(man-on-man sex, riffed on in street language, so not suitable for kids or the sexually modest)
I have tons of news, much of it truly wonderful, some of it just eccentric bits of stuff I’ve come across, but all postponed after an exhausting day yesterday that turned, for me, on six exhausting hours of one thing after another going terribly wrong. Still organizing my thoughts about it all — so now for something completely different, inspired by my playing the 60s-generation music channel on my Xfinity tv. Which got me to thinking about the 60s, which was exactly my 20s, and I seem to have stumbled through a whole multi-ring circus of lives (here an acrobat on a trapeze, there a sword-swallower, over there some clowns) in those ten years. Everything happened at once.
More or less in order, insofar as that’s possible (but starting in 1958):
— worked as a copy boy and then as a newspaper reporter for the Reading Eagle in Reading PA
— got an AB in mathematics (liberally flavored with philosophy) from Princeton, where I discovered linguistics and what I wanted to do with the rest of my life
— married just after graduation
— joined the staff of the MITRE Corporation in Bedford MA, the first of my professional communities
— fathered a daughter
— whoa! entered a subterranean world of gay sex; guiltily, anxiously, and therefore inexpertly, sucking cock, and then achieving the long-desired next step of getting fucked (see the Breaking Me In appendix below); how, then, to incorporate the pleasure of getting fucked into some kind of responsible life?
— got a PhD in linguistics from MIT (Sanskrit external sandhi in generative phonology)
— took my first teaching position, at Illinois (Urbana-Champaign), and almost immediately was impelled into acting as the department head
— was recruited to a position at Ohio State
— came out fairly spectacularly, thanks to connecting with my first male lover, who was then a first-year grad student (and this, at least, we handled most responsibly); this was, by the way, the gay-fateful year of 1969 — not, I think, an accident
— which happened just as I was promoted to full professor with tenure, right before my 30th birthday
I swear this all (and quite a lot more) really did happen, in just over a decade.
The Breaking Me In appendix. Lifted from an earlier posting, about femmy guys, which the guy who broke me in certainly was. Also black, but I was comfortable with black guys. And projecting working class, but I came out of the working class. And, oh yes, a top.
In any case, he was one of my sweet fem brothers; he took my cherry (broke me in, as we faggots say, no coercion implied); and he did it with astonishing skill and affection. He gave me the fuck I had dreamed about and desired deeply. So I owe those guys.
It was his intention — pretty much his goal in life (he was otherwise an orderly at Mass General Hospital) — to give young men a smooth first ride, so that they could then negotiate on what they wanted from future partners; tastes vary widely, after all. To that end, he explained in detail what he was doing and was going to do, and why.
I meant to ask him how much he varied the lesson for the particular boy he was fucking — I was already given to interviewing my sexual partners surreptitiously, participant research, y’know — but I was was so overwhelmed by waves of pleasure (and relief) that I was beyond chat. And then had no chance to get back to him.
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