I was fifteen year old when an event occurred that opened my eyes on my real sexuality. I was returning home from the gym, using public transportation, as usual. It was crowded, we were tightly squeezed one against the other. I managed to put my gym bag on the net shelf over the seats and was standing near one of the doors. People came and went at each stop, but it remained very crowded.
At a some point I felt something brushing me between my legs as I stood there. I thought it a casual contact and I didn't care, but the rubbing was continuing with growing insistence. Suddenly I had the clear understanding about what was happening -- what was brushing me was a hand and it was doing it clearly on purpose. I felt terribly embarrassed, I had the impression that everybody could see what was happening, even if it was quite impossible.
I looked furtively, astounded and shameful, at who was touching me in that way -- it was a young man around twenty five, thirty year old, wearing elegant casual clothes, a little taller than me.
I thought to escape from that more and more daring hand, that was now boldly fondling me, but it was if I were paralyzed and was unable to move, not even a finger. I almost was unable to breath. When I became aware that being touched in that way by the guy was giving me an erection, I literally felt I would die with shame. I didn't want the man to become aware of it. I wanted to run away, to disappear, I wanted the ground to swallow me up, and yet I was more and more unable to move.
He quickly became aware of my aroused state and his hand then moved determined, confident -- through the light fabric of my trousers he grasped my member and fingered it with boldness. I looked for a moment with scared, imploring eyes, but he returned my glance with the kind of smile that made me think of a cat playing with a mouse. I felt lost. I lowered my eyes even more filled with shame.
After a few stops he left. On the platform he turned to look at me and I clearly read in his eyes that he was expecting me to follow him. The door closed and we went on our way. I wasn't able to recover from the end of that embarrassing situation, I was still too upset. Possibly not so much that I had been fondled in that way, but for having become aroused at the contact.
Gradually I calmed down, I felt better, but not yet completely all right. I was deeply shaken. I went back home and went upstairs to my room. I started studying, but was not really able, my head was confused by that totally unexpected experience. It is not that I was rethinking it, I had my mind blank, but rather, it was like an empty room where the slightest noise resounds. As if a far away voice repeated in an endless litany -- that man touched you, you liked it... touched you... you liked it...
At supper time, my family didn't notice that I was more silent than ever. I watched at the TV for a while with them then, bidding the good night, I went again upstairs to my room. I undressed and went to bed. Almost at once, I got an erection. Unconsciously I caressed between my legs, as I often did before masturbating, But this time it was different -- the contact of my hand through the light fabric of the pajama, reminded me of that contact I had experienced in the afternoon. Automatically, I repeated the maneuver of that hand, fancying it was that man doing it, and I became more excited than usual.
I fantasized that, besides touching me as he had done, he also opened my fly, took it exposed in his bare hand, and masturbated me, looking at me with his quiet smile, self- confident, full of lust... When I came, I felt much more intense emotions than usual and the handkerchief barely contained the strong jets of semen which that time seemed to never end.
All my body was tense and shaken by very strong trembling and I had difficulty not to moan aloud the intense pleasure that was throbbing through me. I barely had the time to tidy myself before I collapsed in a deep sleep. When I awoke up in the morning I had a slight headache. I prepared to go to school without thinking about what happened to me on the previous day, at least until I once again entered the bus. As soon as I boarded, I felt torn in a double and opposite hope -- I feared I would meet him again, and at the same time I hoped to meet him once more.
I never did meet him again. But, after that, I never succeeded in pushing him out from my head. I was looking for him with my eyes each time I was in a crowded bus, but above all, I dreamed of him each time I was masturbating myself. Little by little the fear of meeting him again disappeared, now I wanted meet him again, I wanted to be touched again in that way. Then I even thought that possibly other men would enjoy touching in that way in the crowd, and started to look around guessing who could be.
For the first time I was looking at the people I encountered with completely different eyes. I started to evaluate men by a new standard, asking myself by whom I would have liked to be touched in that way. From there, passing to a new phase, took little time. When I was in the crowd in the rush hours, I positioned myself so that my crotch, if possible, brushed the hand of a guy I liked, hoping that that hand moved, and touched me.
But it didn't happen, and I desired it more and more. So, I started to push my pubes against the hands I found in the right position and at once I got an erection. But always the other, when he understood with what his hand had come in contact, moved away to discontinue the contact. The first few times my reaction, more than disappointment, was shame at the thought that the guy could have understood that the contact had been intentional. But seeing that there were no reactions of any kind, I became more and more confident in that erotic game that aroused me in an incredible way.
Finally, one afternoon, the hand didn't move away. Rather started to push in a more and more determined way, until it turned and caressed for a good while, with its finger, the shape of my turgid and pulsing member. He was a boy around twenty, and when he saw that I was furtively looking at him, smiled and felt me even more boldly. I think I blushed, because he accentuated his smile.
Then he asked me: "Where do you get off?"
I was not able to answer, my heart beat strongly, I was stirred and confused, I lowered my eyes.
The guy stopped feeling me and, seized my elbow, said softly, "Next stop we get off!"
He didn't ask me, he simply affirmed it. I again felt split in two -- I wanted to follow him and I wanted to run away. But his hold on my elbow was firm. When the doors opened, gently but determinedly, he pushed me out. I was no more able to think straight, so I went out with him, forgetting my gym bag on the net over the seats.
"What's your name?" he asked me, leading me I didn't know where -- I didn't care.
I answered with strangled voice, "Dave."
"Hi Dave! I am Ken. I live close by... alone." he added with a cunning smile.
Just then I remembered my bag, "Oh god! I forgot my bag on the coach. What can I do, now? And then, I have to go home..."
"At my place, we can call the bus company, they will deliver it at your home. Don't worry."
No, I didn't worry, I was simply dazed.
He guided me for a few blocks, led me up a stair to the second floor of an old building, opened a door and pushed me inside, "Here we are." he said closing the door and took me in his arms.
I tried on instinct to escape his embrace but I was with my back against the wall of the small room.
He leaned against me, fondled between my legs and said, "I like you a lot, Dave. Come to my bed, come on."
"They wait for me at home..." I protested, but he was aware I was again aroused and had easily gotten the better of my weak resistance. While he was undressing me near his bed, I managed to murmur: "I never did it..."
"But you want it, don't you?" Ken said continuing to pull off my clothes, without waiting for my answer.
I felt completely in his power -- I felt he could do to me anything he wanted, as I was absolutely not able to take the initiative. I think he was aware of that. He undressed me completely, made me lie on his bed, undressed himself and came on top of me. And we started making love, or rather, he started making love to me, as I was absolutely unable to move. My head spun like if I was drunk, all was happening like in a dream. I loved being under him.
That time he limited himself to light sex, possibly as I told him it was my first time. But in spite of my tension, he gave me such strong, incredible pleasure, and I could moan without fear of being heard, and that was really good also. He kissed, caressed, stroked me, until we came one on the other. Then he suggested to me that we shower together to clean up our semen we had all over our bodies. That shower was for me a new and really pleasant experience. He asked me to wash him, and I could touch his body and that aroused me again very much. He kissed me pushing his erection against my groin, and it was wonderful.
Back home, I was still terribly confused, but at the same time also satisfied. I justified being late with the fact I forgot my bag on the coach, and my parents didn't have any suspicion. I had called from Ken's home and the bus company told me that if they found the bag, they would deliver it to my home. When Ken heard my family name and my address, his eyes slightly widened -- he recognized my father's name, but said nothing.
Before I left his home, Ken made me promise we would meet again, and wrote his telephone number on a slip of paper I slipped in my pocket. When in my room, I copied it in my pocket diary. I asked myself if I would really go back to see him, and inside myself the answer was more a yes than a no.
It was only that night, when I was in my bed, that I understood for the first time that what happened had only one and clear meaning -- I was gay! This shook me, and not just a little. I knew that Gay people are discriminated by society, and mainly by what my father represented. What would my family say if they knew? They would surely punish me in some way...
I knew, I felt anyway, they would react very badly. And yet, I was feeling with the same force, if I was a Gay, I couldn't help it. I had to keep it a secret, yes, but how long could I manage? I could see how much my brothers were followed in all they did. Also their private lives were combed by the PR men, omnipresent, omnipotent.
They still knew nothing of Ken and me, as they didn't follow us step by step, of course. But if my encounters with him repeated, they could not help but become aware of them. That day they swallowed the reason for my being late, also because I really forgot my bag on the coach. I could hardly find a different excuse each time. In other words, it meant, I couldn't meet Ken anymore. That it was over.
But I wanted to meet him again. Now that I was aware I shouldn't, I had no more doubts -- I was presumed not, but I wanted to see him again. I wanted to be on bed under him again, showering with him, talking with him.
We didn't really talk, that only time, but I now felt I had a lot of things to ask him -- if he was gay like me he could perhaps explain me a lot of things about myself, about being gay. Anyway, if not with him, with whom could I talk of that?
I spent days of confusion, alternating moments when I told myself "I couldn't be gay" with moments when I knew I couldn't help it, I was so and that's that, and that I had all the right to live my life, my sexuality as best as I liked. I also started not to do so well at school -- my mind was elsewhere, I was not able to apply, to concentrate. My family was not yet aware of it, but I was.
I masturbated dreaming to be in bed with Ken, that my hand was his, that my member was his. Also when I showered I fancied doing it with him and then I masturbated again. I wanted to call him and yet I didn't. Several times on the street I went near a public telephone thinking of calling him, but then I lacked courage.
But, above all, I now looked on young and handsome men with desire. My eyes sought out their flies and if they were swollen I was excited thinking of touching them, to be touched by them, to undress them, to have sex. Also my elder and handsome mates at school or in the gym, now seemed to me irresistible.
Tens of days elapsed. At school they became aware I was no more the one I was before, and the teachers communicated with my parents. Meanwhile I reached a conclusion, I decided to call Ken.
He was happy hearing me. I was embarrassed, but managed to tell him what I wanted. He came to wait for me out of the school, in the small coffee shop I suggested. When I saw him I felt a mix of joy and embarrassment. But the smile with which he welcomed me, warmed my heart. I sat near him and told him I had little time, but I needed to talk with him.
"Just to talk?" he said with a disappointed expression.
"For this time." I answered, "You know who I am, don't you?"
"Yes."
"I... I presume I am gay."
"Yes, possibly. I am gay, and I like you."
"But I... if my parents came to know... you can guess..."
"Don't let them know, then."
"They will discover it."
"Do they control you?"
"And how! That's why I can stay just a few minutes with you today, not to make them suspicious. And yet, I would like to find the way to spend more time with you."
"Me too, believe me." Ken answered with a cunning smile.
"I was not saying it meaning that... not only that, at least. I need to talk with somebody, but I don't know with whom, besides you."
"Yes, I see. Then we have to figure out the system to meet without problems."
Ken asked me how my days were, my schedule and at last he saw there was just one way to meet -- he had to enrol in my same gym.
"You really would?"
"Sure. I like you, and if I am able to help you... and perhaps we can also find the way to be sometimes together, alone, without worry." Ken said to me with a sly smile, to make me understand what he meant. We parted on that.
My mother, who went to talk with my teachers, asked me if there were problems. I told her that all was fine, that it possibly was just a temporary decrease in my performance. She asked me if something worried me, if I had any problems, and she asked me with such a sweet insistence that I came near to telling her the whole truth, but I really didn't dare.
My mother decided to wait a while to see how I did at school: "... if you get back on feet, good. If not, we should try to see why your school performance decreased, suddenly. You understand, you can't give your father and your family a bad image." she said as a conclusion.
Finally after a few days, Ken showed up at the gym. He pretended not to know me, and I understood he was right in acting so. After about one hour, he came over to me with a casual air, cornered me as if it was the first time we met. We "introduced" ourselves -- this amused me. But when the others could not overhear us, he asked me how I felt.
"Still terribly confused. But I am happy you are here."
"Here, we can't talk too much, not for a while, anyway. We have to find another way to be together."
"And not just to talk." I added as I was feeling incredibly aroused by his proximity. He smiled satisfied and nodded.
The idea didn't come easily, but after a few times we met. He was the same age as my brother Martin, and he too attended the university, even if a different one. If he could get to become a friend of my brother, Martin would certainly invite him to our home, and so we could also meet each other without many problems. I could not introduce him at home as one of my friends, because my parents, I was aware, didn't look kindly on us being friends with people older or younger than ourselves.
"But you are rich, I am not. How can I become friend with your brother? We live in two different worlds..." Ken objected when I told him my plan.
"My family is keen not to make class distinctions. Therefore they have us live in a rather simple standard of life."
"It could be. But your brother attends another university, how can we just meet?"
"I'll give you his picture. He often goes to dance at the Malibu Club. You can meet him there."
"I don't go to clubs, usually."
"Can't you do that for me?" I then asked him.
I don't know if Ken was just amused at the idea, or if I really interested him to that point, but he did as I asked him. It took him almost one month to bond with Martin, but he managed. And finally, a few weeks later, Martin invited Ken to our home. And so, we again "introduced" ourselves.
During this period we couldn't manage to be alone not even once, therefore we couldn't even have sex, even though we both desired it more and more. Ken was skilled, he made such an impression that my parents also took a liking to him, thus his visits to our home became frequent. We decided also to tell them that we discovered we were attending the same gym. Ken had a philosophy -- the fewer lies you tell, the less you risk to be caught red handed.
I wanted badly make love with him, so once, after the gym, I called home telling them that I was popping up to Ken's -- they now knew him and there wasn't any problem. My mother just asked me not to be late. So at last, I went again to Ken's apartment. We both were longing very much to make love, and we didn't lose any time.
The hour we allowed, passed too quickly, possibly because we waited so long for that occasion, but it was really pleasurable. And we pushed further than our first time. Ken taught me to really kiss, and then also the oral experience, that I found extremely pleasurable, in both ways. And for the first time in my life I savoured the male seed, and I found it intoxicating.
Ken also talked about being gay. He shoved on me several books, and told me, that yes we were a minority, but due all respect. He told me also about the existence of gay clubs, about the gay literature, about many things I couldn't ever have guessed, and he taught me gradually to be proud of my sexuality.
And to my parents' satisfaction, I started to do well at school again.
At times Ken came to see Martin. We met three times per week in the gym, but it was always difficult to meet alone to make love. I couldn't go to his place too often, I feared my family could grow suspicious. Not only my family, but most of all, "them".
One, who specially followed us four children, was Bruce Faraday, a young man who was then twenty nine years old. Even though he dedicated his time in an almost proportional way to our age, Bruce was starting to take care of me more and more as I was growing older. And, without me knowing it, he started also to inquire about Ken, but as Martin's friend. At that time I didn't yet know that all our friendships were screened in so a scrupulous way.
Ken, even though he was a gay youth, it was my good luck that he didn't go to the gay clubs, he didn't belong to gay associations or groups, he didn't flaunt his sexuality. But then too, he did nothing to hide it. So, a few months after Ken and I met, Bruce came to understand, or at least to guess, that Ken was gay. I don't know how he did, he perhaps saw him buying a gay magazine, or something similar. Anyway, he discovered it and then began to look for the proof that he really was so.
I, unaware, managed to meet three or four times Ken to make love with him. I liked him more and more, and I felt happy. Ken was gradually teaching me to make love and finally an afternoon, he asked me if he could take me. I anxiously accepted. He was able to do it with such gentleness and sweetness, that I felt like I was reaching the seventh heaven. He took me from the front, making me lie on my back, so I could enjoy his expression while he was slowly opening me up, sinking inside me, moving inside me. He seemed to me so gorgeous! He was conquering my body with his body, he conquered me with his smile. It was then on that occasion that I felt I was in love with him. I came without touching myself, just from the intense pleasure of giving him profound enjoyment.
I went back home feeling I was flying ten feet off the ground. I was feeling so happy, so deeply happy that I would have liked to tell it to everybody. And then for the first time I felt all the weight of the predicament of being gay in our society. The deep unfairness of having to hide from everybody his own emotions, his own most true, most intimate, most deep joys.
At times they accuse us Gay people of shutting ourselves in a ghetto. In reality it is them forcing us to do so. Among ourselves, at least, we can talk without worries about all our feelings, of our falling in love, of our disappointments without fearing not to be understood. Without fear to be judged, condemned, or if we are lucky, just pitied.
At that time I couldn't understand right away what happened. Simply, one day, Ken didn't come any more to the gym, didn't answer the telephone, no longer lived in that apartment. When I asked Martin if he had news of Ken, he simply shrugged his shoulders and said he knew nothing.
Just some years later Martin confessed me he knew what happened. Bruce found proof that Ken was gay. His friendship with Martin was judged not "convenient" and "dangerous". Bruce didn't discover that Ken and I had a relationship. So they decided to tell Martin, but not me. And, in some way, they managed to "persuade" Ken to disappear.
I don't know what means they used with Ken, but later I learned their ways -- money, or menaces, or blackmail. Anything was fair to them. Who knows what system they used with Ken? The fact is that he disappeared and to me it was a really bad blow. Not only because I was in love with him, but also because I desired that sexual intercourse that he made me know and appreciate.
On one hand I felt betrayed by him -- whatever reason he had to suddenly leave, I was thinking then, he knew how to meet me, how to inform me, and he could have at least said good bye. On the other side, after a while I started to desire to find, if not another person to love, at least another with whom make love. At this point, just masturbating myself, was no longer enough.
But what to do? How to recognize those like me, like Ken? Starting again the little game of the brushing on the public buses. But even if sometimes, and very seldom, somebody did not wriggle away, or even felt me, it all ended there. I didn't dare to hook up with him, and the other did nothing to hook up with me, therefore... Rather, when somebody felt me, but then nothing come out of it, I felt even more full of longing, and frustrated, than before.
I started to think to that, I became almost a monomaniac. Sex became my constant thought, my permanent desire. I was not a sexual maniac, it was just the unsatisfied desire that made me so. Women didn't exist for me and I divided males into two groups -- the likable ones and the not likable. I even started to feel desire towards my two brothers.
Strangely, this time I didn't do badly at school, rather, as in the attempt not to think too much about sex I sank in my studies, I became even better than before. But I remember that I did nothing but daydreaming an adventure. Just to make myself more clear, if I were looking at a movie and the man protagonist was handsome and courted a girl, I thought inside myself: "Why are you wasting yourself so, silly man! There are so many boys who would do anything just to fuck with you! And I first..."
Almost one year passed, or even more, I don't remember exactly, where I couldn't get to have any sexual intercourse. But it was a long period, very long. I was asking myself what could become my life if, after savouring the forbidden fruit, I could never more taste it -- adolescents are in hurry, therefore they are not able to wait and then, when they are forced to wait, they feel bad.
I was furious with my family, with society, with everybody. I was furious with Junior who had his girlfriends and could go around with her arm in arm, embrace her in front of everybody, kiss her without problems and, I guessed, do lot more. All things I could not do.
And I multiplied my erotic fantasies. I imagined having special powers -- first of all I would divide the schools in girls-schools and boys-schools. Then when a family went to enrol their sons in a school (I was thinking only of high- schools, of course) the boy had first of all go to the special "Regional School Office". Here he had to get stark naked and be examined by a special commission that would bestow on him a "physical beauty" mark -- A for the handsomest, B for the good ones, C for the less interesting and D for the ugly ones. After this evaluation they had to go in other offices where another kind of evaluation took place. They would undergo sexual tests and were divided in four categories -- 1 for the pure gay, 2 for the bisexual more on the gay side, 3 for the bisexual more on the straight side, and 4 for the straight boys. Then they would have been sorted out in different high-schools. Of course, the one where I was would have been a A1 school. On each floor, besides the classrooms, there would have been also comfortable alcoves where the boys could withdraw anytime they felt like making love. I fancied the scene; "Sorry, professor, can I go to the alcove with Steve?" "Yes, sure Dave. Have a good session!"... Of course, in each level would be taught a new discipline "Art and technique of the gay coupling" with a theoretical and a practical part. And to have a pass, it depended just partially by the marks in the various disciplines, let say a 40%, the remaining 60% depended exclusively by PE and the sexual arts course... In other words, even a boy having a D mark in all the subjects, could pass if he had an A in PE and sex performances...
Adolescent fantasies, to be sure, but I enjoyed them, and of course in all my fantasies all the A1 boys (gorgeous and sexy) were game coming in the alcove with me. Of course also our teachers were young and gay and available to have sex.
Another fantasy I had, was to have a large and beautiful villa in a grand park. All the villa personnel would have been composed by young, handsome and gay males, well chosen, of course always ready to have sex. They would wear just a Greek like short tunic, nothing under it...
But these fantasies were not able, of course, to placate me. I needed something concrete, someone in flesh and blood, who made me feel again the rapture of the sexual enjoyment that I discovered thanks to Ken. Somebody who, like him, made me feel desired. I could possibly have somewhat idealized Ken, after I lost him, but he had been my first and only man.
At home they didn't suspect at all about these fantasies, about my desires. I was now sixteen year old and was rather silent, but a "good boy". I appeared at times in public with my family, especially in the election periods. I didn't have many friends, not even one true friend, really. I competed in sports and was growing strong and, so they say, also quite handsome.
The PR men were taking more and more care about me, now. It was they who selected our friends, the places we had and could, or didn't have, to frequent, how we had or had not to dress, what we had or had not to say, and so on. I tolerated them as something unavoidable, I followed their instructions.
With my parent my relation was... I cannot define it. Good, probably, even if they were all busy with the politics and all the social engagements that it requires. At times, anyway, and mainly for supper, we all gathered and Dad and Mum were in some ways interested in us. I think that, all things considered, they were really trying to be good parents, notwithstanding the thousand engagements they had daily. At times we also went on vacation all together, and in this case they had a little more time for us.
My father liked to ride, and I too, so at times we had long rides together and, when we stopped to have a break, we talked. But inside me there was a wall against my family and this wall was due above all (but not even exclusively) to the fact that I couldn't talk with them about what I really desired, about what I really was.
Also because, the few times the talk was about the gay people (because of a newspaper article or something we saw on the TV) their judgment was always severe -- to them Gay people were just degenerates. The best judgment I heard about the gays from my father is: "Bah... they can do as they like, among consenting adults, but without showing it around, without giving scandal. They should at least have the decency to understand that their behaviour is not socially acceptable."
Therefore, clearly, not being I an adult, and what I desired not being anyway acceptable... I could just keep it carefully hidden and could only suffer in silence.