Warning, I am well aware that blogging is supposed to be done in dainty little paragraphs of two or three short sentences, so as not to scare away the prospective reader with words, but I’m just not wired that way, and am not of a mind to edit accordingly for this piece, which being a personal exposé, deserves to be presented in something approaching my usual voice. I can be a tad wordy at times. I prefer to think of it as being loquacious. In any event, it’s my story, I’m telling it my way.
My first gay experience was in high school, here in Montreal. I attended MIND, a so–called school for the gifted located in the heart of the city’s downtown, and adjacent McGill university.
Not to make too much of it, but I found a number on a wall, and was curious enough to call. It turned out to be that of a professor at the university, a man from a very upper–class background (with issues of his own, having money doesn’t exempt people) who kept an apartment in, I presume, the faculty section of the school residences.
In any event, he was considerate, kind, and patient, which was a good thing because I wasn’t ready to go all–in, or anything like it. I’d come over, we’d chat, eventually to bed, where he’d give me head and, eventually, I got up the nerve to start stroking him off.
It felt weird, having another man’s cock in my hand, all wet and sticky with pre–cum (or, eventually, the real thing). The smells were all wrong to me too. Too, well, masculine. I associated sex with softer, more feminine curves and sounds and scents. But, still, getting blown on call was nothing to turn down. We eventually parted ways when I stopped coming downtown regularly, but it was an amicable split. All in all, I was lucky in the sense that it was a patient, gentle introduction, as it didn’t scare me away, though I wasn’t looking to repeat the experience right away.
The next phase in my bisexual experimenting was a friend from Massachusetts, who was staying in Montreal. He was an ex–figure skater of all things, and a nice guy. He knew I was straight, but also that I was clearly not homophobic, so we’d go out, have dinner, or otherwise pass some time together, and then, when we were done socializing, we’d go back to the flat he shared, and in his room, he’d put on bi porn, rented for the occasion.
The girls in the scenes had the desired effect, and as the porn played, and I got hard, he’d first stroke, then free me, and finally go down on me while stroking himself off. It was weird in that we never discussed it, but it was a comfortable sort of weird. My mom liked him, too.
I finally ended up taking a more active role when, out at what I didn’t know at the time was a gay bar, which I would later find work at, and still not clue in for days… It was the presence of all kinds of attractive women. Fag hags, naturally, but not a term I knew at the time. (And one of whom would later become a friend and memorable lay, but this is about my experiences with men.)
In any event, he surprised me, after some conversation and buying me a drink (at which point I had pretty much figured out he was into me), by offering me some cocaine, which I had never seen and had no previous inclination to try, right there in the corner of the shaded bar.
I don’t know what possessed me, I think I was in shock more than anything, but I gave it a go, and after getting suitably lit, he dragged me back to a nearby sauna, rented a room, and next thing I knew he was straddling me and his cock was pressing against my lips. Maybe it was the coke, maybe I was just… Nah, it was the coke. But whatever the cause, I sucked my first cock that night, and then, coming down and feeling weirded out, I just kind of pulled my things together and left, walking around for the few hours until the buses out to the suburbs where I lived started running.
If I chose to look at the situation uncharitably, some ugly labels might apply, but really, I never felt coerced so much as taken off guard, and I was bigger and stronger than he was, so I never at any point felt unsafe, or in any sort of trouble.
I also don’t remember much about the experience itself, other than that he was only half hard, which was weird to feel in my mouth, and a little confusing, since I would have expected a full–on erection. Of course, he’d used the cocaine a lot more liberally, and looking back, I can safely assume it was the coke. He didn’t cum, either. It almost didn’t count, what with the half–way nature of the physical act, and my emotional detachment, being high and drunk. And really, I pretty much put it out of my mind and continued on with life.
Finally, there was the man I would keep up a once or twice monthly relationship with, and I use that term in the fuller sense, because emotions definitely came into play as well. I met him at the same bar (still no clue), and he picked me up, pretty much that simple.
He was charming, intelligent, unthreatening, well–off, being a vice–president at a major aeronautics firm, and with that came a certain sophistication, some of which he passed on to me, as he refined my palate with regards to wine, taught me how to cook more than the teen basics, as I was I think about nineteen when we met, and generally encouraged my instincts where matters of taste and style were concerned.
On the other hand, as easy–going and basically ‘gay’ as he was otherwise, he was much more assertive when it came to sex, and so I found myself in new territory, like hugging, kissing, which was very weird at first, and returning his affections… Which is to say I sucked his cock pretty much every visit. And oh, Hell, he had such a big cock! It was mesmerizing, if more than a little intimidating...
He had me fuck him a few times too, but that wasn’t really my thing and he sensed it. He did try to fuck me, too, and I let him try, until it came to taking that big, thick cock up my very much unexplored backside. No way that was going to happen! But I still remember the feeling of his cock pressing at me, and how utterly unreal it felt. Not in a bad way. Very much in an ‘oh, fuck, that’s…’ kind of way. But I never did give up the booty, and while I am absolutely enchanted by the charms of a girl’s bum, men just don’t do it for me.
At one point, he even asked me what I saw in girls, they were so soft and round and… And yeah, exactly! But to him that was as foreign as the male backside is to me. (Though I can appreciate a gorgeous body, I just don’t get the ‘want to go there’ urge.) In any event, we continued to be fuck friends for about five years, tapering off gradually. He had other lovers, most closer to his age and social circle or so I gathered, and this coincided with a very active period of my heterosexual sex life, so I wasn’t fussed when we finally drifted apart. Looking back, if I’m honest, I think he had a sweet tooth and I was ageing out of his tastes in that regard. Certainly, I couldn’t offer him the level of maturity and sophistication of his other lovers, and friends and colleagues. It was pretty much physical, with an aspect of mentoring that, looking back, I really appreciate, and benefitted greatly from.
Over the next half–dozen years or so, I had no outright gay encounters, but did take part in a few male–male–female threesomes, and the occasional couple swapping, and where the other guy was also bisexual, went with that. When they weren’t, I was completely comfortable, and either so were they, or any unease they might have felt was soothed by my being cool with things. And, after all, if you’re into a scene where another man will be present and fully involved, you’re probably not too hung up on that. Quite the opposite, I suspect. I know it always gave me a thrill to watch, hear, etc., my girlfriend of the time, or partner for the night, having her brains fucked out by another man, going down on him, all while I was experiencing the same with a new, and temporary, partner. But going down on a girl after she’d been cummed in, or kissing her after she swallowed my, or another man’s cum was never an issue for me. Which, it proved, was a big turn–on for more than one girl, at least speaking of the ones involved in the group scene.
Last experience was with a gay friend, or friend of friends, who made no secret of lusting after my still young and athletic self, and with who I regularly teased, joked, and otherwise busted his balls (and he mine). He was (and probably remains) an absolute, five–alarm flamer, which anyone who is familiar with the term understands is not the same as being gay, I know at least one or two full on flamers who are also rampantly heterosexual. But this guy was not them.
In any event, it was his birthday, we were utterly ploughed, what with weed and booze (not too much of the latter for me, I go straight to throwing up and bedspins on very little) and at his party, I ended up catching him alone and, with none of this aforethought, just basically pushed him up against the wall, pressed against him, kissed him and, nuzzling his neck, murmured that tonight was his lucky night.
And that’s really all it was. I was comfortable enough with myself by then, and not repulsed by him at all. Personality is the number one deciding factor in male–male attraction for me. And I figured what the Hell. I’d been on the receiving end of surprise party sex a few times myself, and it was late, no one would miss us… Back then I was still somewhat sensitive about my bisexuality, however tentative, being known, largely because my circle of ‘friends’ consisted largely of homophobes, some more disappointing to discover this about than others.
In any event, he got my gold standard, best effort. And I really enjoyed it. Part of it was the dynamic, part the emotional bond between us, but partly, best I can say is he has a really nice cock to suck. And the full experience, both the sensations (warm, velvety but hard and unmistakably male in my mouth, sized just right to not give me an instant sore jaw), but also the feeling of being in that unmistakably submissive position, both physically, and dynamics–wise, and being happy to just surrender to it and focus on giving another man as much pleasure as I was able. His feedback was certainly appreciative, to say nothing of copious.
I’m much less sexually active these days, so I haven’t exactly been considering diving into the male end of the pool any time soon, but you never know. If the time was right, the chemistry was there, and all that, I wouldn’t rule it out.
I suppose this is my coming out, though really, among the people who know me, I doubt it’s much of a secret. It’s just, due to the previously mentioned prevalence of homophobia (largely among people I no longer associate with) and not really finding it a particularly appropriate topic for family dinner, I’ve never really expressed it fully before. I identify as Queer, but always just left it at that.
So, let it be my coming out, however little of a shock it may be to friends and family. If anyone should read this, I hope you weren’t too bored, and, with some hint of seriousness for a moment, if anything in my experiences helps you with yours, or lends context, or whatever, then I’m glad I took the time to write. If not, well, mine wasn’t exactly the most emotionally trying, or physically difficult, or socially poisonous of experiences, and for that I am grateful, even as I remain sensitive and sympathetic to those whose paths haven’t been so smooth.
I should probably mention, and so am doing so now, that I have, among the other less than horrifying experiences I can own on the subject of being Queer, had the good fortune, if it can be called that, to have lived my life almost entirely in and around Montreal, which is one of the most gay–tolerant, or outright accepting (or simply not caring) cities in North America, and the time I spent elsewhere was in San Francisco. Which is just to say that, while one can no doubt find trouble and negative experiences anywhere, I definitely improved my odds against being faced with wide–spread, or systemic intolerance or hatred, by living where it is pretty much least likely to take root and fester on any sort of wide scale. May it always remain so, and that the rest of the continent catch up, and even surpass, these attitudes. (I know, Provincetown, you’re pretty Queer–positive as US cities go, particularly on the East Coast, but I’ve never lived there, or even visited, so the only reason I’m even mentioning you is as a shout–out of sorts.)
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