would soon be out and we had the summer free. I made plans to stay in New York and pick up whatever theatre related work I could find.

Tony and Jerry were not the only close friends I had made. Little by little in certain cliques, it was revealed that I was gay. We had an "in" group of 8 to 10 guys and gals that would meet at our apartment every Sunday night for spaghetti and salad, followed at 9:30 with, "The Judy Garland Show", on the nights we couldn't get free tickets to see her. Three of the guys in our crowd, would always try to sit by me or help with my kitchen chores. It was if they were competing for my attention.

The first was Tom. Tall, lanky, black slicked down hair and reminded me of Peter Palmer who had played, "L'il Abner", on Broadway and the movie of the same. The second was Lou, Tom's best friend, shorter a little pudgy, nice Italian features, not handsome but cute. The last was Bob. He was handsome, the Robert Wagner, kind of handsome, and he KNEW it. There was actually a fourth, Rick, who was about 6'4", dark brown hair, and always looked lonely. The best way to describe him was Tony Perkins little brother (if he had one). Of the four, I guess I liked Rick the best. He sometimes had that "lost" look I had felt when I was in search of my sexual identity. Of the four, Rick had the most potential of being gay...maybe that was why I was so drawn to him.

One night after our regular Sunday night soiree, Tom pulled me out into the hallway and asked if I could come over and help him with a scene he was preparing for class. The play was, "Compulsion", about two rich gay kids that killed a juvenile boy for the hell of it...to see if they could get away with it. I told Tom I could come by after work, Monday night, around 11:30, after I got off from work. Selecting a scene for class was up the the actor's choice, and I raised an eyebrow at the idea of his choosing this play with this theme.

Twenty-four hours later, found me at Tom's apartment. (He was rich enough to afford an apartment without sharing with a roommate. I was sitting on the sofa with him, drinking my Coke, and looking over the lines. We began, and read the scene without any dynamics or emotions. We finished and Tom said, "Can we discuss this?"

"Sure, what don't you understand?"

"How close were these two guys, really?"

"Are you asking were they lovers?"

"I guess...What I'm trying to ask...is...can two "guys" be in love with each other, enough to commit murder?"

"They not only were...they did," I tried to explain.

"It's just hard to think of two guys feeling that way."

"Not, to me. If you are understanding of people's ability of being different, all things are possible."

"Mark,...you're gay, aren't you?"

"Since you asked...yes, Tom, I am."

"Can I tell you something in total confidence?"

"Sure...trust me."

"Mark, sometimes I think I have gay feelings."

"Oh?"

"And I don't know what to do about them."

"When do you get these feelings?"

"Promise, you won't tell?"

"I promise...shoot."

"This is embarrassing, but sometimes I get a hard-on when I'm around Lou. He doesn't suspect. I never let on...but that's not all. When I go to bed at night, I sometimes beat off thinking about him."

"O.K."

"Mark, the real reason I wanted you to come over is...tell me what guys do?"

"Ever had sex with a girl?"

"Twice."

"Well, it's kinda like that, only better...let me ask you something, now...when you're in bed jerking and dreaming, what kind of fantasies do you have?...I mean what to you see you and Lou, doing?"

"I think about sucking his dick, and I think about him sucking my dick...God, I don't believe I told you that...you'll probably laugh all the way home."

"No, I won't laugh...I'm not laughing now, am I?"

He didn't answer, he just shook his head like a scolded puppy.

"Tom, come sit close to me...I want to show you something."

He scooted across the empty cushion that separated us and I slipped my arm around his shoulder and drew him near, and gently kissed him. I felt his entire body quiver as he exhaled a silent sigh. When his lips were slightly parted, I slid my tongue into his mouth. This was all the encouragement he needed. Years of lonely, questioning nights were surfacing in his response to me. He threw his left leg over my lap to straddle me, so that he could use both arms to embrace me. Once planted, he began to grind his crotch into mine. He was shy, no more, as he wanted to take command, and direct his love scene. Since I had made the first move, he assumed I was willing to let him experiment...(which I was). God, so many virgins in the 60's.

He couldn't undress me fast enough as he started pulling my black t-shirt over my head. His mouth was wet from our saliva exchange, and he licked down my sternum, making two detours, one to my right nipple and a quick stop at my left. I did my part by making my nipples become erect of first tongue touch. He was braver, after cleaning my navel with his wet vacuum, he was tugging at my belt with his teeth. I wanted to help him but he was in full control. Not only did he unbuckle my belt, but he pulled my zipper all the way down with those incisors. My immediate thought was that his guy was so eager and hungry, that if I did't try to restore some kind of order, he just might bite my cock off.

"Wait, wait, wait, guy," I said, interrupting him, "You're still an amateur at this...you asked me over to teach you, and I've done NO tutoring...Now what I want you to do, before we proceed...I want you to take off all your clothes...I'll do the same...and then, let's go into your bedroom and do this right..."

Like a mechanical doll, he did as he was told and stripped down to a pair of blue-striped boxes, with a fully erect bulge in the front trying its best to spring forth. I took off everything except my Jockeys. When we were prepared for the lesson, I took his hand and he led me into his bridal suite. I knew I was going to enjoy this, but I couldn't help feeling a pang of guilt over Lou....I was his proxy. This was all being done for him...This should all be being done TO him. Then I satisfied my guilt by thinking, if the two of them ever DO get together, Tom will give Lou the time of his life, because I aimed to teach him well.

I slid down his boxers and slowly pushed him back onto the bed. I sank to his feet and moistened my tongue with enough spit to leave a trail on the journey I was about to make. I licked up one leg to the crotch, leaving a watery path across his balls and then finished my expedition by going down his remaining leg to the heel. I went back to the shin of the first leg and retraced my original plight, by blowing a steady stream of cool air, wherever I had lined with saliva. He jerked as if he had had a chill...but I knew all was well by the way he had thrown his head back murmuring, "Oh, God...oh, God...oh, God."

Then I set my sight on the target and aimed my tongue toward hie center of his ball sac as I made one long movement from the balls, up the shaft, taking his tip and engulfing his entire seven inches, down past my epiglottis, into my throat. I would start with long slow strokes and increase the tempo, every fourth plunge. From all my experience, I knew he couldn't take much of this agony/ecstasy. I was correct...ninety seconds hadn't passed...he arched his pelvis and gave me all he had stored in those nights of dreams. I wanted to give him the full treatment, so I saved the sperm and raised my body to reach his lips and deposited the love juice back to its rightful owner. He swallowed his own cum with a vengeance. I also, knew that it would take longer to build up a second load, so I returned to his half limp prick and started Lesson Two. This time I took patience to show him as many maneuvers as I could in the many ways of cocksucking. He learned well, because, next, he exchanged places with me to show me he had graduated with honors.

The next day at school, something unusual, but not unexpectedly happened. Lou came up to me and said, "Tom said that you really helped him out with that scene from, "Compulsion". I was wondering if you could extend the favor by coming over to my apartment tonight, and give me a few pointers? I'm having trouble understanding the role of Steiner."

"Oh God, will wonders never cease?"

Any rate, I did...and he did...and finally...THEY did. To this date, they are still lovers, running a small florist in San Francisco.

I never did have a session with Bob, but Rick...?

One afternoon in April, Rick asked if I would like to go get a soda. Thinking this might be leading to another "awakening", I suggested he come to my apartment. I had never had a serious conversation with him, and who knew where destiny might point us? Tony and Jerry wouldn't be there because they had free tickets to a matinee. I had just bought the first Streisand album and thought it might paint a mood. I saw Barbra every night as she exited the Broadway Theatre from "Wholesale". The stage door came down the alley of our hotel. I had seen her four times and nearly fell out of the balcony in delight, the first time I saw her. She was so tremendous. I even followed her into a coffee shop one afternoon after her matinee let out, and sat next to her at the counter, just so I could, one day say, "Yeah, I use to have coffee with Steisand." Anyone who knew me would know I was lying, because I don't drink coffee.

Meanwhile, my curiosity mounted, wondering why Rick wanted to talk to me. We listened to the first three cuts on the LP before he spoke.

"Are you planning to come back to school, here in the fall?"

"That's my plan."

"Are you gonna be sharing an apartment, again, with Tony and Jerry?"

"I don't know...probably not. Jerry is talking about going to Hollywood and try his luck...and Tony has this big thing going with Kim, and they might move in together...Whaddya have in mind?"

"Mark, I don't make friends easily. I really have no friends."

"I thought we were friends."

"We are...that's what I'm getting at...you're about as close to a friend as I have. People think I'm strange...because I sorta keep to myself...I guess a lot of the kids at school think I'm queer."

To myself, ("Uh oh)".

He continued, "You don't seem to have a girlfriend, and I don't either...and I know YOU'RE not queer,...so I was wondering what would be the chance of us sharing an apartment together in the fall?"

A long pause clouded the room just as Barbra was about to sing, "Cry Me A River".

"Rick," I began. "Things aren't always the way they appear...Sometimes, people are not always as they appear...I would love to share an apartment with you. I like you...but as a friend, it is my duty to always be truthful...What I'm trying to say, Rick, is...I'm gay...many people at school know that I'm gay...to be honest, I have even slept with some of our male classmates...and I don't know how this would affect you...guilt by association, maybe?...How would you feel if someone thought that YOU were gay, because you were living with me?"

Rick had dropped his head. I couldn't see his expression. Was he crying? I saw an increase in his breathing as his chest started rising more rapidly. He finally stood...rigidly...with clenched fist...tears were streaming from each eye. His face was red and became redder as he screamed, "YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!!! YOU FUCKING PHONY SON-OF-A BITCH, COCKSUCKING BASTARD!!!" He was furious...betrayed...and furious.

"WHY....WHY, WHY, WHY, WHY...? Why are you gay? It just not right!! How could I be so stupid, not knowing??...Mark, forget about us living together!! I'm not living with a goddamned queer...not now, not in the fall, not NEVER!"

Crying, he ran out the door. It was one of the few times in my life I could thing of nothing to say....

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The next day at school, George Townsend, the dean at the "Academy" called me into his office. From rumors I'd heard, he was a fondling old queen, so I kept my guard up.

"Mark, you ever been in any trouble with the law...do you have any kind of arrests on your record?"

"No sir, I'm clean as a whistle."

"If the FBI or Secret Service ran a background check on you, would they find anything?"

"Nothing."

"There is a party next Monday night at the Waldorf and we have been asked to supply six male students to act as hosts at President Kennedy's birthday party. You will meet the guests and cater to the needs of all the celebrities and dignitaries. Brooks Brothers will supply you with a tuxedo and you'll sit with the President at a $1,000 a-plate dinner. Are you interested?"

That would be the dumbest question ever asked me.

The six of us were chosen, given the third degree by the Secret Service. They knew everything about me but how long my dick was when fully erect, and a few of them had a pretty good idea about that statistic. We had a suite at the Waldorf to shower and dress in. We were assigned our duties and the people we were to attend. I won't namedrop, but nearly all stars are Democrats and every star available was there. Jackie wasn't there as she had or was about to miscarry. It was June, 1963, five months before the saddest four days in modern American history. Every knows that Marilyn Monroe had sung. "Happy Birthday" to the President the year before, but few trivia buffs know who sang, "Happy Birthday" to him for the final time. It was one of the guests assigned to me. It was the greatest honor for me to escort a beautiful lady in a full length pink satin gown, overlaid with pink flowing chiffon. She glided as if she were on ice. She was Audrey Hepburn.

When the six of us were introduced to the President, it was like I was drowning as a montage of my life passed before my eyes...the poverty I was born in...the bruises I suffered from my father, the cruelty thrown at my from my drunken mother's tongue...Lance, Jeff, Rich, California, New York and its glamour I was addicted to...I was being presented to the President of the United States....What could happen next....?

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(to be continued--that-was-then-13--THE ADVENT OF BRAD.