Finding a Private Place to Have Sex with Guys

Sometime in 7th grade:

I start to hear that guys' beneath-the-belt equipment turns into a gigantic baseball bat at random moments, with no prior warning.

The process is called "getting a boner," or "popping a boner," when it happens in an embarrassing situation, like when you are visiting your grandmother or giving an oral presentation in class.

I occasionally feel a stirring down below, but no baseball bats.

8th grade, around my 13th birthday:

I start experiencing my own baseball bats at random moments, in the locker room, in science class, at church.  They are usually easy to cover up with a hymnal or a science textbook, so no one notices.

I assume that other guys are covering up, too, since I rarely see any at school, or any tell-tale signs like squirming in your chair or suddenly looking for something to cover up with.  Occasionally I see one in the shower, and once a college boy at Olivet "pops a boner" while he is kissing his girlfriend.

Late in 8th grade:

I notice a pattern: baseball bats happen most often when I am looking at or talking to a cute guy, like my boyfriend Dan or Micah the Bible Boy.  Pictures of Korak Son of Tarzan in a Gold Key comic book will do it.  And Desi Arnaz Jr. on Here's Lucy on Monday night.  I begin bringing a giant math book to the living room with me.

Even thinking about a cute guy might cause a baseball bat, especially if you fantasize about kissing or hugging him.

Early in ninth grade:

The other guys are constantly talking about getting baseball bats while talking to cute girls.

Bill's big brother Mike tells me that you always get a baseball bat when you're having sex with a girl.  It's necessary to get the sperm into the girl's ovaries, so she can have a baby.

I figure that Dan and I are the only guys in the world who think about boys while it happens.

Ninth grade, around my 14th birthday:

I discover that if you continue to think about kissing and touching cute guys,  you can bring the baseball bat to the culmination that the older boys call "blowing a load."

Of course, it would be nice to have the cute guy there instead of just thinking about him, but when I approach my boyfriend Dan, he refuses.  So it's just me and the baseball bat.

The problem is, finding a place to do it, in a tiny house crammed with five people, including parents who never go out at night and a brother and sister who constantly have friends over.

Summer after ninth grade:

We move to a new house, considerably bigger, with a separate dining room, a screened in porch, a basement rec room, a double yard.    But still, finding a place to do it is a problem.

My bedroom: No, my brother and I share, and he and his innumerable friends could show up at any moment.

The bathroom: One for a family of five, right off the dining room, next to my sister's bedroom where she and all of her friends are constantly hanging out  Besides, my parents aren't aware of the concept of privacy.  They will walk right in while I am on the toilet, to put something in the linen closet or get clothes out of the hamper.

The basement: There is a large rec room, a laundry room, and an artist's studio belonging to the last resident, Mr. Kint.  No one has touched it since the day he died.  It freaks me out.   Besides, anyone walking into the rec room could look in and see what I was doing.

The attic! Just off our bedroom, there is an attic room, about 8 by 20 feet, unfinished, with one small window.  I could move the boxes and old furniture so that the back of the room is hidden from the door.

Now I just need my parents' permission to...um...do it there.

"I want to make a little study in the attic," I announce.

"But you have a desk and a bookcase in your room," Mom says.  "What else do you need?"

"It's too noisy.  Kenny is always playing his music loud, or having his friends over, and I can't get any work done."

"But there's no heat or air conditioning in there," Dad protests.  "You'll freeze in the winter and burn up in the summer."

"It has electricity, so I can get a space heater for the winter, and a window fan for the summer.    Besides, I won't be there very long, just an hour or so before dinner, when I'm doing homework."

They finally consent, and I move boxes around to make a safe haven of about 8 by 10 feet.

 I put out a sleeping bag and some pillows, a small bookcase with some books and writing tablets (I am supposed to be doing homework, remember?), and some baseball bat aids, like this Tarzan comic.

10th grade, around my 15th birthday:

I have brought in an old chair, an end table, a lamp, a clock, and a radio.  A space heater for winter.  Some pictures of Tarzan and Bomba the Jungle Boy on the wall.

I have started doing homework there for real, and working on my heroic fantasy novel.

It is  my sanctuary, a "good place" of my own, free from the "what girl do you like" interrogations of the outside world.

I start bragging to a couple of my friends about my sanctuary, where I can do anything I want.

"I can't get any privacy at home, either," Tom tells me.  "Could I...um...use your sanctuary sometime?"

"You can't bring a girl in there!" I exclaim, horrified.  "It's boys only!"

"No, no...by myself.  I'll just bring in some magazines, and...you know."

I think it over.  Watching a cute guy would be almost as good as kissing and hugging him!

"Ok, but you can't bring pictures of naked girls -- they're gross. And I have to be there, too.  My parents would get suspicious if some kid used my sanctuary when I wasn't around."

Eleventh grade:

Two guys come to my sanctuary: Tom and Aaron.  Not too often, maybe once every other week.  I discover that Darry has his own sanctuary.

Sometimes my brother is out in the bedroom, but he never gets suspicious.

Nor do my parents.

Twelfth grade:

Now it's three guys: Tom, Marty, and Aaron. Alternating, once a week, so each gets a turn once a month.

I don't get to touch anything, but still, I'm with a cute guy and his baseball bat!

See also: Dad explains the facts of life; The Most Underrated Sex Act; and the Preacher Pops a Boner.

Six Naked College Boys and One Date

Bloomington, Indiana, February 1983

On surveys, only about 2% of the U.S. male population admits to being gay, and another 1% bisexual. Of course, most are leery of coming out on a survey questionnaire, and dissimulate.  The actual population is probably much higher.

And I estimate that a huge proportion of the "straight" male population, about 80%, is open to sexual activity with men.  .

20% are on the downlow:  They are interested in relationships only with women, so they claim to be "straight," although they are attracted to both men and women.  They seek out male-male action while telling their wives and girlfriends that they're out getting a loaf of bread.  They're open for kissing, cuddling, reciprocation, whatever.

30% will settle.  They are attracted only to women, but who cares?  Sex is sex, and it's a lot easier to get a guy than a girl.  No kissing, no reciprocation, they just want to lie back and think about lady parts.

30% will let you watch.  They aren't attracted to guys, and they don't want you to touch them, but they are willing to engage in autoerotic activity with you present, as long as you don't let on that you are interested in watching.

In fact, a major form of "male bonding" for that 30% is to invite your buddies over, watch porn or just talk about girls, and engage in autoerotic activity without letting on that you are watching each other.

I first heard of this practice when I was in graduate school at Indiana University, when a hefty Dungeons-and-Dragons player named Duane criticized The Kinsey Report (some 30 years after it was published) because 37% of male respondents stated that they had engaged in a 'homosexual' act to orgasm at some time during adulthood.

"That Kinsey had a ridiculous definition of homosexual acts!" Duane exclaimed.  "It  includes everything you do with other guys around, even a circle jerk!"

I didn't know what a circle jerk was.

"Oh, it's like when you're reading porn magazines or talking about girls with your buddies, and you decide to get off.  You're not touching them -- you're not even thinking about them.  You're thinking about girls.  How is that homosexual?"

My interested piqued, I asked, "How many buddies are with you, generally?"

"Sometimes just one, but I've been in a group of six before."  He eyed me suspiciously.  "Why?"

"No reason."

 I had to find some way to get invited to one of these six-guy orgies!  But of course I couldn't come out -- this was the homophobic 1980s.  I figured that since Duane played Dungeons and Dragons most nights, that was where the "circle jerks" happened.

I waited a few days to alleviate suspicion, and then asked to join, offering to bring a pizza.

When I arrived, there were five college boys sitting in Duane's dorm room on the 5th floor of Eigenmann Hall.  I took my place among them and scoped out the territory:

Desk chairs: 
Duane: husky bear, graduate student in physics.  The Dungeon Master.
Ben: cute eyeglassed graduate student in economics, new to D&D.

Duane's bed:
Scott: long haired, bearded hipster, graduate student in sociology
Andrew: blond undergrad in physics, rather husky.

His Roommate's bed:
Asher, the roommate, a rather muscular but shy grad student in math.
Me.

We played Dungeons and Dragons for awhile without comment, but when straight men get together, women invariably enter the conversation: sizes, shapes, angles, the ones they've been with, the ones they would like to be with, ones on tv.  Soon the conversation became more graphic, as they tried to one-up each other with tales of the most spectacular feminine physiques they'd been with.

I said "My ex-girlfriend had breasts like Loni Anderson's."  (Jennifer, the savvy receptionist on WKRP in Cincinnati).

They were all impressed.  "Wow, that must have been great!" Ben exclaimed.  Apparently breast sizes to straight men are like cock sizes to the rest of us.

"Yes, they were quite...um...nice," I said.  What, exactly, did straight men do with women's breasts? "I...um...felt them many times."

"Yeah, right.  I bet you did more than feel them!"  Duane said, nudging Ben.

"Darn right!"  I wondered what they were talking about.

"We gonna talk about girls, or play Dungeons and Dragons?" Asher said, annoyed.

But once the talk of girls begins, it doesn't end.  Next I brought out my secret weapon: an issue of Playboy.  "I also dated a girl that looked just like her," I said, opening the centerfold. and placing it on the gaming table.  "Um...she was the head cheerleader and the Homecoming Queen.  I did lots of things with her breasts, too!"

By now everyone was sitting in full view of each others' crotch. Soon there was a little squirming and hiding going on.  At this point the instinct was to grab Asher or Ben, sitting on either side of me, but instead I grabbed myself.

Still no sausages!  Time to get the ball rolling.  I unzipped.  "She always told me how much she liked this," I said.

Then Scott the Hipster unzipped.  "That's nothing.  I bet your prom queen girlfriend would dump you in a minute if she saw this!"

It was rather unimpressive.

Soon the other guys unzipped: Duane (thick), then Ben (nice mushroom head), then Andrew (impressive Bratwurst), leaving only Asher sitting shyly, fully clothed.  The conversation dimmed as each guy was immersed in his private fantasy, staring into space or at the centerfold.

I tried to stare into space, avoid the disgusting centerfold, and look at Scott and Andrew, on the opposite bed, plus cast occasional sidelong glances at Duane and Ben.  And Asher, looking more and more uncomfortable.

I reached over and touched his shoulder.  "You ok?"

He stared at my crotch for a moment, wide-eyed, then said "I gotta go, sorry."  He brushed past me and rushed through the door.

At the end of the event, kleenixes were passed around, and the guys returned to their game without comment.

Altogether, rather unsatisfying.

The next day I ran into Asher in the Eigenmann Hall Gym, working out furiously.

"What happened last night?  You didn't seem like you were having fun.".

He reddened -- apparently what happens in the circle jerk stays in the circle jerk -- but said "It was just too weird.  I know you're not supposed to...you know, look, but how can you not?"

Asher was gay!

I didn't go to any more Dungeon-and-Dragons Circle Jerks, but I did get a date.

See also: 15 Simple Rules for Cruising Straight Guys; and Dungeons and Dragons

The Most Underrated Sexual Act

Oral sex is great, of course, and interfemoral, with your penis inserted between his legs, is even better. But the most underrated sexual act is the one that everyone engages in, but no one admits to.

It tends to be denigrated in gay communities as far inferior to oral, anal, or interfemoral, as an act of desperation that only lonely losers and sexual compulsives stoop to.

50% of gay men surveyed don't count it as a sex act at all.

But: everybody does it, an average of 4.2 times a week.  Having regular erotic activity of other types doesn't decrease your frequency.

The stigma attached to the act dates from the Middle Ages, when Christian scholars misinterpreted the sin of Onan in the Old Testament: he refused to have a child with his dead brother's widow, as required by Jewish law.  Instead he "spilled his seed on the ground," and God, outraged, struck him dead.  God never expresses any outrage over spilling one's seed in other contexts, but still, it became a sin, taught as a horror in religious education classes for Protestants and Catholics alike.

Medical stigma dates to a pamphlet entitled Onania, or the heinous sin of self-pollution, and all its frightful consequences in both sexes considered, published in London in 1723.  The anonymous author claimed that the foul practice "destroys conjugal affection, perverts natural inclination, and extinguishes hope of posterity."

By the 19th century, physicians were certain that the “Killer of Youth” was the cause of most physical and mental diseases, including "homosexuality."  Even one time would cause permanent insanity.  Generations of boys grew up terrified that the one time they gave in to temptation would soon kill them.

In Wuthering Heights, the great novel by Emily Bronte, Heathcliffe's son Linton dies from the debilitating effects of "onanism."

Both Graham Crackers and Kellogg's Corn Flakes were invented to prevent the urge.

Of course, there's no evidence that the practice has any deleterious effects whatsoever, and many of the myths were quietly dropped from medical manuals during the 1950s and 1960s.  But the stigma remains.  Your friends will eagerly describe a blow-by-blow of their latest bathhouse hookup but refuse to admit that they do that.

In 2006, gay singer Clay Aiken appeared on the morning talk show Live with Regis and Kelly, and playfully put his hand over notoriously conservative host Kelly Ripa’s mouth.  She reacted with disgust: “I don’t know where that hand has been!,” she exclaimed, implying that he might do that.

In 2016, then-presidential candidate Ted Cruz suggested that he would push for criminalizing any sexual activity that wasn't used for the purpose of procreation.

The stigma is unfortunate.  In many ways, doing it yourself is superior to oral, anal, or interfemeral

1. It's quick and easy.  You don't have to go through the hassle of finding someone, taking him out to dinner, socializing with him for an hour, and then, finally getting down to it.  When you have a spare ten minutes, you can just pop into the bedroom.  You don't even need to get undressed.

When you're finished, you can zip up and go about your day, without having to worry about the post-coital cuddling, phone number exchange, or making the bed.

2. It's free.  No sex club entry fee, no paying for an evening out, no condoms.  You might have to buy some lube.

3. It's stress-free.  Being with a new guy, or even a regular partner, can be very stressful.  You have to worry about your attractiveness, your size, your body noises and smells, your technique, your ability to complete the act, his ability to complete the act.  

And, as you age, it becomes increasingly common to lose steam in mid-act, or not be able to begin at all.  When there's nothing but you, a bottle of lube, and some video porn, you can take as much or as little time as you want, or stop altogether if you lose interest.  No pressure.

3. It's the safest of safe sex.  No chance of contracting a STD or crabs.  Even safer than kissing -- no chance of catching someone's cold.

4. You can have any partner you want.  That cute guy who failed to respond to your cruising, or who you  didn't have time to cruise.  Guys you were with 10, 20, or 30 years ago.  Film stars.  Your brother-in-law.

The main problem is the risk of discovery: it's embarrassing to be caught in the middle of the act by a partner or roommate.  But with a little creativity, you can come up with a cover story:
"I was just changing clothes to go to the gym."
"I had a headache, so I decided to take a  nap."
"I was waiting for you to come home.  Care to join me?"

After all, having a partner doubles your enjoyment:

1. You can watch him doing it.  When you're going down on someone, you can't see his face, or much of his body, or even his penis.  Watching him do it himself, you see the interplay of muscle in his chest and abs, his facial expressions, his aroused penis, everything.

2. You can lend a hand.  You can help, touching, kissing, licking whatever body part is handy, stroking his testicles, or taking over the whole job.

3. It often leads to other sexual acts.  No one ever said that has to be either self-help or oral or anal.  Why not do all three?

See also: Oral Sex 101;  Top or Bottom?; and My Favorite Sexual Act

With Voyeuristic Intention: The Joy of Watching

I've always been a big fan of watching other guys have sex.

Half the fun of bear parties and sharing is watching guys.

Especially boyfriends.  On the first few dates, you might get a little jealous, but once you're in a committed relationship, there's something undeniably erotic about seeing your guy with another guy.

It's also nice to watch your partner stripping and flexing.  You never get a good look while kissing or going down on him.

Have you ever tried watching him masturbate, without lending a hand, becoming a pure voyeur?

The interplay of chest, ab, and leg muscles, the rigidity of the cock, the respiration and heart rate increase, the facial expressions as he watches you watching him.

His entire body rigid at the moment of orgasm.

More after the break.