Date: Sun, 22 Mar 2020 11:57:36 -0700
From: donny3700@gmail.com
Subject: Blowing Ralph and Other High School Fun

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."