Date: Thu, 22 Apr 2004 18:35:51 +0000
From: Moore
Subject: BYLAWS PART II

Chapter 4

STELLA'S SURPRISE ON THE day I started advanced placement classes
in great sex was a friend of hers. A girlfriend, waiting for us
upstairs in her bedroom, on the bed, wearing nothing but a smile.

"Nice cock ring," she said sweetly, which made my face turn red and
my penis jump.

Stella made quick introductions, "Cathy, Peter, Peter, Cathy,"
moving me towards the bed as she spoke.  "Cathy's like a student
teacher," Peter. "She's here to assist me in furthering your
education."

Double your pleasure, double your fun...remember the chewing gum
that used that slogan and pairs of twins in their advertising?
Double the number of girls in bed with one perpetually horny
teenage boy and the pleasure, the fun increases by a factor of ten.
The lesson had barely begun when the cheap band broke under the
strain of my first climax of the afternoon.  Sperm rained down on
the three of us until Cathy capped my gusher with her mouth.

"Absolutely delicious, Peter, you can cum in my mouth anytime."

It only got better from there.

Totally exhausted after several hours and multiple orgasms, this
student paid close, wide eyed attention to his teacher and student
teacher as they carried on in bed without me.  Stella and Cathy
demonstrated, proved to me beyond the shadow of doubt, Stella's
axiom that great sex was possible, even desirable between members
of the same sex. Two naked girls...watching them go at it was pretty
great too.  The logical extension, great sex between two boys?
Well, maybe.

Ten years later, Richard Nixon's Watergate declaration  "I am not
a crook," reminded me of a similar denial Stella made after Cathy
had left and I posed the question.

"I am not a lesbian," Stella declared as I mounted her and she
guided me home for a session ending fuck. "Remember, Peter, great
sex is color blind and gender neutral. Don't prejudge people and
don't get hung up on labels."

Good advice which has served me well as a lawyer and allowed me to
succeed in Stella's class. If Stella wasn't a lesbian for having sex
with a girl, then I wasn't, couldn't possibly be a homosexual, or,
god forbid, a fag the following month when I had sex with a boy.

"We're moving on today, breaking new ground," Stella said with a
big smile and a wet tongue kiss as I began to take off my clothes
on that auspicious day.

Her breath was musky, heavy with the smell of sex which could only
mean that Cathy was upstairs with a sopping wet pussy...they had
started without me.

"Its been a month, Peter, Cathy thinks your ready and so do I."

Four sessions with Cathy and Stella and I was ready for anything.
Three girls even, I fantasized with the innocence of youth. I'd
have to pace myself, each of them deserved a great fuck.  Stella
first, then Cathy, front and back, hard and fast, make them cum
quickly. The new girl would get my first load. Then we could take
a break in the garden where the four of us, Adam and his three Eve's
would have more room to play.  It was cool for June, but four naked
bodies, three girls and me engaged in sex, great sex...we'd be hot
enough.

"Schools out in a month," Stella said bending over for some TLT.
"You got plans for the vacation?"

"Summer school," I mumbled, spreading her lips open and breathing in
her scent. Stella was sopping wet inside, her clit was swollen,
sensitive to the touch of my tongue.  The temptation to slip into
her from behind, couple with her doggy style before we went upstairs
was huge...like my erection and soon to be tested ego.

"Classes at West Point," I explained after swallowing the results
of Stella's gushing orgasm.  "The top high school juniors from all
over the state have been invited."

"You'll be staying in the dorms?"

"Yes.  And eating in the cafeteria.  A real college experience."

Stella stroked my penis casually and toyed with my testicles,
seemingly lost in thought before she asked. "When do you leave,
Peter?"

"Not until August, and only for three weeks. I'll be back before
you know it."

She was going to miss me, I thought. Miss my penis, which had grown
to its full 9 1/2" length under her touch, a half inch bigger than
the first time she had measured it, and miss the great sex we had
together.  I'd miss her too. Three celibate weeks after months of
great sex was not something I was looking forward to.

"August is perfect," she exclaimed. "You have just enough time to
complete this class, get in a field trip and take the final exam at
the end of July.  West Point...that's boys only, isn't it, Peter?"

"Yes," I gasped as her finger penetrated my anus.

"You'll be ready."

I knew that Stella had sex with other boys, handed out blow jobs
like candy at Halloween, recording each experience in her notebooks.
She didn't hide it or make excuses for her lifestyle. I also knew
that only one other boy had qualified for Stella's class. No name,
only the occasional reference to another boy and two gift wrapped
graduation presents had appeared on her desk.

Trial lawyers and horny teenage boys who want to be lawyers never
ask a question to which they don't already know the answer.

"Ready for what?"

Cocksuckers in the classroom, like communists in the government,
was a rumor that was rarely proven, but consistently present without
exception in every school I ever attended.  The London School of
Economics was particularly fertile ground.  McCarthyism, the Red
scare of the 50's had abated by the 60's. But watch out!
There were spies in the attic and homosexuals in the closet, lurking
and ready to strike the unwary.

It took thirty years, but the warnings on both counts turned out to
be all too true.  Sensational stories of American military men and
government officials selling secrets to foreign nations have rocked
the country.  Top secret archives opened after the fall of East
Germany and the breakup of the former Soviet Union revealed a vast
network of spies and undercover agents.  As for homosexuals, the
Catholic church may never recover from the decades of scandalous
behavior by scores of homosexual priests. Hundreds of men have come
forward with shocking stories from their youth, thousands more have
been paid for their silence.

The church in recent years has secretly paid out millions of dollars
in an attempt to resolve the matter while revealing what they would
have us believe is the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the
truth. So far, in a conspiracy that has lasted for hundreds of
years; a conspiracy that makes the Watergate coverup look like a
walk in the park, they have succeeded.  Yes, succeeded, because the
truth, like an onion, has many layers.  The Greeks and Romans knew
the truth thousands of years ago.  Stella Kowalski knew the truth
and she taught it to me in 1965.

A reporter friend of mine has interviewed a cross section of men and
boys.  He knows the truth, but his stories have yet to be published
in the mainstream press.  I've listened to a number of his taped
interviews which took place during the summer of 2001, and read the
transcripts of many others. All of his subjects volunteered to be
interviewed and knew that they were being taped.  He's allowed me
to print excerpts from three interviews which pretty much sums up the
point I am trying to make.

Subject: White Male, 58. Married. Two Children. Salesman.

Q.  How old were you when the abuse took place?

A.  I was an altar boy, about eight I guess when it started. It was
a long time ago.

Q.  How long did it go on?

A.  Two years, about. Maybe three.

Q.  Did you tell anyone?  Your parents?

A.  No. Not a soul.  My father was dead, just had my mother.

Q.  Why not?

A.  I just didn't. Okay?  Not then, but I sort of want to now.

Q.  Okay.  Describe what happened?  Take your time.

A.  Father Michael was teaching me...altar boy duties. Where to
stand, what to do. That kind of thing.  We went into his office
to try on my robes and that's when he told me I was his special boy,
that he and Jesus loved me like a father because my real father was
dead...and that's when he took off my clothes, to wash my body with
holy water, because I was special, and he took off his clothes so I
could wash his body and then we prayed in front of a painting of
Jesus on the cross.

Q.  How old was Father Michael?

A.  Not more than thirty, I'd say.  Well, we did that for a week,
our secret ritual. And I got comfortable being naked with him and
his hands on my body and touching him too and...you must think I
was a pretty dumb kid.

Q.  No. Not at all.  Continue.

A.  Father Michael had a book, The Real Jesus it was called. Photos,
mostly of biblical scenes and naked boys and a naked man who looked
like Jesus Christ.  Pure pornography of course, I know that now, but
it looked real to me and Father Michael only did to me what Jesus
did to the boys in the book.

Q.  Which was?

A.  We had sex. Oral, anal, you name it.  I'm not permitted to
discuss the details...I signed an agreement.

Q.  That's okay.  Did you discuss the details with the church's
lawyers?

A.  Blow by blow, no pun intended.

Q.  You reached a settlement with the church?

A.  Funny thing about that. I didn't want money but they offered
$25,000 and right after my final deposition they increased the offer
to $250,000 if I would sign a release and non-disclosure agreement.

Q.  What happened at that deposition that made them increase the
offer?  Do you know?

A.  I'm not sure.  We went over the same ground, under oath this
time. One of the young lawyers asked why I kept going back to the
church and to Father Michael for nearly three years.  No one had
ever asked me that question before.

Q.  Why did you keep going back?  What did you answer?

A.  The truth, I was under oath. I can tell you because the question
and my answer were stricken from the record. Can I explain?

Q.  Sure.

A.  I am not a homosexual. I have a wife and grown children, a
grandchild on the way. What I did with Father Michael, well that
was the only time I ever... He didn't force me, nothing like that.
He loved me, a little boy without a father, and I loved him.  I told
the church the truth, but they didn't want to hear it. The truth is
I kept going back because I was in love with the man and he loved me
in return.  I kept going back because we loved each other and well,
I liked having sex with Father Michael.


Subject:  White Male, 43. Divorced. No Children. Architect

Q.  When did you realize, admit to yourself that you were gay?

A.  Thirty some years ago, the summer of 1971.  You're not going to
use my name, right?  The people at my firm don't know that side of
me.  My wife, ex-wife, she's not even sure.

Q.  No, no names.  Like I explained, I'm collecting data for
statistical purposes only.  You're file number 1749.

A.  That's a lot of interviews.

Q.  Tip of the iceberg.  There have been a lot of settlements.
Shall we get back to it?

A.  Yeah, sure.  I was fine until that summer.  A well rounded kid,
good in school, sports...the usual stuff.  Physically speaking I
matured early. You know, hair all over my body and my prick...is it
okay to say that on tape?

Q.  That's fine. You can say whatever you want.

A.  My prick started to grow. At 13 I was...You ever see an 8" cock
on a 13 year old boy?  Not erect, mind you, soft.

Q.  Ah, no.

A.  I took a lot of ribbing at Y camp that summer. Father John, the
assistant director, he came to my rescue by making me his assistant
and moving me into his cabin. And we just sort of bonded.

Q.  Did he...

A.  Touch me?  No. We saw each other naked, but he never touched me
until the night of the storm when the temperature dropped and we
huddled together in one bed to keep warm.  When he kissed me, a
goodnight kiss, I got an erection and I...and I kissed him back.
Kissing lead to touching and... He didn't rape me, you know. Despite
what the lawyers said, he didn't rape me or force me to take him...
his prick into my mouth.  He didn't force me to sleep in his cabin,
let alone in his bed, every night for the rest of the summer or join
his youth group in the fall.  Did you know we spent a week together
the following summer?

Q.  No.  That wasn't mentioned in the court papers.

A.  Father John and me at a lakeside cottage in New Jersey. The
place was private and secluded, we didn't wear clothes for a week.
You know, I might still be married if my ex liked anal sex as much
as I did.

Subject:  Black Male, 20. Trucker's Assistant.

Q.  Are you saying that you lied at the deposition?  Took the
settlement money under false pretenses?

A.  No way, man. Tim...

Q.  Just for the record, you are referring to Father Timmothy Francis
O'Banyon?

A.  Yeah, Father Tim.  I know'd he was a fag first day he came to
work at the community center in Bed-Sty.  Catched him sniffin a
jock in the locker room.  No matter him being a priest and all...was
an old priest gimme my first blow job and five bucks a couple a
years before when I was like ten years old. It woulda come out
sooner or later...me and my bros, we sorta helped things along.

Q.  What did you do?

A.  Showed him our dicks is all. Swimmin naked at the center's pool,
takin long showers and hangin out bare assed in the locker room.
Tim didn't do nothin but stare for like a week.  You know anything
about fags?

Q.  What do you mean?

A.  Bein a fag is like bein a baby. Fags gotta suck, gotta have a
dick in their mouth and cum...man, fags is crazy for cum.  And white
fags like Father Tim is crazy for black dick. We used the cocksucker
for like three years, til the lawyer man came around askin about
Father Tim. Nobody said nothin til the lawyer promised we'd get some
money.  I got a thousand bucks for goin to the judge and agreein
that I was molested. Easy money, man, easy money.

Q.  Father Tim didn't really molest you or the other boys at the
center?

A.  Course not.  We was just havin fun.  Tim was okay for a white
guy. When he wasn't busy suckin my cock, we talked. Made me see to
stay in school, off drugs. I'm thinkin of goin to college at night,
become a teacher...because of Father Tim. Tell me somethin, okay?

Q.  Yes?

A.  You ever go down on a guy? You know, suck a guy's dick...get him
off in your mouth?

Q.  Did you?

A.  It don't make a guy queer, you know. Suckin dick I mean. And the
jizz shootin' off in your mouth? Guy cumming in your mouth ain't so
bad once you get used to the salty taste.

Q.  Uh, huh.

A.  I still fuck around with the ladies, but it's different havin
sex with a guy. All them gay boys and men walkin around? They know
the secret.

Q.  The secret?

A.  Father Tim didn't just open my mouth and my ass with his
cock...he opened my eyes. Labels is bullshit, man. Queer, fag,
cocksucker, pussyboy...it's all bullshit, man, a white man's plot
to keep black boys from discoverin the secret.

Q.  The secret?

A.  Gettin it on with another guy, suckin dick is cool. Mansex is
great sex.

 
Chapter Five

HERBERT "HERB THE NERD" Lowenstein was waiting for us upstairs in
Stella's bedroom, on her bed. Like Cathy before him, he was naked,
wearing nothing but a very surprised look on his face and an eye
catching penis that was so long and so fat, so perfectly shaped,
that it almost looked fake.  Without his dorkish clothes, thick
glasses and pocketful of pens...Herb looked normal.

"I think you boys already know each other," Stella said. "So let's
begin."

Stella lay back on the bed between us and climaxed twice while Herb
worked the left side of her body with his hands and mouth while I
worked the right. We studiously avoided eye contact and physical
contact until we inadvertently met face to face, nose to nose,
tongue to tongue at the lips of Stella's sopping wet vagina. Herb
took the first taste of her juice, I took the second. Then our
training and desire to please Stella overrode our initial shyness
and we licked in and around her pussy together.

Herb and I had been academic rivals since the sixth grade when we
finished in a first place tie for the top spot in our graduation
class.  I beat him out in junior high, he got a B in gym, and was
leading in the friendly competition to graduate high school next year
in the top spot. Herb was content with being number two, but for me
being the best, being first in everything that I did meant a lot.

"Should we fuck her now, Peter?"  Herb whispered, rising to his
knees. The first words we had exchanged.  I nodded, also rising
to my knees, and gasped when I saw the size of his hardon.  With
Stella's nude body between us we waited to see which one of us
would make the first move.  Stella had other ideas though, and
being the teacher she took matters, and two very large, very erect
penises into her own hands and for just a brief moment, into her
mouth.

Stella brought us together, Herb and I, star pupils in her class
on great sex. Whether he and I would have found each other without
Stella, or expanded our sexuality as we did is pure speculation.
She guided our first kisses and tentative explorations of another
boy's body, then left us alone naked and aroused on her bed to watch
as we slowly discovered the forbidden pleasures, the illicit wonders
of great sex with another male.

Western society, perhaps out of fear for its own reproductive
existence, has for hundreds of years successfully marginalized and
ostracized homosexuals.  Why else have homosexuals been labeled as
abnormal deviants: fags, queers and worse, and at times in our
history been persecuted and sought out for destruction.  The fear
of homosexuals is irrational in my opinion. Who gets hurt if two
males, consenting males of any age wish to have sex?  Unless men
give up having sex with women, which isn't likely to happen.

And the sex with Herb was no less great than it had been with
Stella and Cathy.  His body, the feel and the taste and the smell,
especially the smell which was so different from the two girls,
excited me far more than I realized at the time. Competitive as
ever, I added to my long list of accomplishments, though this one
didn't make the year book, and became the first boy in my class to
have a penis in his mouth...the first boy to suck a cock if you
will.  Herb had the distinct honor and pleasure of being the first
boy to ejaculate, cum in my mouth.

Herb's huge penis in my mouth, any penis big or small as I was to
discover during my three weeks at West Point, his testicles in my
hand, the explosive ejaculation of warm semen into my mouth, the
entire experience was, in a single word, outrageous.  Lars Jansen,
my corn fed Nebraskan roommate at West Point, and his six inch penis
was no less exciting.

Did that make me a cocksucker, or Herb a cocksucker when he returned
the favor? Technically speaking the answer would have to be yes. We
had each sucked a cock, therefore we were cocksuckers. To the poor
uninformed souls in our society who have to label everything and
everyone, we weren't merely cocksuckers, but Cocksuckers with a
capital C.  Not according to Stella though, who's opinion mattered
most, who taught her students to shun all labels and taught that the
rules of great sex applied equally to all forms of sex.

"Slowly now boys, don't rush it," Stella instructed, arranging Herb
and I in a side by side sixty nine as the lesson continued. "Kiss
his balls first, Peter, Herb's dick isn't going anywhere.  More
tongue, Herb, and don't let that drop of precum go to waste. Remember
what you've learned, boys, a quick fuck isn't great sex, neither is
pulling down a guy's pants and going down on his dick."

Stella had prepared us well so the transition from sex with a girl
to sex with a boy was accomplished seamlessly and without most, not
all, but most of the stigmatizing guilt associated with homosexual
activities in the mid 60's. Herb and I had a grand time discovering
the wonders of boy to boy sex that day in Stella's bed and when she
joined us for a threeway my education, or so I thought, was complete.

The world didn't change because I had great sex with Stella, nor did
it change because I had great sex with Herb. Except it changed for a
few million sperm cells searching in vain for an egg to fertilize.

"Class is over in a couple of weeks, boys," Stella said as Herb
sucked my sperm from her pussy and I licked his sperm from her
breasts. "Use the time wisely to sharpen your skills at home.  Find
a partner and practice, practice, practice."

Teenage boys in the virtuous 60's had slim chance of finding a girl
to have sex with.  Girls like Stella were rare in Brooklyn where a
single awkward kiss after a date was all a boy could realistically
expect.  I tried to follow Stella's advice, do my homework you might
say with every girl I dated that year.  All I got for my lover boy
efforts was a hardon and a bad case of blueballs.  Herb the Nerd,
not surprisingly, had it worse than me.

"Get real, Peter," he said when I asked. "Who am I going to practice
with?  Girls think I'm weird, they wont go out with me. Stella is
the only girl, the only person I ever kissed, except for my mother
...and, well, now you. Because of Stella's rule, now I don't even
jack off any more and walking around with a hardon sucks."

As I stated at the outset, picking up teenage boys and girls for the
purpose of having sex has never been easier. Finding girls to bed
was difficult in the 60's when I was a teenager.  Boys, on the other
hand, were relatively easy to find provided you chose wisely, were
discrete in your approach and learned from your mistakes.  I didn't
make too many mistakes because I used my head to think before I used
it for sex. I gave a lot of thought to what I was doing before I did
it. I offer the following free advice based upon my experience from
forty years ago.

Leave the football players, basketball players and the baseball
players alone. Cocksucking, unlike the games these boys play, is
not a team sport; not for the cocksucker that is.  Servicing a team
of perpetually horny teenage boys in a high school locker room or
communal shower can be hazardous to your mouth and knees, to say
nothing of your reputation. Try explaining great sex with a dick
in your mouth or in between blow jobs, to a bunch of horny naked
boys with erections. Boys who only want to know when it's their turn
to get sucked off. My goal in high school was to graduate AT the
head of my class...not BE the head of my class.

Also, the macho types with the DA haircuts and the pack of smokes
stuck in the rolled up sleeve of their T-shirts, boys who'd sooner
put their fist in your mouth...let them take care of themselves
unless you're partial to blackened eyes. The boys who own cars are
best left alone too.  Driving around town in the back seat of a beat
up Chevy with three or four boys taking turns in your mouth is not
great sex.  Believe me when I tell you that no matter how good a
cocksucker you think you are, no matter how fast you swallow, semen
stains on your shirt are inevitable and extremely embarrassing.

Finding boys was easy, and fun too, provided you didn't expect the
boy or boys, if he had a curious friend who just wanted to see what
it was like, to automatically reciprocate with a hand job or blow
job in return; and provided you didn't mind being called a faggot
or a cocksucker from time to time. Stella had taught me well.
I didn't mind the occasional slur, except for queer.  I didn't like
it then and I don't like it now.

Today, in 2004, with gay bars abounding, openly gay men in political
office and in the clergy and same-sex marriage in the news...even
Neanderthal man can find a willing young fellow to share his bed and
body.

Herb wasn't exactly a pick up, but it was awkward nonetheless the
first time we did it without Stella.  We weren't in Stella's class
now.  She wasn't here to guide and teach, to reassure me that what
I was about to propose to Herb was part of great sex.

"We could, you know, practice together," I said when we got near
his house. "If you want to."

Herb didn't miss a beat. "When?"

"Now?"

"Where?"

"Is your mother home?"

"She's at the store, with my father. They close the place at seven."

HERB'S BEDROOM WAS WARM but I was shivering all the same.
"You nervous?"

"Yes."

"Me too."

"I've never done anything like this with another boy before today."

"Me neither, Herb, but I'm kind of glad we did."

"So am I."

"Stella's quite a girl, a good teacher."

"Great sex is quite a class. She'll be happy that we're practicing.
I guess we should take off our clothes now, huh?"

"I guess we should."

Herb was still fumbling with his shirt buttons when my jockey shorts
hit the floor.  "Need some help?"

"It's my hands, Peter, I can't stop them from shaking."

I made short work of his buttons, then dropped to my knees to open
his pants which promptly fell to his feet.  Herb was shaking like
a leaf, breathing hard, short little gasping breaths which got
shorter and faster and louder when I rubbed my face in his crotch.
Stella would have scolded me, scolded us both for moving too
quickly, but Herb was too far gone and I was far too excited.

The head barely passed between my then unskilled lips when Herb
crossed the point of no return and climaxed in my mouth.  Great
sex it was not, hardly even a blow job.  The results were the same,
however, Herb had a great orgasm and I got a great load of warm
semen ejaculated into my mouth.

"That was incredible, Peter, absolutely incredible.  I'll do you
now."

I didn't last much longer than Herb had.  A couple of sucks and my
new best friend almost choked to death.

"You okay?"

Herb coughed and shook his head.  "Yeah, fine.  You shoot quite a
load, some went down the wrong pipe.  I wonder how Stella does it
so easily?"

I helped Herb off with the rest of his clothes then, stretched out
naked on his bed, we talked.  "She's had a lot of practice.  You
ever see her notebooks?"

"Which one?" Herb said with a laugh. "COCKS, GREAT SEX or BLOW JOBS?"

I joined in his laughter and joined his hand which was idly stroking
his hardon.  "Can you believe how many guys have been in her mouth?
 How many guys she's had sex with?"

Herb moved his hand to my growing erection. "She tell you her version
of Adam and Eve?  The way she tells it, so serious, like she really
believes it. I like Stella a lot, Peter, the great sex and all. Only
just, some things about her are hard to believe."

We stroked each other in silence for a while, a pair of too smart
for our own good teenage boys; lost in the pleasure and lost in
thought.  Believing in something you can't see and can't prove; an
idea, a concept...like god for example, that's what faith is all
about.  The available evidence, the hard facts...like Herb's hard
11 1/2" prick, the head of which was now oozing precum on my lips,
indicates one thing, but faith will carry the day because not to
believe may have dire and unexpected consequences.

Herb and I subconsciously affirmed our faith in Stella and her
teachings that wonderful, sex-filled afternoon in his bed; and
for many months thereafter until we graduated from high school.
We had to, I realized a year or so later while waiting for my
roommate to come out of the shower for his nightly blow job...I
also sucked him off in the morning before class. Not to believe
in great sex meant Herb and I were simply two teenage boys, two
homosexual teenage boys who liked to suck dick. Two Fags with a
capital F, Cocksuckers with a capital C.

Chapter Six

I WENT TO PRINCETON on a full scholarship, Herb was at MIT, away
from home and away from Stella's influence.  Freshman college girls,
virgins for the most part, and a few frustrated victims of inept
"slam bam thank you ma'am" lovers, were amazed at the length of my
prick and delighted by my uninhibited skills in bed. I was amazed
too, at the number of junior and senior girls, girls who'd had sex
before, who had never had a guy go down on them.  Two months at

Princeton and my reputation as a Stud with a capital S was secure.
The girls I bedded, a different one each week, had Stella to thank
indirectly for their multiple orgasms and me to thank for teaching
them how to enjoy sex and how to please a man.  Oh, this business
about men being better cocksuckers than women?  Fuhgedaboutit!
It's not true.

And my roommate Andrew, a brilliant pre-med student, though somewhat
naive young man from a small town in Kansas. He was equally amazed
at my oral skills, as were a few of his friends, who, with my
approval of course, frequently came by our dorm room for blow jobs.
Andrew almost switched his major to psychology when I lubed my ass
one wintry afternoon and sat on his dick.  Smart as he was he
couldn't understand why I liked a cock in my mouth and why I liked
a cock up my ass. Andrew politely declined my offer to help him find
out for himself.

I had one, no, two unpleasant sexual experiences during my four
undergraduate years. Unpleasant in the sense that while I was
physically prepared, I wasn't mentally prepared to deal with a
situation that quicky escalated out of control. I was a cocksucker,
yes, but I wasn't a Cocksucker, a fag but I wasn't a Fag. You know
what I mean.

I don't know what possessed me to go to the frat party at Rutgers
in the first place. Probably the lure of free food and beer to help
stretch my tight budget. I wore my cock ring, rather, I didn't think
not to wear the thin gold ring that Stella had surprised me with for
graduation. Same with the outrageously sexy black thong, a birthday
present from Herb, which I wore for days on end. I wasn't planning
on taking off my Levis at the party and frankly, after wearing a
thong I was loathe to wear any other kind of underwear.

As a matter of fact I'm wearing a black thong right now, nothing
more, as I write this little memoir...so is the sweet young thing
playing video games in my media room down the hall. No, not the one
Herb gave me almost forty years ago when guy + thong = fag, but
thongs haven't changed and that fabric strip tucked in between my
cheeks still feels terrific.  For my money, and I've got a ton of
it, a thong is the most comfortable underwear a man can wear.

The party was in full swing when I arrived. I ate. I drank. I
chatted up a bubble headed girl whose looks and rich daddy were
her only assets...and I got hit on by a guy.  I had a buzz on from
the beer, but no so buzzed that I didn't recognize an attempt to
pick me up when Miss Bubblehead left abruptly to powder her nose,
or maybe to find her brain.

"Gloria's an airhead."

"That she is," I replied. Turning to face an honest man.

"Walter Goodyear," he said, sticking out a hand. "Welcome to
Delta Phi."

"Hi. Peter Conte."  Walter held my hand a little too long, his
deepset brown eyes never leaving my face.  I'd done the same with
my roommate Andrew the first time we met. A subtle and a safe
opening gambit in a game that's much like chess.  Moves and
countermoves, thrust and parry, resulting in either a disappointing
draw; in which case you walked away from the game with your
reputation... your manhood intact, or a checkmate; a much better
outcome where you walked away with your man.

The conversation flowed easily, light stuff and serious issues of
concern to college students in the late 60's: sports, school, the
war in Viet Nam and the draft, the civil rights movement. Walter had
a brain and opinions, my kind of guy even if we didn't end up in bed
together.

"Oops, sorry," quickly followed the back of his hand brushing
against my crotch.

"Hey, no problem," a safe response under any circumstances. "I was
about to scratch it anyway."  A good line for a laugh and a chance
to adjust my stiffening package. Walter did the same.

"Lot of girls here tonight," I said as Walter lead me to a quiet
corner of the room.

"Sorority sisters, Peter, save your hardon. These girls don't put
out without a ring. Not even a blow job."

Well, now that Walter had opened the door the conversation moved
on to sex. Nice and easy, just two guys bullshiting about sex.
Have you ever...did you...why...why not..she did, would you?  All
safe enough and it brought us closer to the end game.

"A blow job is no big deal," Walter finally offered.  "It doesn't
mean a thing."

To which I quickly added, "Or make a guy a homosexual, I think."

"Nah, you wouldn't be a homo, gay. You wouldn't be a, you know, a
cocksucker...not for doing it with a friend once in a while."

We danced around this issue and I let him "convince me", nodding
frequently as he made his final pitch.

"There's a private room on the third floor, Peter. If you want to
give it a shot."

"Lead the way."

The room was empty, nothing but a bed and a single light bulb
hanging from the ceiling. Walter looked uncomfortable when I took
off my shirt. He backed away, seemingly shocked when I tried to kiss
him while unbuttoning his shirt. He had no idea that he'd hooked a
fish that wanted to be caught.

"I'm a little nervous, Peter. You mind if I keep my clothes on a bit
longer? You go ahead, get naked if you want to.  Yeah, that'll be
good if you're naked, only do it over here, Peter, under the light."

"Whatever turns you on," I said, moving to the center of the room
and promptly took off the rest of my clothes, except my thong which
could hardly contain my erection.

"What is that?"

"A thong.  You can try it on if you want."  We shared a laugh when
I almost tripped taking it off.

"Nine and a half inches," I volunteered in response to Walter's look
of disbelief and barely audible holy shit.

"Could you get on your knees now, Peter, facing me?  And kind of
play with your cock?"

"Your wish is my command, sir."  Happy really that we weren't going
to be exchanging quick blow jobs then rushing off like a couple of
strangers after a chance encounter in the park.  I really did want
to please him because I thought I had found another guy like Herb.
A person to have a relationship with and to share great sex with.

"Oh, yeah, this is perfect, Walter said, edging slowly toward me.
"This is going to be a night to remember."

Remember those brain cells I spoke about earlier?  The insightful
ones I was blessed with that enable me to see through the bullshit
and, well, go back and reread that part for yourself.  I'll blame it
on all the beer I'd had to drink, but suffice to say I'd be flipping
hamburgers for a living for all the insight I had just then.

Walter unzipped slowly and brought out his cock, flinching when I
went for his belt. "Suck it first, Peter."

Oh, well, Andrew was shy too the first time I gave him head. Never
saw his balls until I urged him to let me suck him off in the
shower.  Walter shuddered when I took him in my hand, moaned when
I kissed the tip and shook like a leaf when I licked around the head
and up and down the exposed inch or so of his shaft...nice and
slow to get the precum flowing.

"Oh, man, you are good."

"Thanks," I said, returning the compliment.  "You have a great
cock."

Walter's hands went to my shoulders when I swirled my tongue around
the inside of his foreskin. He sighed long and loud when I slid it
back, took the exposed head in my mouth and began to suck in earnest.
Walter was close to losing it when the door burst open and the room
quickly filled up with bodies and flashing lights.

"Walter, you devil, looks like you've bagged one."

"One minute, guys," he gasped, and promptly shot off in my mouth.

"You came...in his mouth?"

"Of course I creamed his mouth," Walter answered casually, when he
stopped panting like a race horse.  Of course. Like he got blow jobs
from guys all the time.

"Where else would I cum?"

"That's kind of, you know, disgusting."

I rolled my eyes in disbelief.  This was a college man, supposedly
in his sexual prime?  I felt like telling him a thing or two about
sex.

Walter said it for me, though his tone of voice and choice of words
were not quite what I had in mind.

"It's not disgusting, Eddie."

Tell him, Walter.

"It's not?"

"Not to a lowlife cocksucker."

Ouch.

"Guy like this one, faggot queers, he likes to suck dick and he
wants guys, straight guys like us to cum in his pussy mouth. Isn't
that true, Peter?"

Everybody had a good laugh at my expense while I was left to wonder
what had happened to the Walter I'd been talking to downstairs.

"Oh, take one more picture, Eddie, a close up of the fag looking at
my dick."

I was tempted to bite him, teach Walter and this Eddie character a
lesson about sex. I didn't. And I didn't teach Eddie a lesson about
cameras either. He could discover for himself that cameras take
better photos with the lens cap off.

"C'mon, the crowd's getting restless and the other fag is...holy
shit, look at the dick on this one. What a fucking waste."

"The broads like looking at a big dick, makes'em hot to fuck."

"Like you would know."

"Fuck you, Matt"

"Eat me."

"Okay guys, cut out the crap and listen up.  We got a big crowd
downstairs and its time to get serious."

"Serious, shit. I want a serious blow job."

"Blow job, blow job, blow job."

I looked up at Walter.  "What's going on?  What's this all about?"

"Orgy night at Delta Phi. A tradition...we do it every year.  Wine,
women, song, everybody in togas. The Delta Phi's at Cornell bring in
a couple of fags for entertainment, to keep things lively, so we
thought we'd try it too."

Stella's final class, final exam in great sex so to speak, was an
orgy.  Herb and I, Cathy and a two female friends, Stella and two
male friends of hers...it was fun.  It was great sex.

"But..."

"But what, Peter?  C'mon, you going to tell me you're not a fag?"

There are times during negotiations when it's best to keep silent.
You can't say something to screw up a deal if you keep your mouth
shut. Let the other side keep talking and eventually they'll say
something, often without even realizing it, something that reveals
a weakness in their position.

Poor Walter. If he'd only kept his mouth shut. What I was going to
tell him, had he given me the chance, was that an orgy sounded like
fun.  Count me in.  But no, he kept going on, spouting the usual
homophobic bullshit about queers and fags and cocksuckers...stuff
I could live without hearing, but no deal breaker.

"Do what you're told tonight, Peter, and the roll of film with the
pictures of you on your knees with a dick in your mouth will be
returned in the morning. Otherwise, I suggest you read the fine
print in your Princeton scholarship...like the morals section."

Walter, you son of a bitch, I thought, enraged, but wisely kept my
mouth shut and my emotions in check. Blackmail?

"You'll be exposed as a fag."

Alfred E. Newman, remember MAD magazine? He said it best, "What, me
worry?"  My scholarship had no morals clause. Neither, by the way,
do the employment contracts I negotiate for my star athletes. I am
a very good lawyer and many of my clients have zipper problems. The
roll of film shot with the lens cover in place couldn't do much harm
either. Not that any of it mattered because...Stella you are so
smart...

"Is that with a capital F or lower case?" I said softly.

"What?"

Poor Walter, going to so much trouble when all he had to do was ask.
Oh, well.  But I still had to deal with a bunch of horny frat boys
without getting physically hurt.

"Please don't do that, Walter," I said meekly, the way Stella had
advised. "I'll do anything you say."

"You will?  I mean, you will!"

"Hey, Walter, catch.  Here's a jock strap for the fag."

A stunned Walter let it fall to the floor. He recovered quickly.

"The fag brought his own," he said, looking first to my clothes
piled by the side of the bed, then looking down at me.  "Go get it,
Peter.  Hold it up so everyone can see."

The boys crowded close to see what I was holding.  "What the fuck
is that thing?  Looks sorta like a jock strap."

"Yeah, a jock strap for fags."

I struggled into the twisted thong, too pissed off to be embarrassed
by all the laughter.

The orgy at Delta Phi, well, I can't imagine the ancient Greeks and
Romans wearing BVD's under their togas. As for fair maidens being
ravished? The few girls who didn't flee when Bruce, the other fellow,
and I were brought in wearing our respective jock and thong and
introduced as The Fags, were too busy giggling at the two of us.
They left as well, shrieking, when Bruce and I were stripped naked
then ceremoniously arranged head to toe on a makeshift altar and
commanded to suck.

The would be orgy turned into a night of drinking, smoking pot and
verbally humiliating the fags. Bruce had a tough time bearing up
under the verbal onslaught, cringing each time fag or cocksucker
was hurled in his direction.  The president of the fraternity called
for order and announced, "Who wants to go first with the fags?"

He got no response from his big bad frat brothers, image conscious
self-proclaimed macho men...rather, I thought, sexually stunted
little boys who needed to be taught a lesson from a believer in
great sex. I don't suggest employing this strategy unless you're
prepared to have your bluff called, in which case you'll be spending
a few hours on your knees with a lot of different dicks taking turns
in your mouth.

"How about you?" I said to the president while grabbing his crotch.
Had we been alone his cock would have been hard and in my mouth in
no time.  In a crowd he was suddenly shy, like trying to urinate
while somebody is watching, and I pressed my advantage.

"It's not been proven, you know," I said in a stage whisper. "It's
only a theory that a straight guy will start having gay thoughts,
may actually turn into a queer himself if a fag sucks him off."

Bruce and I, clothes in hand, were ushered out of the house like
we had a rare communicable disease.  I took the roll of film...just
in case.

"Is it true?"  Bruce asked as we walked to my car.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Every guy has thoughts, Bruce." I left it
at that.  "Do you need a ride?"

Bruce hopped into my VW Beetle.  He lived in a small room on the
third floor of a private house about a mile off campus. I accepted
his offer to spend the night rather than drive back to Princeton.

"You want to shower before or after?" Bruce asked as soon as the
door was closed.

I fully expected that we would sleep together, exchange blow jobs
at the very least...hopefully much more.  His question lead me to
believe that much more was a very real possibility. "After," I said,
taking off my shirt.  "Maybe in the morning."

Bruce homed in on my nipples and armpits. "I love the way a guy
smells...and tastes. You think that's weird?"

Great sex, five senses...remember?  "Not at all."

We quickly shed the rest of our clothes and tortured each other for
the next half hour. Bruce didn't miss a single centimeter of my
body, including the inside of my ears. I gave as good as I got,
almost causing him to blow when I spread his cheeks and rimmed him.

"That was outrageous,"  Bruce said as we lay in each others arms
after cumming in each others mouths.  "I never knew sex could be
so great."

"That's the way it's supposed to be. Why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry, Peter, it's just that I've been with so many guys, so
many have used me...nobody has even touched my cock in a long time.
You're the first since my best friend Larry moved away at the end
of our junior year in high school. He and I used to do each other,
but since he moved, well...."

"So find a new friend."

"I tried.  Remember Eddie?"

"Yeah, sure. The genius who took pictures with the lens cap on the
camera."

"He wasn't too bright in high school either. Smart enough though to
fool me into thinking he was my friend and that he was like me."

"He wasn't, was he?  Which team was he on?"

"Baseball.  How did you know he was on a team?"

"Lucky guess.  How often?"

"Once a week at first, in a supply closet off the locker room.  My
father's an orthodox rabbi, Peter, it would have killed him to find
out that his only son was, you know, a fag. Eddie'd bring boys in,
one or two at a time and charge them each one dollar. I'd suck off
like ten boys during lunch period."

My brain was in gear now. "When did they ask you to join the team?"

"Team manager, I can't play ball for shit. They asked me right after
Thanksgiving.  Did a good job too and, no pun intended, it got me
out of the closet and into the locker room. And the class room, a
few bedrooms, rec rooms, bathrooms, motel rooms...I even went down
on guys, gave head in the back of the team bus on the way home from
games."

"Did you go out with any girls?  Movies, dances, stuff like that?

"I dated some, but the girls got pissed off when I'd start looking
at other couples.  They thought I was looking at other girls when
I was really looking at other guys. I couldn't help wondering what
their cocks looked like, how they'd taste, how much cum...stuff like
that."

We lay quietly, stroking each other back to hardness.  Bruce's life
was like an open book to me.  "When did the hazing start?"

"You sure you didn't go to Scarsdale High School", Bruce said as he
straddled my body.

"Never even been to Scarsdale, Bruce."

"The hazing started when the baseball season started in April.
Little things at first like cocksucker scribbled in the back of
my bio book, wet condoms in my lunch bag, pictures of half naked
muscle guys glued to the inside cover of my notebook.  When the
weather warmed up they made me go out on the field in a jockstrap
when the cheerleaders were practicing.  It was so embarrassing.
Eventually, Peter, the entire school...everyone knew I was a fag."

Bruce's ass was sending a quiet message while he rambled on about
things that every outed homosexual learned to live with in the 60's.
"You got any lube?  That's 9 1/2 inches your sitting on."

"Night table.  Top drawer."

"Not much left," I said handing the almost empty tube to Bruce. The
drawer also contained two rubber dildos, a short thin one and a
monster cock that was still in its original packaging, and a pair
of small jockey shorts with a colorful Superman design.

"Damn, I forgot to buy more. Let's try it anyway, okay?"

Bruce applied what was left of the lube to head of my cock and
together we worked to achieve penetration. I could see the pain
in his eyes, but he was determined, and ever so slowly the powerful
sphincter muscle yielded and the head was in.

"You're the first," Bruce said through clenched teeth.  "I've never
had a real cock in my ass."

I've slept with thousands of men and boys over the last forty years,
a fair number of whom had said the same thing, "You're the first."
Done right, with care and understanding of the physical and more
importantly I think, the psychological experience of being penetrated
by another man, and anal sex can send your virgin partner to sexual
heaven. Done right and the former virgin will be back for more as
often as you want him.  Done wrong and the only place your bleeding
partner is going is in embarrassment to the emergency room of the
nearest hospital. I done Bruce right.

"Ease down slowly, let the lube do its work. Easy, Bruce, don't
force it in. Take only as much as you can."

Bruce's erection returned with a little help from my hand and that's
when I held his thighs and started to thrust up gently.

"Oh, god, I...I, aaahhhh."

Bruce sank half way down on my dick and ejaculated wildly, sending
streamers of sperm in every direction.  Cumming with a dick in your
ass, as Greek boys knew thousands of years ago and as Bruce was
discovering, is one incredible experience.  He rode my cock as he
came, squeezing the shaft with each spurt of cum, then fell forward,
comfortably impaled on the full length of my cock, and kissed away
the sperm that was on my face.

I rolled him to his back, put his legs over my shoulders and made
love to my new friend and great sex partner.

"Oh, god, Peter, your cock feels so good inside me.  Fuck me, Peter,
fuck me hard and fast, I can take it."

His ass rose and fell to meet my thrust, our balls mashing together
on the downstroke...rolling together on the up. Piston and cylinder,
faster and faster like a well tuned fuel-injected engine, driving us
to our destination...ORGASM!
  
"That was awesome, Peter.  Thank you."

"That was great sex, Bruce. You're welcome."

"And messy," he said when my cock slipped out of his ass and he
began to leak sperm. "I'll get a towel."

Bruce came back with a towel in one hand and my thong in the other.
"Can I try it on?"

His erection was immediate and predictable.  Remember the first time
you put on a thong?  Tucked your cock and balls into the pouch, felt
the thin strip of fabric settle in between the cheeks of your ass?
Bruce examined himself front and back in the mirror and went to his
knees when I joined him.

I grew hard in his mouth, 9 1/2 inches of engorged flesh that has
posed a challenge to male and female cock lovers around the world.
Bruce paused at the halfway point, put his hands behind his back
and looked up to my face...the universal sign of trust, some say
submission, between men who like to suck.  I slid into his mouth
slowly, watching his face for signs of distress, then pushed on
into his throat until his lips were buried in my pubic hair.

I grew soft in his mouth too, all slick with sperm now, totally
spent after a skillful blow job and magnificent orgasm.  Bruce
continued to tease my cock and balls with licks and kisses, cleaning
away the sperm and saliva, stopping abruptly when he discovered my
thin gold cock ring.

"A gift from a friend," I explained as Bruce peered under my balls
to examine the ring which was hidden by my pubic hair.

"How does it come off?"

"It doesn't," I chuckled, fondly recalling the day Stella had
presented the gifts to Herb and I, and affixed the rings around
our penis and testicles. Actually the ring can be removed or made
tighter by adjusting a tiny set screw with a small tool designed
just for that purpose.  "I'll meet you in the City sometime, I
know a place if you'd like to get one for yourself."

Bruce rose from his knees. "And a thong," he said, stifling a yawn.

Bruce followed me back to his bed...we were both exhausted.  We
cuddled for a while, safe and secure in each others arms, and fell
asleep.

WE AWOKE AS WE had slept, naked and in each others arms, and ready
for more great sex...after a quick trip to the bathroom.  Water
sports have their place, pissing outdoors or in the shower can be
fun.  A urine soaked mattress is another matter.

Bruce was under the covers, his head between my legs when the door
flew open and a little boy wearing Superman pajamas launched himself
on to the bed.

"Hey, you're not Bruce," he said.  "Where's Bruce?"

"Jacob? Is that you?"

The little fellow dove under the covers when he heard Bruce's voice.
They both came up a moment later with smiles on their faces.

"You're naked," the little fellow said to me. "Bruce and I get naked
together too.  I'm Jacob. What's your name?"

"Peter," I mumbled, surprised not only at his boldness but also at
my involuntary reaction to his boyish beauty.

"You have a very big penis, Peter."

"Jacob!" Bruce admonished.

"Well, he does," Jacob said as he snuggled himself between Bruce and
I.  "Mine's little because I'm only ten. Wanna see it?"

"Jacob!"

"It's okay, momma's not home.  The hospital called so she had to go
to work." Jacob turned to me and explained. "Bruce watches me when
momma has to work on Sundays. That's when we get naked together and
play games. So you wanna see my penis?"

You devil, I thought looking over at Bruce whose secrets were being
exposed by a ten year old boy.  Jacob stood up on the bed and took
off his pajamas.  His body was flawless, not a mark or a hair on his
snowy white skin.  His nub of a penis and delicate scrotal sack,
plump thighs, reminded me of the cherubs on the walls of Saint
Patricks Cathedral.  Despite having been one myself, little boys
were mysterious creatures to me, wild and noisy, of no particular
interest.  This one was an angel, sweet and innocent.

Oddly enough, I felt myself growing erect with desire.

"Can I see yours again, Peter?"

"It's okay," I said to Bruce when Jacob began to pull the covers
off the bed.  "Let him play."

"It's very big," Jacob said in wide-eyed wonder.  "Very, very big.
Can I touch it?  I know how."

For the better part of an hour Jacob played with my cock and balls,
giving equal time to Bruce, his teacher, who had evidently taught
him how to please a man. He giggled with delight each time I made my
cock jump or another bead of precum appeared at the tip, and laughed
out loud when Bruce shuddered and climaxed.

Jacob dipped a finger into the milky puddle of semen on Bruce's
stomach and brought it to my lips. "Do you like sperm, Peter?  I
didn't like it so much at first...too salty, but now I do."

"Yes, I said licking his finger clean. "I like sperm."

"I don't make any sperms yet, but...", Jacob turned to Bruce, "Is
it okay if I ask him?"  Bruce nodded.

"Do you like having a penis in your mouth, Peter...and sucking?"

It was my turn to look at Bruce who nodded at me as well.  "Yes I
do as a matter of fact."

Jacob hopped off the bed and with hands on hips said, "Would you
like to suck my dickie?"

I stared at the prepubescent boy who looked so sweet, so innocent,
so naked and so very desirable. Stella, I realized, had left a
gaping hole in my education.  Great sex, she taught, was to be
enjoyed without regard to gender, religion or ethnic origin...with
your peers and elders, or so I assumed.  Stella had never raised
the possibility of having sex with a pre-teen girl or boy.

"I'd love to suck on your dickie, Jacob."

I towered over Jacob until I dropped to my knees and pressed my nose
into the soft flesh of his rounded belly. He giggled when I fondled
his marble sized jewels, spreading his legs for me, which dispelled
any lingering doubts that this was wrong. I scooped him up easily,
laid him gently on the bed and smothered his body with licks and
kisses. Twice around until he was shiny, and licking in between his
baby soft buns along the crack, around the tiny rosebud...only then,
drunk on the taste and the smell of this ten year old boy, did I
take his spiky penis and baby balls in my mouth.

I sucked gently, caressing his bottom and all the while marveling at
the taste and the smell of his naked flesh; so different from that
of a mature male.  I did not back off when he said he had to
pee...small boy, small bladder I thought, but drank his warm urine
as it trickled slowly into my mouth.

"Bruce likes my pee too, Jacob offered as I shook him off.  "I bring
him some in a bottle when my mommy is home and we can't get naked
together...and he gives me a condo, you know, one of those rubber
things?"

"A condum?"

"Yeah, a condum. Bruce gives me a condum filled with sperms. I like
it better when I can play with his penis, you know, suck it, and
make Bruce do the sperms into my mouth."

Jacob scooted between my legs and squeezed my shaft with his small
hands. "It's my turn to be the cocksucker now, Peter," he said,
staring at the bubble of precum that emerged from the tip, then
licking it away with the tip of his tongue.

"Mmmmm, that tastes nice," he said with a big smile on his face.
"I can hardly wait to taste your sperms."