Unskilled Jobs and Unfulfilled Urges
While going to college, I took some part-time jobs to have some spending money. One such job was in the A & P. The job sucked, but nobody else there did, as far as I ever found out, anyway. There was some horsing around when things weren't busy, as there is on any job. Stuff like, one guy jumping another and pretending to hump him when the second was crouching down to lift out stock from under the counter. And the usual horny male sextalk during coffee breaks. I liked listening to the older guys talking about sex. One day I was fascinated as three guys from the dairy department were poring over a magazine that showed a naked woman riding a bicycle.
"Boy, imagine how hot that bicycle seat must make her pussy feel!"
"Oh, yeah, man. I bet that seat must be all wet. Look how the point of the seat is aimed right for her hole!"
I was a little surprised that "older" guys (they were in their thirties and forties), were still so interested in sex. I was really taken aback when one of the other part-time stock boys told me about "Wilfred, the queer from Brooklyn" who fills in sometimes on Saturdays.
One weekend I met the much-discussed Wilfred. He was an older man, perhaps sixty, very carefully groomed, with slicked-back black hair, highly polished shoes, tight, tight slacks, a pencil thin mustache, and a somewhat feminine and ingratiating manner. Several guys were in the locker room getting ready to leave work for the evening. One of the younger teenage boys was teasing Wilfred, sort of flirting with him. Wilfred was enjoying it, and complimenting the boy's appearance, accompanied by light, feathery touches on the boy's arm. I was upset by this display, and years later when I recognized and faced my own sexual feelings, determined to never be made a fool of like Wilfred, but to strive to always conduct myself with dignity and self pride.
When I quit the A & P it was to work at a factory job where small novelty items were manufactured. There were lots of college students working part-time there, and since the work was so mindless, there was lots of talking and kidding around to help pass the time. One of the full-time employees was a somewhat effeminate gay guy, named Alfie. The floor supervisor, who I believe was himself a closeted gay, publicly teased and made fun of Alfie. He may very likely have been envious of Alfie's open lifestyle. With some coaxing, Alfie would talk about some aspects of the gay life, including his part-time modeling work. One day Alfie brought in photos of himself, both fully dressed and also in brief posing attire. In the latter shots, he was oiled and posed in familiar physique mag style. Alfie explained that some of his pics had been published in physique magazines, and others were sold privately to collectors. Alfie had received many passionate letters from admirers of his face and form, (both were just okay in my estimation), offering all kinds of things. Alfie was proud of one letter from a sugar daddy down south who offered to keep him in style forever, despite never having even met him. I was very interested in Alfie and in his life, but dared not show too much interest. I feared revealing my own gay feelings to the several college friends who also worked at the Pyramid factory with me.
At school, I was equally guarded. My sexual outlets were few. I dated girls quite a bit, and tried straight sex, with mixed results. Since this was before the sexual revolution, it was neither easy nor expected for a casual date to end up in bed. But it happened. A few of the girls from my crowd became pregnant before graduation. The boyfriend always agreed to marry them, and the girl always quit school to have the baby. Some of them even lived happily ever after.
I liked being with girls, and liked the recognition of being part of the crowd, collegiate and "normal". I didn't mind straight sex, but I wasn't crazy about it either. I liked the kissing part the best. They called it french kissing or soul kissing. I could do that in cars for hours, and everybody did. After dating the same girl for a while, it was expected and understood that you would advance to touching a covered breast and then bare tit, and finally mutual touching and finger fucking, before going all-the-way. Lots of times relationships, even relationships of long standing, never got to the all-the-way point. I, in fact, preferred when mine didn't. After a few months of seeing the same girl, after we had passed the simple petting stage, and were advancing toward more serious sexual involvement, I would often find a reason to break off with her, and move on to a different girl.
There was no male sex for me during these years at all. I did occasionally look at the invitations and drawings on the bathroom walls with wonder and longing. But I didn't want a life of being devalued and despised. So I ignored the little voice in the back of my head that whispered those delightfully smarmy lascivious ideas about men with men.
Once in a while there was an opportunity for a mild homoerotic experience. When I joined the theater group on campus, for example. One beautiful actor in the group, Nils, was drinking with me and a bunch of other students one evening, and the beer and exhaustion from hours of rehearsal led to everybody feeling a little loose. As Nils and I both rose to go to the john at the same time, we laughed, and without comment, continued to both go in together. Unzipping, we rocked on unsteady feet as we prepared to both piss into the same toilet bowl. Nils let go of his stream first, and after a small hesitation, I joined him, the pale yellow liquid splashing noisily in the bowl. We made the expected comments about how great it feels to piss after four beers, the pause that refreshes, etc., and then without obvious embarrassment we both looked at the other pissing dick. It was done, perhaps, more out of curiosity in seeing a strange penis urinate, rather than because we were interested in looking at a buddy's cock. Or maybe it was both. Certainly for me, if I wished to be honest, the pleasure of seeing Nils' pretty pinkish prick with the big lopsided round head, was considerable. I felt a rush of excitement that caused my own cock to fill out nicely as I shook off the last drops. I observed that I normally took quite a bit longer than most in shaking off my dick after peeing. Urinals on either side of me normally vacated long before I was finished. I decided, eventually, that this was due to my being uncircumcised, and there being a greater need to milk out the last drops of piss from a natural dick, to prevent them ending up as a spot on my pants leg. But that principle was certainly not in effect this night. There was Nils, gorgeous and drunk, swaying next to me, clearly circumcised, still shaking his penis over the bowl, as I was ready to zip up. Well, maybe it's not quite time to zip up yet, I thought. Might as well shake and milk it a bit more, just to make sure. And so we two friends stood, and looked, and massaged our own dry members for an enjoyable minute or two longer. Finally, able to delay no further without naming this what it was, I tucked my dick back into my shorts and turned away from the bowl. Nils followed suit and clapped me on the shoulder in a quiet comradeship as we left the toilet together.