After the Fall, a post script

After reading a post by my dear friend Tony entitled "Shame", I realized that the meaning behind the title of this blog, “Forever Silent”, originates from my feelings of shame. As old as I am and with all my life experience, I am unable to get past the shame of being gay. For myself, I feel that I have come to accept that I am gay but I am still too ashamed for it to be public knowledge. Also, the the shame and discomfort my wife feels about that part of my personality would most likely keep me in the closet for the foreseeable future.




Tony, in his post, spoke about standing, looking out at the river and having details come back to his remembrance about his past experiences, an epiphany of sorts. I had something similar to that happen to me recently.



In an earlier post entitled, "The Fall", I wrote of my special friend David, who had disappeared from my neighborhood and I did not know what had happened to him. As I originally wrote this story, I wrote it in the way that I remembered it. Recently, in another effort to explain, again, to my wife some of my feelings about that time in my life, something returned to my consciousness that I had "forgotten". As I struggled with my emotions, a memory came flooding back to me as to what had happened to him.



Through tears of shame, I explained to my wife how I felt responsible for David's disappearance from his home and later in life, his suicide. She asked me why I would feel responsible. At this point, a window opened up in my mind and the memory came back to me that had remained hidden for decades.



After his disapperance, I learned that David had gotten into a fight with his drunken abusive father. I was not completely sure what the fight was about but I felt at the time and I probably was right, it was about me. It is so amazing to me how we can crowd difficult memories and feelings to the hidden corners of our mind.





David was a tough little kid and when his father started verbally and physically pounding on him, this particular time, he fought back, knocking his father down. David ran away, leaving his father semi-conscious on the floor. Eventually, David would go to his grandmothers home and would never return to live with his parents. I didn’t learn about some parts of this story until some time after his disappearance.

As I look back on the sequence of events that year some things have become quite clear to me. I am quite sure David's father had learned of our physical relationship, of our "summer activities, most likely from his sister who had promised not to tell.

As in other times that David and I had gotten into some trouble together, David's dad most likely called my father to apply the blame where he thought it belonged. My father never said a word to me about it. He probably didn't have a clue how to handle something like having a "queer" son, but the course of our family changed  soon after.

After this incident, we received a call from a local Mormon man who was proselyting for his church by phone. My father answered the phone that night. When he hung up he came into the livingroom where the rest of the family was watching tv. He told us of the conversation he had with this Mormon man and that he had agreed to let the Mormon Missionaries come visit our home and talk to us about their church. We were all stunned at this turn of events. My father had never before shown in any interest in any organized religion. Something or somebody must have changed his thinking. Me?

We met with the missionaries regularly for several weeks and soon after we were all baptised into the "Church". For my part, I readily accepted the teachings of the Church and still to this day believe that it's teachings are true. The Church and its members have been a valuable asset in my life and I am sure that because of it, I am alive today. I am grateful to my father for opening our home to the young Mormon Elders who taught me about our loving Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ. It was a time in my life when I needed the strength and support that this knowledge and all the other aspects of belonging to the Church provided me.

I must admit that I have struggled over the years with the knowledge that I was and am gay/bisexual because these feelings are in direct conflict with the moral standards of the Church.  But, the positive effects which the Church has brought to my life and the lives of my family, have more than outweighed whatever shame, fear and confusion that I have felt over the years. I do hope that someday I can reconcile those negative feelings which still cause me to be ...Forever Silent.

Chapter 1, Only the Beginning




Arial View of Fort Bragg
Note the Airfield in the Upper Right, Home of the 82nd Airborne.
Also, the famous red dirt of North Carolina 

 
During all this marching around and waiting endlessly for my turn in line, I had plenty of time time to look around at my surroundings and observe the people I found myself currently with. I was always a great one to sit to the side and to inconspicuously as posible,watch people. I realized that none of these guys were my friends, far from it. They were complete strangers, except for the guys I had traveled from home with. 

I've always been antisocial to a degree. And in the process of observing these new people in my life, I decided to myself that I had no one that I could trust here. I kept a close eye on the ones that immediately made me nervous and uncomfortable. Some were loud and pushy, seeking some kind of power over weaker individuals. I guess I fell into that category, so I was constantly on guard, expecting the unexpected. This inner sense of preservation was to save me some personal grief during the next few weeks and months but it also made it difficult to make friends. Looking back at it now I would probably use a different approach, but I was shy, insecure and afraid.

After all the "processing" was complete there was a lull in the action as we waited for the arrival our individual orders. These orders would assign us to our basic training units. I wasn't too anxious to be separated from this group that I was just beginning to get used to, although I hadn't really gotten to know anyone, other than who to stay away from.

Once we got our orders to a basic training unit the real training would begin and I had no idea what to expect. So far, I wasn't impressed with my original decision to put myself in this situation. I felt that I chosen the less of two evils and now I wasn't sure that I had made the right choice.

I longed for friendship and some sort of security. I knew that those things would eventually happen for me, but right now I was pretty miserable. I didn't let on to anyone what I was going through. I just played it cool, waiting for whatever was coming my way.

Eventually, our temporary drill sargeant called us togther and had us form into ranks. He then handed out our orders. He instructed us in the manner we were to be transported to the basic training area of Fort Bragg. He released us to get our stuff ready and told us to be ready at the given time.

As soon as we were released from formation, everyone started looking at their orders and talking excitedly about where they were being sent. I looked at my orders which at first made little sense to me. I looked around cautiously trying to figure out how others were doing in the process of learning where they were going. I found out that everyones orders were basically the same form. I just had to hunt down through the sheets of mimeographed papers until I found my name underlined in a long list of names divided into groups. Above the group of names that mine was included with was the unit's name, 3rd Plat CO D 2nd BN 1st BDE, United States Army Training Center. It was all greek to me but I went and did as I had been told.

Rude Awakening, Part 2

After our physicals, we were allowed to put our new underwear on and moved on to another part of the building.

There we were measured for size and issued a complete set of military clothing and other supplies that we would need for the next few weeks of Basic Training, boots, shoes, hats, socks, more new underwear, fatigues and khaki dress uniforms.

They issued a huge duffel bag to put it all into and an additional black case that we used to put our civilian clothes in. We were then marched back to our temporary barracks. I must have been a sight, trying to carry that huge duffle bag that constantly bumped and banged on the ground because I was so short and it was so heavy.

We were marched back to get lunch.



We were marched to get all the necessary documents produced to make us official U.S. Army “property”. They gave us each a number. Each number had a prefix. Mine was “RA”, Regular Army. I didn’t take me long to find out the “RA” made me a marked person, a target. Everyone knew that it meant that I had enlisted in the Army rather than being drafted. I was to be constantly reminded of my negative RA status during the next three years.



Draftees were given the prefix of “US”. Most of the men and boys I met in basic and with whom I worked with later on, were draftees. I found, pretty much immediately, that draftees didn’t have a very high opinion of anyone who had freely enlisted in the Army.



There was one other prefix that was notably different and received as much or more attention than “RA’s” and that was “NG”, for National Guard otherwise known as “Weekend Warriors”. The drill sergeants and the other permanent party (staff) would usually put them in charge of mundane work details and generally harass them due to their National Guard affiliation.



We were marched to get name tags to wear around our necks. In the event that we were later killed they would know who we were. They stamped our names on them. They stamped our new military serial numbers on them. They stamped our blood type and they stamped our religious preference on them. They were called “Dog Tags”.

When I was asked me what my religious preference was, Catholic or Protestant, I just casually said neither. The young Private taking the information was obviously getting confused easily. “He must be a Yankee fan”, I thought to myself. (Oops, sorry Yankee fans)



I told him again that I was neither a Catholic nor a Protestant.



“Ya got to be one or t'other”, he said.



I was new to the outside world but even I knew there were other religions around. I then told him I was a Mormon.



“A what?”



“A MORMON”, I repeated.



“Never heard of that before….Ok….If you say so.”



The next day when we were marched back to get pick up our shiny new dog tags, I found that my new tags had my religious preference as “Morman”. I always laughed afterward whenever I read my tags, that appeared to announce that I was More man. I also wondered afterward how long that Private stayed a Private.

Rude Awakening

It seemed I had no sooner closed my eyes when I was suddenly awakened by what seemed to be someone screaming. Someone yelling loudly for us to get up, it was time to get up, get dressed and go to breakfast. The person yelling was another sergeant. He said he had let us “sleep in” because we had arrived so late. I checked my watch again, 6:00 AM.

We groggily got up quiet and muttering to ourselves. We quickly got dressed and trudged outside, tripping over our own feet; just a bunch of blurry eyed boys, wondering what the heck was coming next. This new sergeant had us all line up in two columns and then he gave us a little training in regard to creating a proper military formation. Once we were lined up to his satisfaction, he then marched us down the short street in front of the barracks to the nearby mess hall. Apparently, we actually had slept in. It was obvious that many people had already had been eating in the mess hall. Several were still eating and many were leaving as we arrived. I noticed something on the way in that caught my attention. It looked like a ladder mounted horizontally on posts alongside the sidewalk approaching the door into the mess hall. I wondered what it was for. I would find out in the days to come.



We started that day off with a good breakfast. Army breakfast isn’t bad. Bacon and eggs, scrambled or fried, on an oily griddle. Oh, and pancakes and sausage, orange juice and coffee or milk. We hadn't eaten in what seemed like days. Once we were done with the wonderful breakfast, we went outside. We got back into "formation" and we began to make many short trips around the nearby area on foot, to one place and then another.  We marched to the “cadences” of our temporary drill sergeant. He sang in a loud, clear voice, “I don’t know but I’ve been told,…..”.



I was to march to many variations of cadences that started with these same words in the next few weeks and years. The intent of cadences is to help soldiers to march together in rhythm and in an organized manner. As he called out the cadences, he instructed us to repeat aloud each verse. They were mostly rude and crude plays on words, filled with sexual references and innuendoes. I was honestly embarrassed to have to repeat most of them. I wasn’t impressed with them then and to be honest, I can’t remember any of them now. If I was to guess, the practice is still done to this day.



One of the first things I learned during all this marching around, here and there, was that when we got to where we were going, we had to stand and wait, and wait, and wait. I’m sure you’ve heard the old military adage, “Hurry up and wait”? Well, the Army has it down pat, kind of like they do breakfast.

We marched EVERYWHERE!


We were marched to get our first military haircut.

I sat down in the barbershop to await my turn just as a cute, good looking boy with long, brown, curly hair was getting into one of the barber chairs. He was being asked by the barber how he wanted his hair cut. The kid innocently started to answer just as the barber ran the clippers over the top of the boys head, cleaning a smooth strip right down the middle of his head, exposing his smooth, pale scalp. Everyone laughed as the rest of the kid's long hair slid off his head and onto the floor. I recall leaving the barbershop after having had my  head "sheared" and seeing every one of the new recruits “waiting” outside with their now bald heads. Their scalps actually looked blue in the morning sunlight.


We were marched to get poked and prodded, again, AGAIN! by more doctors.


I could see that there would be no personal privacy in the Army. We were being processed through in groups and were told to strip naked, to strip off all of our civilian clothes and put them in a supplied paper bag. We got to keep our civilian clothes for use later when we would get to have leave or a pass into town. My poor civilian clothes didn’t get to touch my skin for many weeks to come.



I shyly peeked around realizing I was in a room full of naked, bare butted boys. I was embarrassed and extremely self conscious of my nudity, and theirs. I had never experienced being naked with anyone except my family when I was extremely young. And of course, with my friend, David. Most kids have nude experiences in the showers at school, gym or at the “Y”. But I never had. We all stood in a row, naked, as a doctor inspected our bodies top to bottom. He walked in front of us and then behind us, giving us instructions as he went. The one moment that sticks out in my mind is when he told us all to bend over at the waist, reach behind us and spread our butt cheeks. He walked along behind us inspecting our rectums. I thought it was really odd and humiliating at the time. But now, I am quite sure I know what he was looking for. I guess he didn't see anything notable about me, well, at least on the back side.



Although I would have been curious in any other situation, I tried to not look directly at any of the other naked boys. Fearing that if they caught me looking at them, they could somehow sense who and what I really “was”. Although I really wasn't sure about my sexuality at that time and even for years to come, I felt emotionally exposed, like they could see into my mind and realize what I feared the most about myself. Eventually, I was to get used to being naked and being around naked guys, during my years in the army (I actually got to enjoy it). But, I never got over the fear, the fear of being discovered or being accused, of being a queer. Speaking of which, in those days people referred to homosexuals as queers. It was an extremely derogatory term and it brings back the memory of my fathers use of the term.  There was something inherently mean and hateful in the way people said the word “queer” back then. I remember my father saying to me and one of my close friends once that people would think we were "queer" if they saw me and my friend in our innocent horse play. I was really young at the time. I didn't really know what he meant by it, but I knew by the inflection in his voice it wasn't good. I remember it like it was yesterday. If parents only realized how words can cut a young kid's heart.



During these physical exams, one of the boys who had traveled with me from home had to be discharged from the Army after his first two days. He had had a cold when he boarded the plane and he had broken the eardrum in one of his ears during the flight. Now, he was deaf in one ear. At least he would live to tell about his short experience in the Army during the era of the Vietnam War.

A fortunate loss in my opinion.

Chapter 16, Long Wet and Lonely Night

The corporal’s statement that “somebody” would be picking us up in just a “few minutes”, wasn’t very accurate. It turned into a wait that seemed like hours of lonely misery. After the corporal had left us in this damp dark corner of who knows where, a few of the boys began complaining about the “f-ing army”. It seems, for the next three years of my life, those two words just naturally went together and sprang from people’s lips, with additional poignant variations.



Most of us were not feeling well. Several had been sick from their consumption of liquor. Throw in the lack of any “real” food in hours and no rest, plus the natural anxiety of our situation, just made us all miserable as we waited for whatever was coming next in our endless traveling. I was just personally thankful that my headache was gone.



As we waited we didn’t know what to do with ourselves. Nobody was in the mood to talk or strike up friendships. No one had spoken to me from the time we were first in the induction center. The staff had seen to that with my so called “assignment”. But, I wasn’t paying much attention to the lack of friendly banter as we were all pretty much unfriendly by this point.



We had all looked around that small, soggy loading dock trying to locate a spot to get somewhat comfortable while we waited. I found a less wet area up close to the wall of the building. I leaned my back up against the wall and wrapped my arms around my thin legs to conserve whatever warmth I had left in my small body, I closed my eyes. Getting any sleep was impossible.



Eventually, out of the damp southern gloom, we heard what sounded like a truck approaching. It turned out to be a small military bus. It came careening to a halt in front of the loading dock with a crash of gears and the screech of brakes. (Reminds me now of Harry Potters experience with the “Knight Bus in the movie Prisoner of Azkaban”). A sergeant jumps off the bus and yelled, “Come on “troops”, we don’t have all night, get your asses and your gear onboard and let’s get the hell out of here!”

Finally, I thought, we’re getting out of this miserable hole. Apparently, I wasn’t alone in my assessment of the situation as there was a flurry of activity as we all grabbed our “gear” and eagerly got our “asses” onto the bus. We took off into the night with a lurch and more grinding of gears accompanied by more than a few, choice, profanity laced remarks from the sergeant directed mostly at the old cranky bus, but some were aimed in our direction as well.

Apparently we hadn’t been too far away from our final destination. Soon, we could see the sky glowing white over the treetops. In what seemed like a just a few minutes we approached the front gated entrance of Fort Bragg. The sergeant driving the bus waved at the guard as we drove through the gate and into what would be our home away from home for the next few months.

After a few more lurching and jarring turns, we started passing row upon row of military barracks. We came to a sudden stop in front of one of them as the sergeant announced, “We here “troops”. Grab your gear and follow me.” He led us into the darkened barracks which turned out to be unoccupied. The sergeant didn’t bother to even turn on the lights. We could faintly see rows of bunk beds from the light streaming through the bare windows from the streetlights outside. As he was leaving the sergeant said, “ Grab a “bunk” and get some sleep, it’s late. I’ll be back in the morning to take you to breakfast.”



We felt our way around and discovered the “bunks” were metal bunk beds with bare mattresses with bare pillows laying on them. We couldn’t see what condition they were in but they didn’t feel or smell very good. In fact, I was pretty grossed out but I was so tired I just found a lower bunk off to one side and fell onto the mattress and didn’t move except to look at my watch, 3:30 AM.

Chapter 15, Migraine Express

My memories of the trip south to North Carolina are a bit hazy and jumbled. For one thing, I developed one of my world class migraine headaches. Some months later when I had become “educated” to the way military people handled things, I realized that “assigning” me to watch over this group of teenage raucous boys traveling to basic training was a joke being played at my expense. Those guys back at the induction center must have had a good laugh. At the time I didn’t know that. I was really worried.

I had taken the “assignment” seriously and I fully expected to be held accountable for whatever these guys did during their last few hours of freedom. I knew that there was little chance that I could have any influence on these new recruits or their behavior. They obviously had no concern about me. I was already stressing out, and we hadn’t even left yet. I could only imagine how much trouble they could get me into.

That afternoon we were taken to the local airport where we were boarded onto a Northeast Airlines airliner. It appeared to be a regular commercial flight as it was filled with civilian passengers. Once aboard, we were seated as a group toward the back of the plane. We all had that “deer in the headlights” look to our eyes. We were squirming around in our seats trying to take everything in. I’m sure most of these guys were like me, just boys who had never really been away from home before. I had never flown on an airplane and it was quite the experience. As soon as we had taken off and were at cruising altitude the stewardess started offering the passengers “liquid refreshment”. I noticed some of the boys were winking and grinning at each other. Soon the stewardess was handing the boys miniature bottles of "booze" which they paid for and quickly poured into their glasses. The stewardess never questioned any of the boys ages, assuming that if they were old enough to serve in the military they were old enough to drink. My anxiety rose as I saw them order more drinks and knew that before long that they would be intoxicated. I was way too inexperienced and timid to say anything. I knew no one would pay any attention to me anyway. I just sank back in my seat and closed my eyes.



We landed in New York and were to be transferred to a different airline. I can remember sitting in a hallway somewhere half scared out of my wits. My head was killing me and I felt sick to my stomach. Luckily, after a while my headache backed off and I started to feel better. Eventually someone came to get us and directed us to follow them. We were led back out onto the tarmac. Sitting there, shining in the late evening sun, was this old style airliner. It was a Piedmont Airlines DC3.

This old airplane had a tip down door with stairs built into it. We climbed the stairs into the passenger cabin. The plane had two large wheels in the front and a small trailing wheel in the back. As we entered the cabin we had to walk uphill to climb into our seats. I thought, “Great, another bargain for the U.S. government.” As we flew on this last leg of the flight the guys continued to drink. I had grown weary of worrying and decided I would just take my lumps when we showed up at Fort Bragg. I finally just fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.



We landed somewhere late in the night. I had no idea where. We wearily got off the plane and stepped into the chill damp night air. Blinking my sleepy eyes, I looked around,  trying to see where we were and noticed a young, sleepy looking, army corporal waiting nearby, apparently waiting for us . He seemed no older than we were. On the damp and puddled tarmac, we gathered together into this ragged group of tired young boys in wrinkled and smelly civilian clothes. The young corporal, doing his best to sound authoritive, told us to follow him. He led us to what appeared in the dim, misty surroundings, to be some kind of loading dock made of old wooden timbers. Everything was saturated as though it had just recently stopped raining heavily. In between yawns, he wearily instructed us sit down and wait. We were not to wander off, that someone was coming from Fort Bragg to pick us up, and would be there in a few minutes. After making sure that we understood him, he stumbled off into the darkness leaving us to our own thoughts of, what seemed to us, an unknown fate. He had apparently had been given this late night assignment of meeting our plane and was now headed back to his nice warm bed.

Lucky him!

Chapter 14, Induction Day

I left my parents at the curb in front of the large brick building that housed the US Army Induction Center. When I turned and walked away from them, I knew I was leaving everything I had ever known and loved behind, at least for the near future. I was so scared.




I went inside and followed the recruiting signs to the 3rd floor of the Federal Building. I was met there by one of the recruiters I had met earlier that summer. I had enlisted in August and had been assigned to the Inactive Army Reserve for 3 months. He greeted me and then escorted me to a room filled with other “boys” in civilian clothes along with some Army personnel.



It turned out that there were 16 new recruits being processed into the Army that day, mostly draftees. I looked around to see if I recognized any of them. Other than the recruiter, there was no one there that I knew. I found a seat to one side, sat down and tried to relax, breathing slow and deep.


Once everyone had arrived, we commenced with the process of signing our lives away to Uncle Sam. This is just an old expression but the sad fact is, some of these boys did forfeit their lives for their country before their enlistment was up.



I remember there was a ream of forms we all had to complete and sign. Some things we had to “swear to”, concerning our character, medical background and criminal record. I recall a form having to do with homosexual behavior. I really wasn’t expecting this. My mouth suddenly went dry. I tried to swallow and almost choked. I slowly read over the form with its very personal questions again. There was nothing else I could do. After all I wasn't sure that I was homosexual, was I? I carefully checked the “appropriate” boxes and signed the form. When I was done my stomach was in a knot. I tried not to feel or look scared or to show any emotion. I covertly lowered my head to one side and looked around to see if anyone was watching me. Would anyone see the fear on my face? Could anyone tell that I felt that I had not told the truth when I filled out that form? Again, that nagging thought returned, “What have I done?” Although I did my best not to show it, from this point on I was really terrified.



Some of the guys complained later about many of the things they were asked about and declarations they had been asked to make. They felt insulted by some of the questions. One guy murmured, “Do they think we are a bunch of fags?” I didn’t have anything to say. I was in my usual “stealth” mode, watching but not getting involved, hoping to avoid any undue attention or trouble.



We had to endure being “inspected” physically to see if we were healthy enough to be admitted into military service. I had had a physical three months earlier. What they thought would have changed during that short time I am not sure. I know I felt totally embarrassed and humiliated by the process.



At some point we were sent down in small groups to a nearby diner for the worst meal I think I ever had. It consisted of extremely overcooked boiled hot dogs and mixed vegetables. I thought to myself that someone must be making some money off the government for this meal. At least it was a relief for me to get away from that ordeal for a few minutes.



When we were done eating, we were escorted back to complete the processing and to have the swearing in ceremony. I don’t remember the words that we actually said during the swearing in, but it all seemed very final. We were officially in the Army. As we lined up to be sworn in, I did happen to notice that I was the smallest guy in the group. That was nothing new for me.



Soon we were told that we would be leaving the induction center. The Army had made arrangements for us to fly out of the local airport to Fort Bragg in North Carolina. We were flying out on a commercial airliner that very afternoon. We were then handed our orders and we were told how we should behave on the way down. We were warned not to buy any alcoholic drinks on the airplanes and to conduct ourselves with the dignity of soldiers in the U.S. Army. We were to be traveling unsupervised. At this point, the NCO giving the instructions looked out over the group of raw recruits and then looked directly at me. He then said, “Private Walker, you’re going to be in charge of these men on the way to Fort Bragg. You are responsible to see that they do what we’ve instructed. No one is to show up drunk or to wander off. It is your responsibility to see that these instructions are followed. Do you understand Private?” I heard a couple of stifled snickers come from somewhere in the room.



With a sinking feeling with the accompanying nausea, I responded by saying, “Err… yes sir.”



“What did you say Private Walker?”



“Yes Sir.”



“Don’t call me Sir, Private Walker. I work for a living. I’m a sergeant not an officer. You don’t call sergeants Sir.”



So much for my avoiding trouble, things were not getting off to a good start.

Explicitly So

I recently went back to the “old” neighborhood. Everything looked the same... but different. The houses and the street somehow looked smaller. Some of the homes had been remodeled and are more upscale than when “we” had lived there. I stood across the street from my old “home”. The emptiness and sadness in my heart returned with a vengeance. I was looking at my house and at David’s house next door. I was looking for some sign that we had been there, so many years ago. There was nothing left, absolutely nothing. This experience reminded me of why I was motivated to write this story.

When I began writing this blog, I really felt stupid. After all, what did I have to offer anyone?  As I thought back on my life as a 14 year old, I remembered how lonely and lost I was. I was haunted by my realization that I liked boys. At that date and time, that was something that was totally unacceptable by everything I had been taught, directly and indirectly, by those around me. I felt it was repulsive and disgusting to everyone that was important in my life, and at times, sadly, it was to me.  That is why I have remained silent all these years.

At some point, I felt that it necessary to share my story as the young teenager discovering himself. I knew that the wording was explicit as I wrote it. I would lay awake at night as I thought about what to tell and how to tell it. I wrote and rewrote much of every post.  I knew that it wouldn’t be viewed by some folks with much acceptance.  I was a embarrassed many times with my openness as I pressed the “publish” button….But,

I kept writing.

I wrote an introduction to my blog as I realized what the story I was writing contained. The beginning of my life’s story concerning David and me is explicit. I wrote it so, that maybe others could somehow experience the “sameness” between their lives and mine. For this I make no apologies. Somewhere out there in this world, there are other young people experiencing the same things that I did when I was 14. Maybe they are feeling the anguishing things, feeling lonely, ashamed or hopeless. I need to let them know that there is something beyond that loneliness, shame and hopelessness.  I need to let them know that there is joy in living even though there are rough spots and challenges along the way. That there are wonderful life experiences that they won’t have if they give in to discouragement.

I owe it to them and I owe it to David to tell this story in the honest, open and yes, explicit way that I have.

Internal Debate

I have been debating with myself about where to go from this point on in my story. What I have already written on my blog posts and pages has pretty much expressed the sum total of my homosexual experiences. I’m not sure anyone may be interested in the story of my life in the U.S. Army or my life since. My life after serving in Vietnam has been that of a pretty average, young married Mormon boy that grew up to be an older married Mormon grandfather. With the one exception, I have been comfortable with my chosen path. That exception has come to haunt me occasionally over the years.




I don’t have anymore gay love stories to tell. I have had many friends as everyone does. Some of them turned out to be gay. I wish more of them had been gay. It’s a lonely life having to be so covert about this side of my personality. I wished I could have been openly gay/bisexual from the day I met David. But things were different back then as many older bloggers point out.



I have decided that I will continue with my story about my life, if for no one else if not for myself. I feel the need to write about my experiences in the hope that I can gain some understanding about why I am the way I am. And I also hope to continue to make new friends here. The friends that I have made already have been a great support. The sad part is that some have disappeared over the last few months. I miss them. I hope that they are OK. I hope you are OK.

Chapter 13, A Strange Mormon Boy

As we traveled the last few miles, many thoughts were still going through my mind. Memories came flooding back, holidays with my family, visits to relatives, all the things I would miss as I moved on to my new life in the Army. I would miss being with my school friends and family. I would also miss my church family that had given me so much support over the last few years. I would especially miss my lost friend, David.




Back when I was 14, we received a phone call from a member of the Mormon Church. My father had answered the phone. The caller was a stranger to our family and he was doing some missionary work in the form of contacting people at random by phone. He asked my father if he knew anything about the Mormon Church and if he would be interested in finding out more. My parents had apparently been talking about religion recently and he thought to himself, “why not?” So, he agreed to have the Mormon Missionaries visit our home. When he hung up the phone, he came and told the rest of us what he had done.

We were all shocked. Mormons? Coming here? I have concluded years later that my Dad was searching for a solution to the problems within our family, with me. He was desperately trying to find a way to help his family find happiness.



It turned out that the “Missionaries” were really nice guys. They were polite and sincere. They taught my family the “discussions”, a series of lessons about the Church and it's beliefs. My family quickly became attached to the boys in suits and ties. As we learned about this Church and its beliefs about our Heavenly Father, his son Jesus Christ and the Holy Spirit, I saw some changes take place in my family. I saw my Dad pray for the first time, openly asking God if what the missionaries were teaching us was true. I believe we received an answer to his prayer, that it was true. I saw my family open up to this new group of people. These people were wonderful and we quickly developed enduring friendships. A new spirit had come into our home that brightened up our lives. It was great.



Over the next few weeks, we completed the lessons and attended church meetings each Sunday. In October we decided as a family to get baptized into the Church and to make “the mighty change” in our lives that it would require. People and families don’t get religion all of a sudden without realizing that a new set of priorities are required. It was good to see the positive effect all this was having on our little family.



Personally, I was going by instinct. I was following my heart. I was following what I felt was a spiritual prompting. I felt good about the whole experience and looked forward to being a Mormon. It was exciting. I had new friends, new beliefs and a new way of life. As I look back at it now, having this positive experience right at this time most likely saved my life. This all took place when I needed it most, following the loss of my best friend, David. I had been depressed and I still felt confused and rejected at his sudden disappearance from my life. I needed this positive change in my life and I needed the new friends. As I went through the last few years of High School, I lived the life of an active, if somewhat aloof, Mormon boy. Aloof, because I still harbored a SECRET.



The confusion I had about my sexual feelings would come back to haunt me in the quiet, secret, moments “in my room”. It was during these quiet moments that the ghostly knowledge that I was attracted to boys would return, bringing with it guilt and loneliness. I didn’t realize it then, but this was just the beginning of a lifelong, secret guilt trip, a life of inner conflict.

Chapter 13, Scared Sick

As I lay slumped back in my seat, I was starting to feel nauseated as it suddenly dawned on me what I had taken on. I was leaving home for the first time in my life. I was going into a situation of which I had no personal experience. I realized that I was scared to death.




Occasionally, Mom and Dad would talk in quiet conversation. A few times my father tried to lighten up the moment with his usual humor but with little effect. I was in the back seat in the midst of an anxiety attack, nothing new for me. I had learned to live with anxiety throughout my life. It was no fun.



Nauseated, I rolled down my window a little bit and took long slow breaths, fighting down the sickness. I closed my ears and tried to think of something else, anything else, but what I was about to do.



All at once my Dad slowed down the car and said something I didn’t catch.



“What?” I said.



“Look! …Adon, look at what is in the road ahead.”



As the car came to a stop in the early mist of dawn, I opened my eyes.



There standing in the road was the biggest whitetail buck deer I had ever seen in my life. He was just standing there looking at us, not fifty feet from the front of our car.



“Whoa! Look at the size of him, Dad." He must weigh 350 pounds at least. What’s the matter with him? He is just standing there!



Dad said, “I think he came to say goodbye to you, Adon”



Dad shut off the engine, parked at a dead stop, right in the road. As we watched this magnificent creature, he apparently decided that standing in middle of Route 1, the heavily traveled coastal route, might not be the safest place for a trophy buck to be standing. He slowly walked across the road and into the woods on the other side. All the while he still looked at us, at me, until at the last second as he disappeared out of sight.

My Dad started the car as we continued on to our destination. Soon I would be saying goodbye to the people closest to me. As I settled back into my seat, I sat in wonder at what had just happened. I had worn myself out for weeks looking for a deer just like that. And, he shows up on this day to wish me off on the greatest and scariest adventure of my life.



The anxiety attack was gone. The fear I had felt was gone. My Native American ancestors would have said that it was a good omen. The deer seemed to be showing me respect and wishing me well. Somehow I knew that I would be able to face all that I had before me, good or bad. And that somehow, sometime, I would be back here, to the greatest place on earth, my home.

Chapter 12, Sudden Awareness

I spent the three months from August through November enjoying everything that I could before my upcoming induction date of November 27, 1967. I spent a lot of time with my parents that summer. I know they were concerned about me eventually going to Vietnam and they wanted to be with me as much as they could before I left for basic training. Every night we would watch the progress of the War on the news. It was usually really graphic and I could see it really bothered them, especially Mom. It was probably torture for her. It didn’t seem to worry me much for some reason.




I kept myself busy. During the day I worked for some rich people mowing their lawns, gardening and keeping their cars clean and polished. From 3:30 in the afternoon to early evening I worked for my old Mormon friend on his farm. His son, one of my friends at church, was already in the Army going through Warrant Officer training, Jump School, and Helicopter Flight School. I had replaced him on the farm that season. I became quite the young farmer. I loved the time I spent with my old friend on his farm. He was a warm friendly man with a wonderful sense of humor. He taught me how to drive and after I got my drivers license he let me drive us in his new truck wherever we went. That meant a lot to me. My own father wouldn’t have done that for me.



My father did help me buy my first car though. It was a 1962 Ford Falcon Futura. It was white with red interior. I thought it was pretty cool with its bucket seats and console. My friends weren’t that impressed. They kept making remarks about it being a roller skate or sissy car. Today, kids would say it was gay. Maybe it was.

In November, preceding my induction into the Army, I spent as much time as I could hunting. It was deer season and I was brought up to be a hunter. I went hunting almost everyday in quest of the big buck. November 27th quickly arrived and although I saw a couple of deer, they were just glimpses and I ended up with nothing to show for my time except being in the woods that I loved. That big buck that I spent so much time hunting, was safe.

Eventually, induction day finally arrived. My parents and I got up early to make the trip to take me to the nearest induction center which was 60 mile away. There wasn’t much conversation during the trip. As we passed through the familiar towns and villages, I looked around and suddenly realized to my horror that I might not get to see any of this again. I quickly looked at Mom and Dad in the front seat. They were talking quietly and I realized how much I loved them. I had never been away from them or left home before. It would devastate them if anything bad were to happen to me.

What had I done?

Chapter 11, A Chosen Path

During the next three years of high school it seemed as though I had a split personality. I was alone, I was lost, confused and I was missing my best friend. I was missing the boy I loved, my friend David. I was also missing the part of me that I had just grown to realize existed. I became more socially aloof. I spent a lot of my time alone in my room reading and occasionally “jerking off”. As I would see my reflection in the mirror, I could almost see David in the image sitting beside me. I was a lonely, little, sexually confused kid with no one to talk to or play with. I never found any other boys like me at my school. There was no way to do so without exposing yourself to ridicule and I was too shy anyway.




I had two school friends that I spent a lot of time with. They were both apparently "normal" straight boys. I enjoyed the time I would spend with them and their families and then I would return home. When I was home I would go about as though everything was ok but I knew that it wasn’t. I think my parents were aware that I wasn’t myself and were concerned for me. I spent all my time with boys and I suspect that they may have wondered why I didn’t have any interest in girls. I never went to any school activities and never had a date. They knew I was extremely shy and they tried to encourage me. They used to ask me about it once in a while but what could I say?



During my freshman year at high school I joined the Mormon church along with my sister and parents. One of the positive influences outside of my immediate family was a special adult friend that seemed to recognize that I was different and needed a someone to talk to. He was a young married leader in my branch of the church who had; it seemed to me, way to many kids. (just kidding). He was a kind, gentle man with a sincere heart and a quiet manner. I never really confided in him but I knew he was there if I needed him. Looking back maybe I probably should have.



There was also an older man my father's age, also a Mormon, who gave me employment, who showed me how to work and trusted me with his expensive equipment. he had a great sense of humor. He taught me empathy and compassion for others. He and his family filled a void in my life and even today after he is gone, his children and grandchildren are like family to me.



When I was a senior in high school, there were some choices I needed to make. First, it is customary in the Mormon Church for boys 19 and older to serve proselyting missions for the church. That would mean that I would leave home for two years to teach about the beliefs of the. church. I need to tell you that I believe that this would have been good for me. My son served a mission when he was of age and I feel it blessed him in ways that you can’t imagine. I never went. My father never encouraged me to go. I think he may have known what was going on with me but he never confronted me directly. For my part, I was terrified at the prospect of knocking on the doors of strangers to teach them what I knew to be true. I was just too shy. And knowing what I know now, I would have probably ended up in the shower with one of my companions, to return home in disgrace.



The other choice was whether or not to enlist in the military. There was a new draft being implemented, the Selective Service Act of 1967. It was a “lottery”, where you were assigned a number according to your birth date. The Selective Service was to hold a drawing in what seemed at the time, the immediate future. I just felt in my heart that I was going to be drafted in the first round. I didn’t want to be drafted into the infantry. We all knew what happened to boys in the infantry. I decided to enlist before I got drafted and have some choice about my specialized training and where I might end up. My parents were concerned but I didn’t really care at this point. I felt that I had something to prove to myself. Was I a man or not? It was more preferable to me to face death in a vicious war, than to serve a nice safe church mission with the potential shame and failure. Kind of ironic, don’t you think?

In Remembrance

I cried again recently as I stood over his grave. Looking down at his headstone, I read the inscription, 1952-1991. It was shortly before his fortieth birthday when he died. I asked him out loud, “Oh, David. What happened?”




David’s gravesite is located on a high hill overlooking the town we grew up in. From where he is buried you can look out over the part of town where the schools are that he and I had walked to daily until that last summer. You can see the athletic fields where I used to help him put on his catchers gear when he played Little League. School is out for another summer and the late afternoon sun warmed the quiet neighborhoods. I could hear an occasional boy or girl's laugh or yell as it floated up from the homes below.



It was years later that I pieced together what took place following our leaving high school. After we graduated we both entered the U.S. Army. I was older than David and was in Vietnam when he was drafted. I went into the service to avoid the new draft, the “lottery” the Selective Service had instituted in 1967. I was home going to a technical college when he returned from his tour in Vietnam. He came home emotionally scarred and an alcoholic. I saw him a couple of times in the years that followed. Once, as he was walking by my home with his kids and once we ran into each other outside of Walmart. Both times, after we had talked, I walked away feeling empty inside.




I went to his funeral in 1991. He had at one time turned his alcoholic life around and had become a councilor of alcohol addiction at the local VA hospital. I remembered in our conversation outside of Walmart he said that he didn’t feel that there was much to look forward to in his life. He had seen what happens to some of the old alcoholic veterans and their never ending cycles.



He was divorced and living by himself. He used to call his widowed mother every day until one day he didn’t. She got worried and went over to his home. She found him sitting in his car, inside the closed up garage, with the car’s engine running. He was dead.



When we were kids, it seemed David was fearless outside of his home because he was away from his usually drunken and sullen parents. I was asked once, if I was afraid of David because of his fearless behavior. I wasn't afraid of him as much as afraid for him. I felt like I had to be watchful as his big brother. Looking back, I don't think he was sexually abused but I know he was abused physically and mentally. At home, he had to rely on his older sister or his own independent and inventive nature to cope with his home life. Although I was older than he, when we were together, he usually took the lead, with me holding back to protect him in any way I could. I felt powerless most of the time and in the end I was.

Chapter 10, The Fall

And there was a “next” time, actually, lot of next times. For the few weeks left of our summer vacation from school, David and I had a new “secret” signal to let each other know that we wanted to “play” with each other. One of us would say, “Gee, it’s hot!” We would look at each other with a smile and know what we both wanted. We got naked together whenever we could. Usually, we did it in my house. But, sometimes David’s imagination ruled the day. We did it in David’s “camp” behind our houses or in my Dad’s old Buick parked behind the barn. It was a like living a dream, it was a wonderful fantastic time. As I look back on it now I recognize that there were other feelings that I was developing for David. I didn't know exactly what they were or what they meant but I felt different toward him.




Eventually, August turned into September and it was nearly time for school to start back up. When we actually did start school something happened that caused my world t come crashing down around me.

I was going to be a freshman that year in high school. David was still in middle school. The day school started, it was like someone had flipped a switch in our lives. After being together nearly every day for years, and especially that summer, David just disappeared. It turned out that first day of school I ended up walking to school alone.  We had walked to school together for years. Although our schools were adjacent to each other, David and I didn’t get walk to school together that day or ever again. He just wasn’t around. I never got to see him or talk to him. Where the heck was he??



One day I saw his sister walking up ahead of me and I ran to catch up. As casually as I could I asked her about David and she said he had a new girl friend, which was something that confused me. He had never mentioned girls to me. And then she turned and yelled at me, "He's gone!" And it's your fault and you know why!" I just stood there cemented to the ground as she ran toward her front door.

"What? What was she talking about?"


I moped around the house wondering what had taken place. How could this happen? He was there with me on the Friday before Labor Day weekend and after the holiday he just evaporated? I finally did get a glimpse of him one time as he came home late one afternoon as he going into his house by the front door. I stayed glued in my tracks as I watched his house. He didn't stay long. And, he looked different. He was no more the rough and tumble boy running around in blue jeans and no shirt. He was a shadowy figure and moved like he didn’t want to be seen. He was different somehow. I was confused and heartsick. A few minutes later he came out with some bags and got into an unfamiliar car. He didn't come back.



Weeks later, I stood in the living room where we so recently had experienced the joy of our special friendship and yes, our sexual awakening. Just like the rest of my house it was full of secret memories. I looked out the front window at the empty yard that ran between our houses. There were no laughing boys on bikes. There was no yelling of jokes or playful insults. The whole neighborhood seemed deserted and darkly quiet. The special, “secret” signals between two innocent friends were no longer heard. David no longer raced out the back door with anticipation and excitement on his face. I missed his grin and his silly antics. I also missed the rush in my heart as his hands touched my body and mine his. And above all I missed just being with him. The heat of the summer had cooled and with it the warmth that had been in my heart, leaving in it’s stead a chilling cold emptiness.



I suddenly looked up to see the reflection of a boys face in the window glass. It was a boy that I didn’t recognize. The boy had a sad lonely face with tears streaming down his cheeks. With a shock I realized that it was me. I turned away from the window and crossed the room to the couch where David and I had first trusted each other with our innermost and deepest secrets and desires. I sat down and the sobs racked my body. I realized then that I loved him and he was gone. And I knew that my life would never be the same.

Chapter 9, The Hot Boys of Summer

Later on that day, David and I had lunch in our separate homes. Usually, my parents came home for lunch and David’s mother rode home with them as they all worked for the same firm. The whole time they were home I was itching for them to go back to work. I don’t know if they noticed anything different about me that day or not. I was worried that they would think something was going on with me. I tried to relax and be myself. But it was hard. I felt that something inside of me had changed and that it would be really obvious to those around me.




After lunch was over and as soon as they had pulled out of sight, I was out the door. David and I met outside but we weren’t alone. His brother and the kid, Jeff from across the street were with us. We were riding around the street on our bikes and playing as we would have on any other day of the summer. During the afternoon it got really hot. Hot humid weather in August is to be expected along the coast. We had stopped riding and were sitting on the “banking”. That’s what we called the bank of lawn that separated our two homes. My home sat on higher ground than his did. We were both hot and sweaty. Mike and Jeff had gone off to kill a dragon or something, leaving David and I alone for the first time in hours.



David leaned back on his hands and said, “God, it’s hot!”



I said, “You want to come in the house? It’s probably cooler in there.”



He agreed, asking what there was to drink. We got some drinks from the kitchen and went into the living room. It was considerably cooler at that end of the house. As we cooled off, quenching our thirst, we started talking about our experiences with “jerking off” again. We hadn’t mentioned it since our initial meeting that morning. I tensed up immediately. Was this why I had been so antsy that morning with my parents? I started getting nervous.



David asked me, “You want to do it now? Can we do it together? ”



This really took me by surprise. I thought for a second and hesitantly replied, “Ummm…Err…sure I guess so.”



“OK! Great!” David started stripping off his clothes like they were on fire.



I on the other hand I was a bit slower. By the time I had pulled my tee shirt off over my head, David was stark naked and jumping around the room, swinging his arms around his head. “C’mon Adon, woo-woo!”



I couldn’t believe how quickly he got undressed.  I had never in my life undressed with someone outside of my family. I must have been some shade of purple with embarrassment. But David was acting so foolish, I quickly lost my fear and started laughing too. Soon I was naked. As I looked over at his naked body, I felt a rush come into my own body. I never had felt anything like it before in my life! I could feel myself starting to get hard as I watched David naked body dance around performing  silly antics. David’s body was beautiful to me. It was slim and muscular, two toned as would be expected, tanned above the waist and silky smooth, milky white, below.





David said “Hey, hurry up Adon! And then, " Hey, yours is different than mine.”



He was pointing to my penis. He was right. My penis had more skin around the end than his. We found this to be interesting and started checking out each others bodies more closely. He leaned in closer to me and I felt his eyes looking me all over. I started to feel self conscious again. He noticed that I had been getting hard and smiled up at me. I noticed that he had one hand holding his penis and the other cradling his balls. He was hard too. He plopped down next to me on the couch. I was feeling so excited as I watched him start to stroke himself as he watched me. I felt like I was in heaven. I understood right away that I was enjoying doing this and that I enjoyed being watched by him as I did it. I also especially enjoyed watching him rub his nice tight penis. It was absolutely delightful.



David was getting kind of fidgety. I said, “Are you ok David?”



“Yeah, I’m great." And then hesitatingly he said, "Ah…mmm...can I, mmm...can I touch yours? Can I touch it?”



“Um...Ok.... if I can I touch yours.’



He reached over with his right hand and wrapped his fingers around my rock hard penis. “This is great. Wow, yours is bigger than mine. Cool!” he said. I could feel the warmth of his hand as he started to slide it up and down the length if my rigid penis.



I had reached over with my left hand and did my best to follow suit. It seemed I wasn't very coordinated with my left hand but tried to be careful so as not to hurt him. His penis was narrower than mine and had a slight upward curve to it. It was rigid like mine except it was like it was spring loaded, pressing up against his tanned tummy. I had to slide my hand in between his stomach and his rigidness and kind of push it down so I could stroke him. His penis didn’t have any extra skin and it was quite dry, making it a little awkward to rub my hand up and down. I loosened my grip so it would slide back and forth with less friction.



We looked at each other and grinned. I could see he was enjoying this as much as I was. Soon I could feel that special tingling feeling that I had felt the night before. I looked back down and noticed the tell tale slickness oozing out the end. David noticed it too and remarked, “Oh boy, I love this part. You know, when the slickery stuff comes out of the end.”



I loved it too, every second of it. And then I felt the pressure building and I started to feel like I was going to burst from the pressure of it. David felt it change in his hand and squeezed a little harder just as it erupted. White boy stuff spewed straight up and out. It landed on my legs and it kept coming as he pumped it. It started running down over his hand. I couldn’t take much more and said, “stop David!” but he wasn’t paying any attention because his “Willy” was following my example. I squeezed him and felt his pulse just as his boy juice pumped up through his shaft in pure delight. His penis exploded as a loud “Ahhh…Oh…” escaped from David’s lips. It’s delightful stuff blew up onto his naked tanned chest and ran down into his milky white groin, mixing with his soft, downy blond pubic hair.



We both sat there in a daze. I looked at him and he looked at me. We were both grinning so much I thought our faces would break. We spent a few minutes basking in the sweet glow of satisfaction as we went limp. Eventually I took my gooey hand away from “Willy”. I looked at the amazing goo and caught its scent. It smelled wonderful.



David let go of me and looked at me with a questioning look on his face. “What?” he asked as he had noticed that I had my hand up near my nose. “This stuff smells good”, I answered.



“I know. I wonder what it tastes like?”



Before I could answer he had his finger is his mouth. “Not bad, kinda salty though. Try it Adon”.



“Err, no thanks. Maybe next time”, I said grinning.

Chapter 8, David

One thing you have to know about David and his whole family for that matter. He had absolutely no inhibitions. As his playmate for the many years leading up to the summer this took place, I spent almost everyday with him. I had to watch him closely as he would do anything, some of which could have landed us both in hot water. If he saw something he liked in a store, he would just put it in his pocket or under his shirt. I wouldn’t know about it until we would be on our way home. Then he would pull it out and show it to me saying “Look at what I got.” I think I finally got him to understand after several such incidences how much trouble we could have been in if he had gotten caught.




Nudity and open discussions of bodily functions were common in David's family. His story about doing “it” in front of his sister didn’t surprise me at all. This is the boy that used to come running out of the house stark naked, run over to the swing set and slide down the slippery slide on his bare butt. Ouch! Meanwhile his mother was at the door yelling for him to get his "naked ass" back into the house. This is the boy that in the summertime would play under a blanket on the front lawn with his brother Mike, take off his shorts, jump out naked and run around the front yard yelling, “NEKID”.



If he had to pee he would just pull it out and pee anywhere, anytime, well, almost. And his sister would pretty much do the same thing. One time we were playing in my back yard and she had to go. She said, “I gotta pee.” I thought she meant she was going over to her house and use the bathroom. Nope. She just pulled down her shorts and went.



I remember how embarrassed I was one time when I went over to their house one Saturday morning. I rarely went in their house because it really wasn’t a friendly place. He and his sister were still in their abbreviated underwear from the previous night which apparently they had slept in. While I was talking to them in their living room they both just stripped naked and put on clean clothes. Those kids were the only exposure I had to naked bodies before the day that Paul showed David and I his new trick. I wish my parents had been more open about nudity and sex but I sure wouldn't have traded home situations.

Chapter 7, Caught Red Handed

The next morning I awoke with a start. Oh yeah, I couldn’t wait to see David. My parents always woke up early and were just getting ready to go to work and leave me home alone, as usual. Not that I minded. I’ve always liked being alone. You know, so I could do my own thing. And doing my own thing had taken on a whole new dimension.




Dad yelled up the stairs saying goodbye and for me to "behave" myself. I said I would and then I heard the car start up and leave. Ah, home alone! I jumped out of bed and hurriedly got dressed. I jumped down the stairs two at a time and hurried out to the kitchen. I looked out the kitchen window at David’s house and his family’s car was still in the driveway. “Shoot, they’re still home”, I said out loud. Might as well have breakfast, I thought. I got out the Cheerios and milk and started to eat while keeping a steady watch on their kitchen door.



Our houses were built by the same people using the same floor plan, so our houses were basically identical. It’s kind of cool in a way but a little weird. David’s sister was a year older than me. She used to like to spend time with me and would come over and play. One time she came over to the house and my Mom just sent her on up to my room. She knew exactly where to go, obviously. I wasn’t expecting her and I was still in bed dress only in my underwear. She came bursting into my room and jumped on my bed. Needless to say, I was thoroughly embarrassed and started yelling. I was so modest in those days. Anyway, I digress from the story.



Our kitchens were at the same end of our houses and I could sit at the table, look out the window and watch their back door. I choked on my food as I saw David’s parents come out the door and get into their black car. Seconds later they were gone. “Yes!” I gobbled down the rest of my breakfast and threw the dishes in the sink. Yeah, I know, but they didn’t break. And anyway, I would have to wash them before my parents got home from work. As I headed for the door, I saw David come flying out of his house and go out of sight as he headed around toward the front of the yard, hopefully coming over to meet me.



I ran out of the house and gave “our” special “shriek” to let him know I was outside and I heard his answering “shriek”. “Shriek” is the only way I can think of to describe what we did. Neither one of us could whistle. You know, the kind of whistle you do with two fingers between your lips. The kind you do when you want to get someone’s attention. So we came up with this kind of high pitched shriek that kind of sounded like one of those whistles. Stupid, right?



I ran around toward the front of my house and met David with a big grin on his face. “Well, did you do it?” we both asked at the same instant. We both answered, “yeah!”, again, at the same moment. We both started to talk at the same time. David said, “you go first”. So, I told him what I had done “In my room” after I had gone to bed. All the while David kept interrupting me with questions like “how big did it get? How long did it take? Did you shoot much?” You get the idea. So, after I got done telling him everything, I asked him what had happened with him and he proceeded to tell me the whole story. This is what happened in David's (and his sister's) bedroom the previous night. This the story according to David.


Our houses had three bedrooms. A master bedroom on the front and two smaller bedrooms in the back. The thing is, for some reason, David and his sister shared the same room. David had a little brother too but little Mike had his own room. I never did know why.



David told me he had done pretty much the same thing as me. He’d waited until he thought everyone was gone or occupied and headed up to his room. He scoped out the other rooms upstairs to be sure that everyone was downstairs or outside. He said he should have waited a while longer but he just couldn’t wait. So, he pushed the door to and went over to his bed, dropped his drawers, and proceeded to “try it out” as he put it. Well, it got hard like he hoped it would when suddenly his door burst open. He looked up and there stood his sister before he could move or do anything to hide his “willy” as he called it..


“What are you doing?” she asked with her eyes bugging out!



Nothing....... Go away!



His sister said, “No way, I’ve heard that boys did that with their “things”, “Can I watch?”



By this time “Willy” had shrunk up some because David was really embarrassed. He he strated to pull up his pants he said "forget it!" and told her to leave him alone.





She said “Aw come on, I won’t tell anyone, honest. We see each other naked all the time and I’ve seen your “little weewee” when it’s been sticking out before. We used to take baths together for crying out loud, what’s the big deal? C'mon! Please??”



David didn’t know what to else to do and said earnestly, “You better not tell anyone and don’t you dare laugh!”. She promised she wouldn’t. She turned around, pushed the door shut and came over and sat beside him on the bed. “Backoff, not so close!”, he said.



He told me that he really didn’t want to “do it” with her there but she had already caught him with a stiff “you know what” in his hand. And she was right, they had seen each other naked almost on a daily basis and she had seen him with a “woody” before. He decided to go ahead and do it anyway. His sister didn’t say another word as she watched him stroke his penis back to life but when it started to get longer and bigger, get shiny on the end and start oozing, she said, “doesn’t it hurt when your doing that?”. David told her to be quiet. A couple of minutes later, he felt his stomach tighten as his penis felt like it was going to explode. And suddenly, it did. He groaned as his penis jumped in his hand as it shot his “stuff” right over the top of his pants and land on his sneakers.



His sister said, “WOW!”, “Holy Shit!”



David sat there on his bed, looked over at the astonished look on his sister’s face, and weakly wiped the sweat off his face with his arm. He looked down at his dripping penis and said, “Wow is right and don’t you EVER dare tell anyone!”

Chapter 6, In My Room

Later the afternoon of Paul's visit, he hopped on his bike and headed for home. He waved goodbye and headed down the street. I turned to look at David and he was standing there looking rather dazed but excited. I probably looked the same way. It was almost time for our parents to come home from work and we decided to call it a day. But as we talked on the lawn between our houses, we both agreed that we wanted to try what Paul had shown us. During our talk I realized I couldn’t wait to try it and I could tell by the excited look on David’s face that he was thinking the same thing.




My parents came home and Dad started a fire in our outside fireplace. We roasted hotdogs and had fresh vegetables from the garden. During the meal someone asked me what I had done that day? “Oh, nothing much” I said, “just played with David and stuff.” After being gone all day, Mom and Dad caught up on some of the work around the house and then as usual they settled down to watch “ The CBS Evening News with Walter Cronkite”.



Ordinarily, after supper, I would have gone back out to play but I knew what David was planning. He most likely wouldn’t be back outside this night. He had said he was going to try what Paul had shown us as soon as he got the chance.


I didn’t know exactly what David had planned but I had figured out what I was going to do. I was just going to do what I usually did, go up to my room to read a book. Then I waited for my chance. I loved to read, but that night I was just too impatient and distracted to read. As soon as the house quieted down, I knew that my parents had finished their evening work and into the living room to watch the news and then “The Lawrence Welk Show”, “To Tell the Truth”, or whatever was on that night. I knew that I was probably safe to do what I wanted as long as I went down to say goodnight before I went to sleep. I would have at least an hour to myself. They knew I liked to read or work on my projects such as my model cars and planes.



I slowly closed my door and listened intently, I knew I couldn’t be too careful. I didn’t want to get caught doing what I was planning. Just being caught with no clothes on would have been embarrassing enough. I noticed my reflection in the mirror and saw my naked body. I had always felt awkward and skinny but I realized as I looked at my body, it looked almost as good as Paul’s had. I looked down at my private parts with new interest. My little penis wasn’t so little anymore. Somewhere along the way it had grown without my really noticing. It was surrounded with a light growth of soft hair that I remember worrying about when it first started to appear. I couldn't remember seeing another man or boy naked before Paul. And no one had ever told me about puberty and the changes it would bring. I lifted up my scrotum and looked at the testicles inside and realized that they were moving around all by themselves. How long had they been doing that? I recalled in the past, lying in bed with my hand inside my underwear, holding these in my hand and rolling them around with my fingers. It had always felt good, comfortable, but I didn’t realize until that moment that they were so special.



It was then that I remembered very clearly what Paul had done that afternoon in David’s little green tent. Just thinking about what his body looked like caused my penis to start to swell just like his had done. Now, this wasn’t the first time it had ever gotten stiff but it was the first time I knew what I could do with it. I started to rub it carefully and it grew even more, it got thicker and longer. I moved on to stroking it like Paul had done with the same results. I just couldn’t believe it. I had no idea my body could respond this way. It wasn’t just that it was swollen and that it looked different than it ever had before, it felt great! I could feel my pulse in it. My heart was racing and suddenly I felt hot. Soon the shiny pink end was oozing some slippery liquid.


Paul had told David and me to keep stroking even if it felt like we couldn’t stand it any longer. And I did. Soon I knew what he meant. The sensations got so strong, I thought I would explode. The skin of my penis felt tight as everything increased in size again, bigger than ever. I could hardly stand to keep going. At the point where I thought I would just have to stop, my legs got weak. I suddenly thrust my hips forward and then shot, what seemed to me, a ton of thick white creamy “stuff” through the air and onto my bedroom floor. As I gripped my penis in my hand, it kept jerking and shooting. My legs got weaker and I thought for sure someone would hear me making all the noise I was making when it finally subsided and stopped.



I sat down weakly on the edge of my bed grinning at myself in the mirror. And I remember saying to myself with a great sense of relief, “It worked!”, “I did it!",  and most importantly to me, "I'm normal!”

Chapter 5, Looking for Answers

As this story begins I was 13 but very much a late bloomer. I lived in a very sheltered home where nude bodies were never seen. When I saw Paul doing what he did my eyes lit up. How does anyone know that they like boys or that they like girls at such a young age? Sometimes you just do but sometimes you are not sure, confused. 


As I continue the story, you will see that later on I struggled with the feeling that I  was attracted to boys.  After all, it would prove to be against everything that I was to be taught at school, in sex education and eventually, by the LDS (Mormon) Church. Ironically, within just a few months, my family would come in contact with missionaries from the Mormon church and we would join the Church. Afer that, feelings of guilt would share space in my mind whenever I enjoyed myself with "inappropriate" thoughts or actions.


Sex was never talked about in my home, other than maybe something I overheard between adults like "so and so got knocked up". I was to have conflicted feelings about my physical attractions and my religious beliefs to battle with over the many years to come. It took me way too many years  to arrive at the place I am today concerning my sexuality.


Sexually speaking, my personal feeling is this. If supposedly straight boys enjoy sexual experiences and encounters with other boys, they are to some degree "gay" or "bisexual". Society in general has made being bisexual and gay so taboo that most guys disavow those feelings. If young people had someone to talk to, someone who was accepting of their feelings, whatever they were, maybe it wouldn't take a lifetime for some of us to accept who we are. Even some gay men aspouse that bisexual men are deluded individuals who can't admit to their "true" inner preference.

Many churches and organized religions believe that this "problem" is a matter of  an individual's personal choice and is a sin . I can't put into words how I struggled with my inner anguish about being unclean before God, my Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ and his church. I was totally confused and at odds with myself, becoming at times emotionally tortured, withdrawn and a loner. I decided at the very outset that this was one thing that I would have to keep to myself .....to keep it secret.

There were times when I seriously considered commiting suicide. But it takes a certain amount of courage to do that and I just wasn't up to it. If things had continued the way they were though I think I would have found a way.

Today, more than ever, the suicide rate for bisexuals, young and old, is staggering. The uncertainty, the lack of support from their families, churches and gay or straight friends, makes them feel alienated from both groups and hopeless. I hope that in telling my story and being here to talk to, I can help someone in turmoil.

Chapter 4, David, Paul and the Little Green Tent

My friend David was small for his age like me. And he also had short blond hair like I did. But beyond that, we were different as two boys could be. Remember, I told you I wasn't one of those rough and tumble kids? Well, David was. He was a tough little bugger. He had to be. Both his parents were alcoholics. They were living in an unhappy situation and they coped with their problems with booze. From inside our house, we could hear them yelling at each other and their kids most every day. I remember seeing bruises on his David's body. He used to tell me he got the "belt" when he got into trouble, and sometimes with the buckel end. In contrast, I only remember getting spanked with a switch twice. My abuse came in a different form but I'll get back to that later.


David was always on the move. He hardly ever wore a shirt (weather permitting), and bluejeans. He was tanned and lean.  David was energetic and outgoing, just the opposite of me. He was ambitious. David started a newspaper route when he was barely big enough to carry the delivery bag. He got up early each morning before daylight. He went and picked up the papers at the drop off point, folded them and delivered them on his route, all before school. He did this, summer and winter, rain or shine. When he found time to eat, wash up or change his clothes before school, I have no idea. He did it all on his own with no support from his family.

David and I were friends as far back as I can remember. We played trucks and cars in the dirt. We climbed trees, built camps in the woods, and following his lead we did some things we probably shouldn't have.

He bought a new red "banana bike" with his newspaper earnings and we traveled all over town on our bikes. We spent all our time together whenever we could. We did everything together.

One summer, we found ourselves pretty much on our own. Both our parents worked full time jobs and that summer we took care of ourselves. One day David's cousin Paul came to visit. I had never met him before nor would I ever see him again after that day. Although I thought Paul was kind of cute, he was also kind of weird and was a showoff. He liked to do weird things like turn his eyelids inside out and put his tongue up his nose. I was a little uncomfortable being around Paul but that day he changed my life forever.

David and his little brother had set up a little green tent in their yard earlier in the summer. That day a cousin of David's had ridden his bike over to visit for a few hours. His name was Paul.

Sometime later that day we found ourselves, David, Paul and myself, checking out the inside of this little green tent. At some point, Paul asked us if we had ever jerked off. David and I looked at each other and mouthed, "what?" David said, "What are you talking about Paul?"

Obviously to Paul we were uneducated. Paul said, "Watch this".

As we watched, Paul stood up, undid his belt and unzipped his fly. He slid down his pants and underwear to his ankles and got down on his knees, seemingly not the least bit concerned about his exposed body.

David and I looked at each other again...wide eyed!

Then David proceeded to show us how to masturbate.

Paul took his penis in his hand and started to slowly slide his hand back and forth along the shaft. It started to swell up. He continued and it got still bigger. It straightened out and got longer, got shiny on the end. As he stroked it slowly with his hand he looked over at us and smiled. His body started to thrust as he pumped it. Suddenly with a low groan, Paul arched his back and his penis shot some white thick stuff  across the small tent and onto David's jeans. David jumped back trying to get out of the way. Then they looked at each other grinning.

David said, "What the?...COOL!"

Paul said..."Yeah".

I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. I wasn't sure what to make of all this but I was definitely intrigued. They looked over at me. I smiled but I'm sure I looked like a deer in the headlights.

Chapter 3, Home Alone

As a boy, I grew up in a small coastal community in New England. It had a nice snug little harbor filled with lobster boats, sailboats and a few small yachts. Today, it is filled mostly with pleasure craft. The town was, for most of the year, mostly populated with working class people. During the summer months, we had an influx of what my Dad called “summer complaints”, people who “summered over”, and tourists. Once Labor Day passed, the town went back to its quiet soothing self.

My neighborhood was a nice friendly place. Some of my neighbors were first generation immigrants and used to call to their kids in Italian. These families were hard working folks: barbers, bus drivers, auto mechanics and insurance salesmen.

I remember our house looked like it was in need of some fresh paint as did most of the other homes nearby. My Dad bought our house soon after my brother was born. He worked multiple jobs to make ends meet with little left over for expensive house paint. This was soon after the end of World War II and the preceding depression. I guess you could say we were poor, although my Dad never spoke of it. As soon as I was old enough to attend school full time my mother went to work in an effort to improve our standard of living. Gradually things improved including the appearance of our house.

I spent most of my summers and free time with my brother and sister and playing with my neighborhood friends. As I grew older I found myself home alone during most of the summer when my sister found work raking blue berries and my brother had left home.

When I said I played with my neighborhood friends, what I should have said was "friend",  usually the boy next door…..my friend David