The Gay Ghost of Ocracoke

Ocracoke, a community of 900on the Outer Banks of North Caroline, is so isolated that it has its own dialect,  the Ocracoke Brogue, with terms and usages leftover from Shakespeare's day.

buck: friend
mommick: to make a mess of
offshore: crazy
quamish: queasy
scud: a short trip

And it is full of ghosts.

Springer's Point, where Blackbeard the Pirate was beheaded, is haunted by a burly man with matted hair and red glowing eyes, who chases trespassers with an axe before disappearing.

The British Cemetery features a lady in Victorian costume who tells visitors that she lost her way en route to a party.

After closing, the employees at Gaffer's Bar often see an elderly man sitting at a booth by himself.  When they approach, he vanishes.

But the most unusual ghost lurks in Tarik's attic.

When Martin and his then-lover Paul bought the house in 1990, they expected the usual haunted house noises: footsteps, slamming doors, mysterious voices.  Maybe some things moved around.  But they didn't expect a horny ghost, a sex-crazed demon, or whatever it was.

The attic was once used as a library -- there were about a dozen thick, heavy bookshelves which absorbed all of the light and made the sloping rafters look forlorn and abandoned. They planned to use it as an overflow bedroom, so they put a in a futon, a nightstand, a lamp, and a couple of chairs.
One weekend a few weeks after they moved in, there were 7 guys in the house, so they put up their old friend Josh in the attic bedroom.

He came downstairs the next morning and said "I don't know which of you did it, but thanks.  That was the best blow job of my life!"

Everyone denied climbing up to the attic to give Josh a blow job.

"I actually didn't get a good look -- it was too dark.  Now that I think about it, I never even opened my eyes.  I didn't reach down to touch the guy's head or shoulders, either."

"How do you get a blow job without touching the guy?" Martin asked.

He shrugged.  "It just never occurred to me.  So, come on, 'fess up, guys -- which of you is the culprit, and can you come back tonight?"

Josh eagerly waited for his mysterious visitor the next night, but nothing happened.

The second guy to encounter the ghost or incubus, Michael, was not so pleased. After a long trip from the mainland, he went right up to bed.

He was lying on his back with his eyes closed, having a sexual fantasy, starting to masturbate, when suddenly he was frozen in place.  He couldn't even open his eyes.  It was like being paralyzed!

Then someone went down on him.  He couldn't feel a body, just the mouth bobbing up and down on his cock, the tongue licking his head, the suction of a demonic throat.

He didn't even like oral -- he got too sensitive -- and this was torture!  It seemed to last for hours.

Finally Michael had a painful orgasm.

He looked up to see a dark male figure, naked, vanishing into a bookcase!

He bolted downstairs, and slept on the couch for the rest of his visit.

Martin and Paul avoided placing guests in the attic room after that.

Martin tried to research the house, to see who the horny gay ghost might be.  Someone with unfinished business, who died without acknowledging that he was gay, or without having a sexual experience.

The house was built in 1906 as a summer home for a Dr. Carroll, a physician from Raleigh. One day in 1910, the village constable broke up a party there with "only men present."  Probably a gay party.

Dr. Carroll died in 1941 -- but not in the house.  And if he had been having sex parties for 30 years, it's unlikely that he died with unfinished business.

Next Dr. Carroll's married daughter took possession, but she and her husband lived in Norfolk, and rarely stayed in the house.  There was a series of summer tenants.

In the 1960s a psychic name Sandor bought the house, and saw hippie clients in the attic library, which at that time had its own private entrance.  He wasn't married -- gay?  He died in 1990 -- but in a hospital on the mainland, not in the house.  Could he be the horny ghost?

The only other possibility was a hippie who was staying in town for the summer in 1971.  He may have known Sandor, or he may have been a stranger -- the newspaper article was unclear.  One night, high on LSD, he was attracted by something in the attic window, and tried to climb up the wall instead of going up the stairs.  He lost his footing, fell, and broke his neck.

Whoever or whatever was giving nonconsensual blow jobs in the attic room, Martin and Paul thought it best to keep him under wraps.

They broke up in 1998.  Martin could no longer afford two mortgages, so he sold his house in Chapel Hill and moved to Ocracoke permanently.  To help with the loneliness, he got two roommates, both gay men, of course.  One of the roommates eventually got a boyfriend, Tarik.  Now there were four gay men in the house, with boyfriends and dates staying over, and mainland friends visiting all the time, and often there was no choice but the attic or a sleeping bag on the floor.

Martin and his roommates always warned the guys about the gay ghost.  Sometimes they hoped to get a ghostly blow job, but nothing happened.  Sometimes they laughed off the warning, only to run down the stairs ashen-faced with horror.

They tried sending couples up to the attic, but one of them got a blow job while the other slept, oblivious.

As the legend grew, gay men volunteered to be ghost busters from as far away as West Hollywood.

The neighbors started talking -- they were already famous as "the gay house," and now "the house with the gay ghost."

You don't need notoriety in a small town.

Then one weekend Tarik invited his Norfolk friend, Bammy, for a visit.  They called Bammy "Monster" because he was hung -- way hung.  8" long, thicker than a beer can -- and that was soft.  When aroused, he was 11" long, with a head as big as a baseball.

He was an oral and anal bottom, but not by choice.  No one had been able to give him a blow job  since he was 16 -- the most they could do was lick the shaft. Lots of guys wanted him to plow their butt, but he didn't get hard enough to enter -- his arousal was more like a spongy tumescence.

"Let me at this so-called ghost," Monster said.  "If he can take it, he's welcome to it."

So he spent the night in the attic room, naked, lying on his back, with the covers down, inviting.

Nothing happened.

About 2:00 am, Monster grew tired of waiting, and started to masturbate.  He displayed his aroused cock.

Nothing happened.

Finally he dozed off, and turned over onto his stomach.

Monster awoke to the feel of an erect penis pushing against him.  Figuring that Tarik had come up during the night, he lifted his head and opened his mouth.  The cock pushed up against his throat.  Average size, very hard, uncut, not cold or anything, just like a regular cock.

He bobbed up and down on it, feeling the pubic hair against his face.  reaching up to grab two butt cheeks.  He saw nothing but a dark form.   Still thinking that it was Tarik.

The spurt came a few minutes later, a huge mouthful.  Bammy swallowed, and the dark form moved away.

"Thanks, man," Monster whispered. "Always happy to take your load."

Then the dark form moved off the bed.  Monster watched as it moved toward the bookcases -- and vanished!

With a shout he ran downstairs to Tarik's room, and jumped into the bed like a little boy afraid of the dark.

"That darn crazy ghost!  He couldn't go down on me, so he made me go down on him!"

That was the last anyone saw -- or felt -- of the horny gay ghost of Ocracoke.

Sausage Sightings of Men in Kilts

Scottish men and boys have been wearing kilts since the 15th century.  They hang loose around your thighs, traditionally with no underwear, allowing your equipment to flap about freely.

And allowing for lots of sausage sightings, accidentally or on purpose.

I like the ones that are accidental.

Resting at a Celtic festival.

The kilt tends to ride up, so you have to be careful.

Nice balls.

This is the mother of all accidental sausage flashes.

More after the break.

Cartoon Superheroes in Peril

Robin the Boy Wonder was introduced into the Batman comic books to give the Caped Crusader someone to rescue, and ever since, a tied, tormented, and threatened Boy Wonder has been a comic book mainstay.

Regardless of whether he is Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, or any of the other incarnations.

Fan artists have certainly noticed, and produced any number of X-rated pictures of Robin in chains.

[All pictures are the property of their respective artists, and depict adults.]

But why stop with Robin?  Why not depict Spiderman, Peter Parker, being tormented by the Green Goblin on a dildo bench, with a vibrator attached to his penis?

Superman is invulnerable to most ropes, but insert a kryptonite dildo or two, and you'll have him right where you want him.  In this case, on a milking machine.

Did you know that Kryptonians have no pubic hair?

More after the break

A Memory of Two Men Hugging

Northeastern Indiana, Spring 1964

In an old science fiction story by Robert Heinlein,  a man discovers that the world is a lie.  Every building in every city is a movie-set fake, constructed for his benefit and disassembled when he passes on.

His friends, family, and even passersby are actors, staging scenes for his benefit and then going home to memorize tomorrow’s script.

He uncovers the lie only after years of living in what he thinks is the real world.

One day he is scheduled to go away for the weekend.  It is raining outside, so he opens his umbrella.  Suddenly he realizes that he has forgotten something upstairs, and rushes up to get it.  But it is not raining upstairs!  “They” neglected to produce sufficient rain to cover the entire house, and in that small detail their entire deception was revealed.

I spent my childhood in the 1960s and 1970s  in a lie of my own, told over and over again that I, like every boy on Earth, would spend my life yearning for feminine curves and smiles, that same-sex desire did not exist.

But I kept noticing momentary lapses, tiny mistakes, unguarded moments that revealed that it was not raining upstairs.

Captain Kangaroo and Mr. Green Jeans living together in the Treasure House.
Rich and Sean smiling at each other in The Secret of Boyne Castle.
Robbie Douglas singing about boys holding hands among the candles.

The first unguarded moment came very early in my life, when I was still a toddler.  Probably in the summer of 1964, when I was 3 1/2 years old.  We were living in Garrett, Indiana.

I woke up late at night, but I thought it was morning because it was light out, so I walked into the living room, where my parents were watching our old black and white tv.  On the small, flickering screen, I saw two men.  They looked like a cowboy and Indian, but in modern clothes.  They were hugging.

My mother noticed a moment later and rushed me off to bed, but it was too late.  I had seen two men who weren't swooning over women.  They wanted men.

I never saw that "cowboy and Indian" again, and over the years I concluded that I had dreamed it.   But recently I did some detective work with wikipedia and a phone call to my mother:

It was an episode of of The Real McCoys (1957-63, but rerun through 1964): a hayseed comedy about a farm family in rural California. The hugging "cowboy and Indian" were eldest son Luke  (Richard Crenna) and farm hand Pepino (Tony Martinez).

Luke was married, and Pepino had girlfriends.  They weren't "really" gay in the series.

But it doesn't matter.  As I grew, and the what girl do you like interrogations began, and the you'll find the right girl someday pronouncements, the constant hysterical insistence that no boy has ever liked boys, not once in the history of the world, I thought of the hugging men.

A glimpse through the machinations and dissimulations and lies.

It wasn't raining upstairs. 

See also: My Book of Cute Boys