When I was growing up, all I knew of gay men was that they were limp-wristed pansies who were criminals and drug addicts and abused small children by stealing them from their parents and fucking them in bushes before killing them… then they killed themselves. Sorry, but that’s what I was told about gay men. It made me very afraid of my own feelings about the men to whom I was attracted to. These men were never like ‘that’. they were hard-working men’s men who took care of their bodies and played sports and wore blue jeans and boots and smelled like a man was supposed to. None of these perfumed, lavender pants-wearing, long-haired namby-pamby men.
Of course, as time went on, I realized that there are all kinds of men. Straight men who seemed gay and gay men who seemed straight, florists who wore boots and had big bulges in their jeans, football players who take it up the ass, and all kinds of different men who lived all kinds of different lives.
But before I knew the truth about the lies that society told about gay men, I was very afraid of who I was to become. Did I have a choice, or did being gay make it inevitable that I would be a weak, inconsequential, girly man who would be beaten in the streets and live an isolated, lonely miserable life?
As my own testosterone began really surging, I began to seek out porn. It didn’t matter at first what kind it was. It could be straight porn in the form of Playboy, Penthouse, or Hustler. Hustler was the best because you could actually find hard cock in Hustler. These publications were ok for a while. Sex was sex and anything I could get my hands on that had anything to do with sex was ok with me.
Eventually, I found myself old enough to get into porn shops and theaters. The first one I went to was a little dive along the highway on the way to Chicago from the far west suburbs. Over the years I had heard rumors about that place when we would drive by it.
“No matter what time of day or night I have ever driven by this place, it was always packed,” someone in the car would say.
“It’s just a dive bar,” someone else would say.
“Really, people are in there at seven in the morning drinking?”
I knew that there was something else going on. I could just feel it. I eventually realized that I had a nose to sniff out these places no matter where in the world I was.
At some point in my teens, I got the nerve to go check it out. It was a porn shop with little rooms in the back with men walking around in circles looking into the slightly cracked open doors. this was way too advanced for me at the time, so I would just look at the magazines, positioning myself at the boundary between the straight stuff and the gay stuff so I could look at the gay stuff while I was pretending to look at the gay stuff. I was sure that I was too clever for anybody to know what I was up to.
As I was looking around, my eyes landed on a slick glossy magazine named Colt. It had a model on it who I now know to be Clint Lockner.

He was a mustached, manly man in a cop uniform gazing out at me from behind mirrored sunglasses. I had to take a closer look so I grabbed it and started flipping through the pages. My knees were getting wobbly as I looked at the pictures of this super masculine cop sucking dick, getting his dick sucked, sucking on a baton, fucking other hot masculine men in the butt. I was in awe standing there with my dick obviously hard. I was unaware of my aroused state because I was so absorbed. Other men were not unaware of this horned-up teenager standing there with a hard-on. A relatively young man with a long trench coat walked behind me, and from inside his coat came two very beefy hands that took full hold of my ass. He grabbed both cheeks in a very unambiguous way. I don’t think until then anyone had touched my butt at all, and it startled and excited me. He moved on but kept looking back at me as he walked to the door. I immediately got what he was trying to tell me. I had been cruised for the first time and I went for it.
I followed him outside and he motioned for me to come to talk to him in his car. I walked over and he said hi. He wasn’t Clint Lockner, but he had his dick out of his pants while sitting in the car and it looked fat and meaty and very hard. I agreed to go with him, I got in his car and he drove a short way away and parked in a quiet, dark spot. I couldn’t stop looking at his cock, so he gently guided my head there. I started to suck him and he mentioned, even tho I had not asked, that he wouldn’t cum in my mouth. In a few minutes, I finally got the joke about the three biggest lies – 1. The check’s in the mail, 2. I’ll still respect you in the morning, 3. I won’t cum in your mouth. He gushed a huge load in my mouth and I lapped it all up.
I learned a lot that night. I learned that the place along the highway was not a bar, there were very masculine men who were gay, my teenage boy body was quite a hit, and I was a natural cocksucker.

To be continued.