Where to begin? Born in Ypsilanti in 1951. By the time I was born my dad was somewhere in Korea, and my mom was at home in Ypsilanti, living with her parents, taking care of a baby, and hoping against hope that her high school sweetheart, now a grown up soldier, would marry her when he got home after the "police action" which they all knew was a real war. They had been engaged, but decided that they wouldn't get married until after he completed his draft obligation. When he shipped out for Korea in July, 1950, following basic training and advanced training, they had no idea she was pregnant. Not the most auspicious beginning in life.
However, he survived the Chinese offensive, came home, married Mom, was a good husband and father, and we settled into a normal, middle class, post-war existence in which television became the great entertainer, working for Ford the sustainer, and going to church the central part of the weekend. I was both happy and bored.
Happy except for one thing: Sex. Homosexuality didn't cross my radar screen in my early years. It wasn't talked about, and I had no inkling of it in myself. At about age thirteen or fourteen I became intensely curious about girls, but didn't really know how to relate to them. Katy, the girl across the street, was a big tease. We'd played together since we were very young, so we thought nothing of being in each other's houses, even if no one else was at home. That was a big no-no for boys and girls then, but in the case of Martin and Katy our parents didn't seem to mind. We'd played so much together over the years that nobody thought of us and sex in the same context.
Katy like to talk about sex, about feeling each other, about playing doctor, about kissing. She even used the word fuck a couple of times. But any time I would suggest going and doing something instead of talking about it, she'd beg off. "Next time." "It's too late this afternoon." Whatever.
One evening I was at her house with one of her friends, Jill. Jill had sometimes participated in the teasing conversations. That evening they suggested that we play strip poker. I'd never seen a girl naked, even to the waist, and I was eager. I figured that with two of them and one of me I had pretty good odds of getting one of them naked. I thought about it and decided that I had the nerve to take off my clothes. And I realized that I'd be hard as a rock, which would make it all the more embarrassing. I agreed to play, and we started - upstairs in Katy's room. The game quickly bogged down in a long debate as to what counted as a piece of clothing. They were counting shoelaces, the rubber bands that held up their knee socks, hair combs, and the like. It quickly became clear that there was no way either of them was going to take off any significant piece of clothing. Meanwhile I was totally aroused and eager. They had me good. I said, "Look. Forget the stupid game. I'd like to see you naked. You'd like to see me naked. Do you want to or not?"
There were lots of whispers, but they finally said, "Yes. You take off your clothes and then we'll take off ours."
Like I was going to go for that! "We go together."
I said, "I'd like to do this. If you want to, fine. But it's got to be fair. I'll strip to the waist. Then you two do the same. Then we'll talk about how we go further."
I did take off my shirt and tee shirt. They stripped down to their bras and quit. Clearly this was going noplace. I put my tee shirt and shirt on and went back across the street to my house, vowing not to be tempted by those two again.
For the next week or so in school they both avoided me, and I was glad of it. I didn't like to be reminded of the stupid affair at Katy's house. I wasn't proud that I'd been so weak that they could so easily entice me, and I wasn't proud that once started, nothing had happened. My friends were beginning to talk of their various female conquests, and that silly evening was all I had to talk about. Believe me, I didn't talk about anything.
Then one day after school Jill was standing on a corner that I had to walk by on my way home. Evidently she'd been waiting for me, and she fell in beside me as I walked. She said, "Hi," and so did I. Then we walked in silence for a while. Then she said, "Look Martin, I'm sorry for the other evening. I don't think Katy ever planned to take off anything, but she didn't tell me. When we started, I thought we were all going to go through with it."
"Well, we didn't."
"Let's go to the movies tomorrow night, and we can talk some more."
"You're asking me to take you on a date?"
"I didn't call it a date; you did. Call it what you like, let's go to the movies. It can be Dutch treat."
"I don't mind paying; that's what boys're supposed to do. What movie? We ought to go to the Argyle; we can walk there. What's on?"
"A new kids' movie from Disney, Mary Poppins."
I don't think either of us was too thrilled to see a kids' musical, but there was only one movie near enough to walk, so it was Mary Poppins or nothing. I sensed that some kind of sexual adventure was somewhere in the offing, and I wasn't going to let the choice of a movie title get in the way. Mary Poppins turned out to be a surprisingly good movie, with some cute songs and very interesting animation in which live characters walk into and out of the animated scenes. Easy to do now with computer animation; not so easy in 1964.
In the movie we sat in the balcony. There were no other people up there except other couples who were obviously as interested in privacy as we were. None of us sat near any of the others. During the movie Jill's left hand roamed to my crotch and she squeezed a couple of times. I did the same to her breast, but that was it. I know it was my first experience, and I suspect that it was Jill's as well.
As we came out of the movie Jill said, "My folks will be out all evening. Why don't you walk me back to my house?"
I said, "OK," having no idea where this might lead. In fact, I was afraid that it was going to lead further than I was willing to go. But nothing would've deterred me from finding out at that point.
We got to Jill's house and went to her kitchen for Pepsi's. We sat down and drank and I asked, "OK, Jill. What do you want to happen this evening?"
"Last time you wanted to see me naked, and I'd sure like to see you naked. Are you still interested?"
"Yes. But it never went anywhere last time, and not because of me."
"Not because of me, either. But you didn't know that. Look, Martin, I'll trust you.
I could only guess what she had in mind, but I was willing. She said, "Let's go upstairs to my room. It's more private. The neighbors can see in these windows if they happen to look."
She sat on her bed and I sat on an easy chair in her room. The only other place to sit was her desk chair, which was pushed up to her desk. Without saying a word she took off her blouse and started to unhook her bra. Then she stopped, got up off the bed, walked over to me, turned her back to me, and said, "Why don't you unhook it?"
My fingers were shaking so much I wasn't sure that I was going to get it unhooked, but I finally did. She said, "Take it off." She turned around to face me and I sort of fumbled it off. God, her tits were beautiful. Well, I guess at that point the tits of any fourteen year old girl would've been beautiful. They were about the size of tennis balls, standing out straight, with firm nipples. I had no idea that her nipples were in a state of arousal rather than in their normal condition. She leaned toward me and started to unbutton my shirt. It was then that I realized that she was as nervous as I was. She wasn't having much more luck with my little buttons than I had had with the hooks on her bra. Finally, I was unbuttoned and the shirt dropped to the floor. Then I pulled off my tee shirt and we stood their facing each other.
Jill said, "I have a question. When we get naked, do you want to touch me and let me touch you, or are we just going to look?"
That floored me. I'd never thought of anything other than stripping and looking. Jill was talking about touching! I remember thinking that it'd be stupid not to let this go as far as it could. I said, "Touch."
Jill said, "OK, do you want to start touching now, or wait till we're both naked?"
I hesitated. Instead of waiting for an answer, she took my hand and pulled it to her right breast. It was firm, but soft. Touching it almost made me come in my pants. My heart was pounding, and it was making my hard-on pulse. I wondered if Jill noticed; I sure could feel it. Then I moved my hand around her tit and on her chest under it. Her heart was as excited as mine! She put both of her hands on my nipples and tickled them, and then squeezed them. She said, "Ready to go on?'
"Yes." Was I ever?
She took off her shoes and socks and dropped her jeans to her ankles. Then she sat on the bed and pulled them off before she stood up in front of me. "You can touch through my panties."
I did. I rubbed her a little. The idea of touching her like that was hugely arousing; however, the actual fact left a lot to be desired. Female equipment is inside, and you can't get at it through a pair of panties. I realized it was time for my shoes, socks, and khaki's to come off. I also realized that I had a hard-on of considerable proportions that wouldn't hide itself underneath a pair of briefs. Oh, well. I'd known this was coming.
I sat on the chair and removed shoes and socks. I stood up, loosened my belt, unzipped my fly, unbuttoned my pants, and bent over as I pulled them down. That was easy. Now I had to stand up. I gritted my teeth and stood erect (what a pun) in one motion. Jill moved the two steps over to me, and took my dick in her hand through my briefs. She squeezed a little, kept holding on, and said, "Let's pull down our underwear at the same time."
She backed up to the edge of her bed and said, "Now." She bent over and pulled off her panties. Before she was standing up, I pushed mine down and stepped out of them. There we were, stark naked, about four feet apart, staring at each other. We stood that way, silently, for about a minute. Jill had been in charge of this whole thing, right from the beginning. She continued to be the leader. She lay down on her bed, put her hands behind her head, spread her legs, and said, "I want to touch every part of you. I want to explore you. I want to learn things that our sex ed class didn't even think about. If I want to do that to you, I have to let you do the same thing to me. Help yourself."
I wasn't sure what to do or where to begin. Jill's genitalia was, of course, hidden. She had a pretty good bush of pubic hair, but that isn't what was hiding things; it's just the way girls are built - the interesting stuff is inside, hidden. I didn't feel at all comfortable pushing inside, so I didn't know what to do. I ran my finger along the slit of her cunt down toward her anus. Then I took my fingers and sort of pulled the slit open. That exposed her clitoris - though I had no idea what it was I was looking at. Jill said, "That's my clit. Go down a little and you'll find my vagina. Slip your finger inside." I did, and felt around. She tried to explain what I was touching, but I'm not sure I got things right. In any case, I got a better sex ed lesson than I'd ever dreamed of. She made me play with her tits again, then her belly button, then her thighs, and back to her genitals. She lifted her legs and told me to explore her asshole. I don't think I was ready for that. When I'd done everything I wanted to, she said, "OK. You lie down."
I did. She explored every part of me, avoiding my balls and dick. She wasn't afraid to push into my asshole a little, and she went and washed her hands before she continued. Finally she got to my balls. She tickled them, and rolled them around in her hands. Then my dick. I have a pretty big cluster of loose skin just below the head on the underside of my dick. It's extraordinarily sensitive. As I have moved through the Gang I have realized that in this regard I'm the exception. Charlie is the only other boy I know that has that big a cluster of skin. I had no idea then that it was a left-over piece of the frenulum, which had been attached to the foreskin before circumcision. My very unscientific sampling of boys' dicks suggests that Charlie and I are the exceptions, and that most boys lose the entire frenulum during circumcision. Considering how wonderful it is to have it tickled and stroked, I certainly believe that Charlie and I got the better deals in our circumcisions. In any case, I showed my little hunk of skin to Jill and told her that if she rubbed it, it would very much arouse me.
It certainly did, and I spewed all over her hand and my belly. I'm not sure which one of us was more embarrassed. She jerked her hand back, and I grabbed for a handkerchief to wipe up the mess. But before either of us did anything more, Jill said, "Wait a minute. We both know that it's completely normal for a boy to ejaculate. Why are we upset? Lay down."
There isn't much doubt in your mind who was in control in the situation, is there? I lay back, and she took her fingers and fiddled around in my cum. The she said, "I assume that this isn't your first ejaculation. That you have masturbated?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Have you ever tasted this stuff?"
"It never occurred to me."
"Well, a lot of boys like to have their dicks sucked by their girlfriends - especially if they're avoiding fucking. I think tasting this is just another part of the sex education we're undertaking." With that, she leaned over me and licked up some of the cum on my stomach. Then she licked the underside of my dick and got some more. I almost came again; that was certainly more than tasting!
I said, "What're you doing?"
"Just touching. That was the deal, wasn't it?" She said, "Do you want to taste yourself?"
"Are you sure?"
"If I want to taste my cum I can do it anytime; I masturbate."
"How often to you masturbate?"
"None of your business."
"You're missing the point, Martin. You and I aren't lovers, and we aren't going to be lovers. But we can learn from each other in ways that we could never learn from our boyfriends or girlfriends."
"At least every day. Are you happy?"
"Let's get cleaned up. But I'm not done."
We walked to the bathroom, and she gave me a warm washcloth. I wiped my genitals, and she washed her hands at the sink. Then she took a towel, dried her hands, and asked, "Can I dry you?"
"I guess." That got me hard all over again. We went back to the bed and she told me to lay down again. She hadn't really done anything to my dick and now she moved all over it, touching, looking, pulling. Then she said, "Can I taste it?"
"I thought you already did that?"
"I tasted your semen. Now I want to taste you. You can taste me."
"I'm not sure about that, but OK."
She licked my balls, and then my dick. Then she took the whole thing in her mouth and sucked. She wiggled her tongue on that magic little hunk of skin, and I shot another load. I don't think she realized that I'd come again, so I said, "You have another load of cum in your mouth."
She let my dick slip out of her mouth, but then swallowed it all. I couldn't believe it. She said, "Thanks, Martin. That felt good. I understand a lot more about boys now. But I wouldn't want to pretend that this was just sex ed. I really enjoyed it. Do you want to do more to me? Do you want to see me have an orgasm?"
What the Hell. I was in this so far now, it didn't make any difference how far it went. "Sure, yes."
"You can do me with your fingers, your tongue, or watch me masturbate. I did what I wanted to you; you can have the same chance with me."
"I want to see you masturbate."
She lay on the bed, spread her legs with her knees bent a little. She stuck her finger in her cunt, in and out several times. Then she changed hands, with her left index finger in her cunt and the fingers of her right hand stroking her clitoris. After about seven or eight minutes, during which time she changed her hands a couple of times, her body started to jerk, and her hands moved faster, very much the same as happened to me when I masturbated. She was down to one hand on her clitoris when she finally climaxed, and stopped. "Oh, God, Martin. Having you watch made it fabulously more exciting. Thank you."
I screwed up my nerve. "Jill, I still have the right to touch you where I like." With that, I stroked her clitoris some more, and she jerked uncontrollably on the bed. Then I shoved my finger in her cunt and she wiggled all the more. A finger pushing in her ass brought her to another orgasm. It was a fantastic feeling to be able to turn on another person with just your fingers. She was totally out of control and at my mercy.
At the end she just said, "Fantastic."
Here we were, two kids who'd just turned 14, totally spent - sexually exhausted. As we lay there side by side on the bed, we sure knew a lot more about sex than we had before. I asked Jill, "Was that the first time you have ever been naked in front of a boy?"
"Yes. Same for you?"
"Yes. Have you ever had an orgasm with any other person?"
"No. And I'm sure it's the same for you." We lay there a little while, and she asked, "Some time, would you like to fuck me?"
"No. I don't think so. I can think of this as experimenting; sex ed if you like. Some day I'd like to be able to honestly tell some girl that I'm a virgin."
"I guess I'd like to be able to say that to a boy someday. But I'd also like to be fucked. Who knows? I'm not making any promises to myself - either way."
"Are you going to tell Katy about all of this?"
"Hell, no. She'd tell the whole school - at least all of the girls. This is private, Martin. We don't tell anybody."
"Good. I agree."
As I write this I can say that I've kept that agreement for over forty years. Jill was happily married for most of those years, but she and her husband died in an automobile accident about five years ago. They had no children. I don't think I'm betraying anyone to tell the story now. Jill, it was fun. I hope you were able to make your husband happier because of what we learned that evening.
Katy tried to initiate some kind of sex games from time to time. I just brushed her off. She no longer had anything to offer that I wanted. And until Tim and Charlie introduced me to the Gang, I never had another sexual experience of any kind, homo- or heterosexual. Give or take jacking off a few thousand times.
That was eighth grade. I'd participated in a club gymnastics program in Ann Arbor since I was in third grade. I was pretty good, but the high school I would attend didn't have gymnastics, and I thought that I should take up a sport that would involve my friends at school. At about that time I was beginning to wrestle. I started at the Y, and continued in high school, where I made the team in my tenth grade year. My coach at the Y took us to the State High School Wrestling Championships that first, eighth grade, year. We were just beginners, but it was fun to watch the best high school wrestlers in the state. One match stood out. It was between a big kid from Ironwood and a smaller kid from Flint. I wondered how they were in the same weight class, and Coach guessed that the kid from Ironwood had dieted heavily to make a lower weight and that the boy from Flint hadn't. Coach said, "They met last year and the big kid killed him. I don't think it'll be much of a match."
I decided to watch anyway. There was a larger crowd for this match, and a lot of them seemed to be rooting for the kid from Flint, who I learned from the quiet cheering was named Jim. Neither one was able to pin the other, and they seemed pretty evenly matched. At the end of the match they were tied. Coach came over and sat next to me. "I'm amazed the little kid is doing so well. The tie breaker should be interesting. It's sudden death you know."
I didn't know. I was so new to the sport that I didn't know all the rules. It was the first time I'd seen a tie breaker. The first overtime period came and went with no scores. Well, since it was sudden death, any score would've ended it. By the time the second overtime period started a pretty large crowd had gathered. The audience was very quiet, and didn't do a lot of cheering. But I noticed that every time Jim looked away from the mat at the audience, someone gave him a thumbs up sign. Then he'd be back at the big kid, who everybody said was called "Big Paul." All of a sudden, wham, he took Big Paul down with a duck-under, and it was all over. Then I witnessed the most amazing scene I've ever seen in a sports event. Big Paul took his defeat pretty hard. He hadn't been beaten in three seasons of wrestling. He was in tears. Jim put his arm around him and they walked off the mat and stood together at the side of the gym. I'm not sure whether they were talking or just holding each other. The officials called for Jim to come out and get his trophy - it was the championship round. Jim just ignored them. He stood with Paul about ten minutes. Then they both walked to the middle of the ring and shook hands, quietly exchanging some words. Jim accepted his trophy. Somehow Paul found the strength to accept his second place trophy. The scene ended quite gracefully, and with considerable cheering for both of them.
I didn't expect to see either of them again, but I next saw Paul wrestling for the University of Michigan. We high schoolers liked to go over to Ann Arbor and watch the matches. Paul won all of his, I think. I often noticed Jim in the audience, but he didn't wrestle. The next year they both wrestled. And they both won. I never saw them wrestle each other again. I don't think they ever met at Michigan; they wrestled different weights. But they were both heros of the wrestling team, and certainly of us little high school kids that liked to watch the college guys wrestle. My senior year of high school they met in the Olympics. I'd love to have been in Mexico to see that match. Oh, man, was that a big day for Michigan wrestling. To have those two, both champions of the Michigan team, meet in Mexico and walk away with silver and gold. They were our heros.
I was undefeated my senior year of high school, and was offered a wrestling scholarship at Michigan. In fact, they told me that I held the scholarship that Paul had had. I don't think scholarships are tracked that way, but it was nice to be told that. I wasn't undefeated my freshman and sophomore years, but I did well, and certainly earned the scholarship.
Wrestling is a tough sport for a young man who's discovering he's gay. Do you have any idea what it's like to be down on the mat with really super physical specimens of male humanity, always having to make sure that you don't "accidently" grab in the wrong place? Showers are easy, but rolling around on the mat, hugging, squeezing, pushing, pulling is just about torture. But I loved to wrestle, and I learned to jack off before I headed for the gym. Sometimes I did it in a toilet stall before I went up to practice. It did teach me one thing: I was pretty sure I was gay!
In the spring of my sophomore year I read an article in the Daily that said that the entire university community was invited to the Diag at noon to greet Tim and Charlie, Olympic goal medalists, and honored visitors to the campus. I knew who Tim and Charlie were: the most out gay couple in America. In many ways, my secret heroes. And they were going to be at Michigan. I went. The band played. They were greeted. The two of them kissed. Right there on the Diag with a thousand witnesses! People cheered. Then it was over. I walked away from the Diag with a lighter step. If they could be accepted, maybe I could.
That weekend when I was visiting at home and eating dinner with my parents I told them about the scene on the Diag. How Tim and Charlie had listened to the bard which had played "We Kiss in a Shadow" from The King and I and that Tim and Charlie had kissed. My father almost exploded. "God damned faggots! What is the university doing bringing them to campus? And having the band play? I don't care if they did get fucking gold medals at the Olympics, they're a pair of queers and they'd be better off dead."
I couldn't believe I was hearing this from my father. He never swore. He went to church regularly. But then I realized that his church had changed since I headed for college. They had a new minister. I went with my parents to church the next day. The new minister was filled with hate. It wasn't just faggots, it was communists, heathen, just about anybody who wasn't just like him. And my father was buying it all. God, it was sad.
Then two things happened that changed my life. Coach approached me one afternoon at practice and said, "Martin, you know the Olympic trials are going to be right here in Ann Arbor. You should try out. I think you might earn yourself a trip to Munich."
Well, I have to be honest. I knew I was pretty good. But I hadn't even been thinking about the Olympics. I just moved from match to match. I didn't win them all, but there were really only two guys that could beat me. And three would go to Munich in each weight class. Maybe I could go. Just maybe.
Then there came an announcement that there would be a meeting for everybody who expected to be at any of the Olympic Trials. Mr. Tim, the gymnast and diver, would be there to talk about his Olympic experiences. Of course, I went. I think everybody did. Tim was great. He talked about what it was like to walk in the opening ceremony. To meet athletes from around the world. To compete with the world's best. To have an Olympic medal to hang on your wall. To be an Olympian. The guy almost owned the Olympics; he had so many medals he couldn't count them. But he was in awe of the Olympics. He won everything, everywhere, but seemed to think that just the privilege of being an Olympian was the biggest thing in his life.
He talked about his practice schedule, and I realized that compared to Tim I hardly practiced at all. I vowed to do better, but even as I did I wasn't sure that I could keep the vow. Then he talked about "love and support." Those were his words. He didn't shy away from the word love, he used it with enthusiasm. If you didn't have love and support you weren't likely to win. He wasn't talking about romantic love, or sexual love, but genuine fondness and respect between two or more people. That was how you got recharged at night for the next day's events. That was what put meaning into your efforts. You weren't just working for you, but for the ones you loved. It might be a lover, your parents, your team, or your friends. But it had to be mutual, deep, and grounded in honesty.
I'd never heard anybody talk about sports in those terms. I don't think very many people really understood or accepted what he was talking about. Coming from anybody else, it would've been dismissed out of hand. But here was a kid that collected Olympic medals and world championships like some kids collect Matchbox Cars. Here was a kid whose diving was virtually perfection and whose gymnastics skills were legendary. And whatever you thought of divers, gymnastics wasn't a sissy sport. Here was this great athlete, saying that the secret of his success was love and support. From family, friends, and Charlie, his partner. And he talked about Charlie without any hesitation or reluctance. Charlie was his partner, and that was that.
To this closeted gay it felt like a two ton weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
The next day I introduced myself to Tim at the gym. I think you know most of the rest of the story. I met Jim and Paul - can you believe that Tim and Jim and Paul were best of friends? I still don't believe that. Almost instantly I had a support group like I'd never dreamed of. And they all knew I was gay and accepted me. They encouraged me to be gay, and out. And they invited me to have sex with them. I couldn't believe it. I became one of the Gang. The Gang. I'd never heard of it, and now it was the most important thing in my life.
The other members of the Gang, including some of the parents so I understood, were planning on living their lives in Grand Forks, North Dakota. I guessed that if I could stand Michigan winters I could stand North Dakota winters. (Little did I know.) I did know that the best thing that had ever happened to me in life was to be accepted into this Gang. It was a totally life-changing experience. I was determined to get to Grand Forks. Tim has already told you that I went back to my gymnastics, and headed to Grand Forks after I graduated from Michigan. It went from one good thing to another. Tim and Charlie invited me to live in their house. Frank Kesserling, the gymnastics coach at North Dakota, was wonderful. I don't think it hurt that he knew that I was living in Tim's house, and thus had to be a good friend of Tim. He encouraged me in my academic studies for a Masters in coaching, and he worked me nearly to death to fully regain my gymnastics skills and maintain them. I'm sure that he already was thinking about Montreal.
Then there was Fred. I'm not sure when I first met Fred, but I got to know him on the QE2 on the way to the Munich games. He moved around the ship with the Gang like he was everyone's jolly uncle. He knew everybody, had a kind word for everybody, made things happen for people that they hadn't even thought to ask about. Whether he was talking to the ship's Captain, or plain little old me from Ypsilanti, he made you feel important. What a guy.
Fred took me under his wing in Grand Forks. He knew I was living alone in Tim and Charlie's house, and I was frequently invited to dinner. About the second time he had me to dinner he said, "Marty, we crossed the sexual line on the Ghan in Australia. Will you spend the night tonight?"
I did. Fred is just as kind and gentle in bed as in every other way. It caused some trouble for us, at first. It began that first night. Fred asked, "Marty, what would you like to do tonight?"
"Whatever you'd prefer, Fred."
"You must have a preference."
"No. I really don't. I get my greatest joy out of doing exactly what my partner would like. So dream your fondest dream, and I'll get the greatest of all pleasure in fulfilling it."
That night he hesitated only slightly. Then he said, "Tim and Charlie don't fuck - except each other. I'd like to fuck you."
"On my back or doggie style?"
"Which would you like?"
"Whichever you prefer."
"I guess I'd like you on your back."
I led him to the bed and lay on my back. He asked, "Are you going to take your clothes off, or would you like me to?"
"I'd like to undress you."
Fred can be very sensuous as he undresses you. He took his own clothes off first, and then very carefully removed mine, piece at a time, piling them neatly on a chair. We lay together a long while, talking about nothing much. He told me he loved me, and wanted tonight to be special. "What do you mean, you love me?" I asked.
"I love all of the Gang. I think that's what I mean." I know now that it wasn't. But that took a while to figure out. Soon he was kneeling between my legs, gently massaging my anus. Soon I was greased, fondled some more, and entered. Oh, so gently. No pain at all. Just wonderful pleasure. He made sure we came together. Then he was laying beside me, playing in my cum with his fingers, and gently putting some in both of our mouths. We soon slept. The sleep of lovers.
Fred kept insisting that I tell him what kind of sex I wanted. But I was firm, whatever he wanted, I wanted. It took him a month or so, before he really got the idea. He'd come over to my house in the middle of the afternoon and say, "Marty, I'm horny. Suck me."
I'd walk over to him where he stood, get down on my knees, unzip his fly, reach in and pull out his dick, and suck him on the spot. God, I loved doing that. Not just the sucking, but the doing for Fred exactly what he wanted. Slowly he got comfortable with the idea that that really was what turned me on. He'd let out his fantasies, and I'd hasten to fulfill them.
One night as we were laying in my bed (well, really Tim and Charlie's bed) Fred said, "You know, Marty. I've heard of rimming, but I can't imagine doing it. But I'd love to know what it's like to have a tongue in my ass. I can't believe I'm suggesting this, but you have always insisted that I share all of my fantasies. Am I pushing too far?"
"Fred, I love you for being honest. It would really hurt if I thought you were thinking something like that and didn't tell me. Always let me make the decision about when you're pushing too far. I'll be honest. I'll tell you." With that I headed for his anus. I took a washcloth and cleaned it carefully, and shoved my face and tongue into his crack. I went slowly and got deep inside. If it'd been my idea I think it would've disgusted me. But because it was Fred's fantasy, his idea, it delighted me. I came as my tongue pushed in. After I was done, I showed Fred the mess in my pubic hair from coming as I knelt between his legs. I think then he really believed me that I got my greatest pleasure from fulfilling his wishes."
One night he said, "Marty. I want you to strip me and tie me up. Not just spread eagled on the bed, but in some unpleasant position."
"Fred, I'm not into S&M."
"OK, fair enough. You decide how far you're willing to go, that's always been your decision. Just remember, if I'm not getting pleasure out of what you're doing, I'll tell you."
So I tied his feet together and his arms behind his back. Then I pushed him on the bed and tied a rope between his feet and his arms and pulled it fairly tight. And I left him there. In about 45 minutes I came back and rolled him on his back, with his hands underneath him. He must've been pretty uncomfortable, but he didn't complain. I got on top of him with my butt on his chest, and pushed my dick forward into his mouth. "Suck it, Fred." He sucked, seemingly with relish until it was about to come. I pulled out and let the cum hit him in the face. I just left it there dripping down his cheeks, while I climbed off and attacked his nipples. Then I tickled his ribs mercilessly, till he begged me to quit. I honored his begging, and moved to his balls. I rubbed the shaft of his penis, but didn't touch the head. I knew that this way he might never have an orgasm, and that was my intention.
After this went on for about a half an hour he looked at me with a rather pleading face and said, "Please." I immediately took his dick in my mouth and sucked it vigorously. He was firing his load down my throat almost before I could close my mouth over his dick. I quickly untied him and we headed to the shower together. Nobody spoke until we were standing together, sharing the hot water. "Marty, that was wonderful. I have a hard time believing that I enjoyed that, but I really did. Thank you."
"Fred, you're going to take some getting used to. But I decided to believe you that that was the kind of thing you wanted. I enjoyed doing it, believing that it'd make you happy. If our relationship is going to continue and be successful, we're both going to have to really learn to trust each other. I think we went a long way tonight."
He hugged me and we kissed, long and hard. "Marty, I love you."
"Fred, I love you, too. Can we make a go of this? The age difference is daunting, at least as we face the outside world. But I'd like to be your partner, live with you, love you, share your life."
"Aren't you afraid that it'd just look like you were my little fuck-toy, being paid to perform?"
"Yes, I am afraid of that, not for my sake, but for yours."
"Tim and Charlie will be back in less than a month. You're going to be moving upstairs. Go ahead and do that, but let's take at least a month at the cabin. I don't think Tim and Charlie are going to want to spend a lot of time at the cabin this summer; they're going to be too busy here. If things go well for us in that time at the cabin, we'll talk some more about how we might be life partners."
Tim and Charlie hadn't been home very long before Fred took us to Jerry's for dinner and we told them we were in love. They weren't surprised, and told us that Andy and his family had already figured it out. The wonderful thing was, everyone was so supportive.
Soon we were heading for the Pike Lake cabin. You can easily drive it in a day, but we decided to spend the night in Duluth. Tim had told us that's where he and Charlie had spent what they considered their honeymoon. We stayed in the same hotel, and wondered how it had been for Tim and Charlie, as they prepared to face the world as public, gay partners. Were Fred and I up to that challenge?
As we headed across the northern tip of Wisconsin, heading to Ironwood and on to Pike Lake, I warned Fred. "OK, lover. Remember the rule for our sex life. You get what you ask for, and if you don't ask, you don't get."
He did, too. All that summer he'd ask for sex at strange times and places. We be walking in the woods and he'd say, "Marty, take off your clothes. I just want to drink in your beautiful body." Or, he'd say, Marty, suck me." Or, "Marty, let me watch you jack off." Or, "Marty, let's head down to the lake and go skinny dipping." That always led to a lot more than skinny dipping. One night he walked down to the dock and soon came hurrying back up to the cabin. "Marty, come look at the Northern Lights." We went down on the dock and saw a beautiful display of the lights, in many colors. It lasted for more than an hour. During that time we lay naked on the dock, looking up at the sky, and gently stroking each other. I don't think I've ever had better sex.
I don't want to give you the wrong impression. Most of our sex took place in bed before we went to sleep or as we awakened. Sometimes he'd wake me up in the middle of the night. He hesitated to do that, until I convinced him that that was the sexiest experience for me. We fucked each other, sucked each other, and used our hands. Fred like to watch me jack off, and less often he'd jack off as I watched. I stuck to my guns and insisted that he call all the shots. He got used to that, and finally came to admit that he liked it. And he came to admit that I liked it better that way as well. By the end of the summer we knew that we'd found life partners.
We then had a big decision to make. It was harder than the discovery that we were in love. Were we going to be public about our relationship? We had, living in Grand Forks, examples of both public and private relationships. Tim and Charlie were totally open with the world. Andy, Jim, Amy, and Kara weren't. The world had no idea that they were a foursome. To the world they were two married couples that lived next door to each other and were close friends.
Tim pointed out that it'd be very easy for me to move in with Fred. I was a student and Fred had a big house. We wouldn't even have to use the euphemism, roommate. I could just be a student boarder. Tim also pointed out that the decision to go public was irreversible, the decision to be private about it could be changed at any time. I think that was the most powerful argument to us, and I accepted Fred's invitation to board at his house, now that Tim's house was no longer available to me. (We simply didn't mention the fact that I could've lived in Tim's upstairs apartment.) So, at the beginning of the fall term, when all the other students were moving in, I did, too. And Fred had a boarder. I even paid him rent, and he deposited the checks, so that there was an audit trail that would establish our relationship. That proved unnecessary, and we didn't keep that up past the first year, but it does show how careful we decided to be.
Living with Fred was wonderful. He encouraged me in so many ways - to keep up my studies, to practice, to watch my weight. It was always positive. And he led by example. At 54 he was fit and trim, exercised daily, ate right, and generally led a healthy life. He was working less, primarily in order to give Andy space to become the head of the business. He took his responsibilities as a University Trustee very seriously, and met with Prexy and others on the campus on a regular basis. And he was a horny bastard. He loved to put me through my paces at strange times, and I loved it. He'd do things like walk into the university cafeteria when I was eating and say, "Could you come with me, please?"
I would know that I wasn't going to get back to finish my lunch, so I'd say to an eating companion, if you want to finish this stuff, you can. We'd go out and Fred would have his van parked near campus. We'd get in the back, which was totally closed off, and he'd say. "Oh, God, Marty. Suck me." Or, "Fuck me." Or, "Let me watch you jack off, I'm horny." I loved that van. We'd drive it out in the country on a nice day, get a blanket out of the rear, and fuck behind a hill near some desolate road. Fred knew them all."
In the winter of my second and final year as a graduate student, Fred took me out to a lovely dinner one night and said, "OK, Marty. Between now and the end of the summer we have to get you established with a gymnastics club to manage. You need to find a property, do whatever remodeling is needed, develop a program, advertise it, hire an assistant, and be ready to go in about six months. Do you think you can do it?"
"Fred, do you know how much money that would take? I don't have that kind of money. I'm going to have to go very slowly. I was thinking that I'd try to run some kind of program through the Y."
Fred said, "We agreed when you moved in that money was never going to be discussed. I have it. As my partner, you have it as well. I don't intend to start discussing money now. The fun thing to discuss is how we're going to get your program going in six months."
I didn't argue, and I didn't look back. If he could play by my sex rules, I realized that I could play by his money rules, and that I should.
We went looking for commercial space big enough for a gymnastics program. We wanted it to be somewhere in the area between the high school and the university. We couldn't find a building that we thought would do, but Fred spotted a deteriorating warehouse just about where we wanted the center to be. Within three days he owned it and the bulldozers were moving. Carl was called and told that it was time for him to move his shop to Grand Forks, and that he had his first commission.
Carl was ready. He had been for at least a year. But it takes money to move and set up a business in a new town. He'd been thinking about the financial implications of that, and was about to start looking for financing. I think he'd have thought of Fred, but Fred beat him to it. After Fred's call to Carl, Carl came and visited us in Grand Forks. Almost as soon as he walked in the door Fred was talking about how much fun it was going to be to see two new businesses getting started in Grand Forks: a gymnastics center and an architectural design shop. Carl found himself pouring out his dreams to Fred. Before he knew what was happening, Fred was outlining the steps that would be necessary to make them happen. At one point Carl sort of meekly said, "Fred, how on earth am I going to finance this?"
Fred replied, "You're not. I am." And he went right on talking about the details of the building that Carl would require.
I took Carl aside and said, "Listen, Carl. Fred's committed to being the angel for the entire Gang. Don't fight it; you can't. And he'd truly be hurt. You repay him in one way: run the best damn design shop in the state of North Dakota, or better yet, in the whole northern tier of the country. When you're designing buildings in Minneapolis, then San Francisco and New York, then Tokyo, London, and Singapore, then Fred will be deliriously happy. That's how you repay him. Now, don't spoil his fun by being reluctant."
Carl was a fast learner. He also learned that Fred's immediate top priority was a gymnastics center, and Carl should get up off his ass and produce a unique design, modern in every way, and almost instantly. Carl got the message and spent an entire day with me sitting in Fred's living room, asking question after question and taking notes. This was followed by a visit to the university facilities and a talk with Frank. Then Carl said, "I'm off to visit John at the St. Paul Gymnastics Club, then the University of Minnesota, then to a couple of other universities. Which're the best?"
I suggested the Universities of Utah and Georgia, and asked if he didn't want me to come along; I was looking forward to the trip. "No, I really don't want you along. If you're along, you'll shape the conversation, and I won't learn much that I didn't already learn from you. These visits will give me fresh ideas, and I'll share them all with you before the first bit of design goes on paper. I really will design the facility you want, but you want me to bring to it new ideas, not ideas that're limited by your experiences. That's why you hire an architect and not a draftsman who simply puts your ideas on paper."
As much as I would've enjoyed the trip, I had to admit he was right. When he came back, he shared everything with me, and I told him which ideas seemed to work and which I didn't think would, either because of the small size of the facility I needed in Grand Forks, or because they simply didn't seem to be me. Carl had a wonderful way of absorbing my ideas, making them his, and shaping them into a design. If my experiences working with him were any kind of indicator of things to come, Tokyo, London, and Singapore, among other cities, were going to see some wonderful buildings.
Carl designed what was basically a one room gym for my center. With a huge glass wall at the north end, facing 6th Avenue North, it was a striking building from the outside, without appearing either massive or pretentious. On the other three walls inside were bleachers, storage cabinets (covering the south wall), and offices. I was shocked by one of the factors that had so strongly influenced Carl's design: fear of accusations of sexual abuse.
Carl told me, "Look, Marty, I know you aren't going to be after either little boys or little girls, but anybody that runs a program for children needs to be concerned about abuse: either by your staff of the kids, or of false accusations by your kids, or their paranoid parents. I can help you with the architecture. But you also need to establish firm guidelines, especially in regard to never being alone with a child client. Now, the glass wall and doors mean that you're always observable from the outside. They face north so that you don't need curtains to close them off from bright sun. All the offices have large glass windows to the gym area. Obviously that lets you see what's going on. It also means that people can see you. There isn't a storage room; there's plenty of storage but it's all cabinets along the south wall. It makes it very hard for people to dream up scenarios in which you abuse any of your kids. And I'm not being overly cautious. A teacher in Minot was falsely accused of having sex with a sixteen year old a year ago, and before it was established that the girl was mentally unstable and almost certainly had made the whole thing up, a man's life was virtually ruined. He was accused of taking her into his office, having her undress and perform for him. Put a large glass window on his office and the whole thing goes away. I'm serious about this."
He was serious, and I believed him. As sexual abuse charges have multiplied over the last couple of decades, I've been glad for Carl's advice. We've never had even the slightest hint at the Marty Center. I'll never know whether the architecture has been all or partly responsible, but it certainly hasn't hurt.
You came through the outside door and into an anteroom with chairs and small public rest rooms, and then through another set of doors into the gym. At the end of the gym area, just inside the doors, was a small carpeted area with comfortable chairs, for parents, guests, waiting clients, etc. The carpet ended at a gym floor and not much further on was the mat for the floor exercises. The other apparatus was spread around the room, with adequate space, but not an excessive amount. Tasteful offices for me and two assistants were on the side, along with a reception office and a conference room. Changing areas for boys, on the office side, and girls on the bleacher side had no doors. You walked into the changing room through an "s" curve and accessed the showers and restroom in the same way. It provided adequate privacy, but did not provide space for real or imagined illicit activity. It was lovely on paper, and positively spectacular in real life. From Fred's first inspiration till completion was eight months. Fred was spectacularly pissed that it couldn't be done in six months, but Carl had simply said, "Do you want it done right or done in six months." Put that way, Fred had to accept the two month delay, but it wasn't his style.
I couldn't imagine hiring two assistants in the beginning, for a program that might start with just a dozen or so kids. Fred didn't pay any attention to me on that, noting that if I didn't have a good program from the beginning, no one would come. Both he and Carl noted that it was totally unacceptable for me to run the place with kids by myself, and that meant at least two assistants so that I could cover vacations, sick leave, part-time schedules, and other complications. In a pinch, the receptionist could be the second person, but that shouldn't be scheduled.
Well, thanks to Tim's popularity in North Dakota, it turned out that there was a pent up demand for gymnastics for kids in Grand Forks. The Y had had a small program, but didn't have the space for all of the equipment, nor did they have adequate instruction beyond the beginning level. I'd visited the director at the Y in the early planning stages and had been greeted with, "You're going to run a full gymnastics program in Grand Forks?"
"I certainly hope so."
"Wonderful. Then the Y can go out of that business. It's beyond us, but with the growing program at the University, and no high school program, we have had a big demand, and no real way of satisfying it. Welcome."
I hired his coach as one of my assistants, and my first thirty-five participants were ready to go. By the end of the first year we had over a hundred kids in the program, and a few of them were really pretty good. Thanks to Fred, Carl, and Tim it was a success from the start.
Charlie tells me that I have to add a footnote to this episode. Word came from Bloomington that Billy and Sarah had their first child, a boy, William, named for father and grandfather, to be called Willie. Swimming lessons were scheduled for next month, and diving lessons would begin in the fall. Mommy was doing fine, Daddy was quietly losing it. The divers on the IU Swimming and Diving Team were the collective Godparents. The third generation of the Gang was now underway!
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