This is the story of the first time I hooked up with a guy... ever. The very beginnings of my gayhood.
I was 21 years old. Clueless
and stupid. I was a senior in college and I wasn't out to a soul. I was bored
with school. I was bored with my classes. I was bored of the same old people,
and the same old parties, same old thing. Looking back I never felt jealous or
bitter or even left out... but the truth is... almost all at once, my 3 closest
friends/roommates all got girlfriends. So the apartment was now always full but
everyone was a lot less "present". If that makes sense.
I had no outlets to meet gay
people or to express myself and being around all of this just felt
1). boring
2). stifling
3). old.
I was just ready to graduate and move on.
As with many gay people in
my situation, the internet was an obvious place to turn. There were people of
all walks of life--all so different--but all so similar in their journey to
accepting themselves as gay men. Some were just looking to blow loads in dudes' holes through bathroom stalls. Others were barely of age and looking for some
daddy to break in their holes. But some were just regular dudes, like me,
searching for something but not knowing where to look.
I ended up chatting up a few
dregs, until I happened to get a message from a guy 10 years older than me. He
had a shaved head, a beard, and was super Italian. He was beyond muscular. Like
porn-star muscular... but he was like 5 foot 5. Toddler sized. Classic Napoleon
complex-- I soon learned that to be so true--in every way. Haha. His name was
Tommy. He was from my home state. I went to school in NY but my profile
referenced my home state--as a buffer. The distance provided an excuse to
prolong a meeting--something I wanted to do--but was nervous to initiate.
It obviously started through
messaging each other occasionally, getting to know each other. Then it was
daily. It was almost unspoken, that at different times of the day we would make
ourselves available and be sure we were online to chat. Eventually we started
talking on the phone, and he was making plans to meet up with me over Christmas
break (when I would be home for a good 4 weeks).
Tommy and I had been talking
for probably 2 months before I came home that December. I knew everything about
him---for better or for worse. He was the youngest of 5 siblings, all of which
had their own terrible life drama. His sister was HIV+ from drugs, he had an
estranged brother, the other one was a recovering alcoholic/heroine addict and
was dealing with a custody battle over his only child. Tommy himself had all
kinds of problems. He was definitely suffering from clinical depression,
undiagnosed. He was essentially unemployed, did occasional house painting for
his own company, which was basically run out of his parents' basement where he
lived. He was the owner and only employee and the name was as creative as a tomb stone:
"Tommy's Painting". Cool. His "company" wasn't registered or
anything, no tax ID, no accounting, nothing. He did get pens made that said "Tommy's Painting" on them--which alone put his spending well out of budget--an investment? They were low-budge pens too. Oh, and I think his only clients were his neighbor and his
grandma--who was like 100 and totally dying.
All in all, Tommy was sad.
So sad. I feel sad thinking about him now.
Talking to me was
the best part of his day. And I knew that--and I liked knowing that fact. I
made him happy. He was obviously closeted--and would tell me stories about his
father's hateful remarks towards gay people.... and black people, and Jewish people,
and fat people, and pretty much anyone who was different form his white,
Italian family. We were each other's outlet. Me, away from my stifling college
life... and him, away from his miserable family life.
Anyway, come December I was
home and he was itching to meet me, and me him--but of course I had my
reservations. Once the whole Christmas holiday hype had passed, I had no excuse
to postpone it anymore. One evening, we set up a time and we met at a bar near
his place. It was safe. Neutral. A good way to not get murdered--or raped--or
whatever people read about happening in the news.
It was sad though. Here I
was, 21 years old, meeting up with a man a decade older than me, and he had to
admit that he could barely afford the drinks. I offered to pay for him, but he
was too proud to accept. I paid anyway.
I keep making him seem
sad--because he was-- but at the time, I have to admit I enjoyed being with
him. He was handsome and in ridiculously good shape. His heart was in the right
place, he just seemed to be in a rut. His whole life, a rut. After a few hours
of talking and joking, we made the decision to go back to his place (where the drinks were free).
Did I mention he lived with
his parents?
He did.
He lived in a raised ranch
home, so we went straight to the basement, which was furnished like a living
area. His parents were asleep upstairs so we had to be quiet. This part was a
little awkward---rather, let me rephrase: it was completely awkward.
Here I was, alone with a man
I met on the internet, in a dark, cold basement, whispering, semi-drunk, having
no idea what was going to happen next...I remember him saying, "So you
reeeeally have never hooked up with a guy before?"
"Nope."
"Hmm. So I'd be your
first?"
"Yep."
"Are you sure you want
to do this?"
".... " Delayed
response. Actually. No response. This is where I get awkward.
"Is that a 'No'?"
"Well... I... I mean...
yes I am sure."
"Well, I def cannot
make the first move, I'd feel... like I was forcing you."
I'm thinking, "Aww
that's sorta sweet... but a total cop out... just take control here." But
of course I didn't say that. I'm realizing this is gonna happen, only if I make
it happen.
He said, "Well do you
want to kiss me?"
Ugh, what a corny line. But
I was sorta smitten at the moment. I was like, "Yes, of course I do."
"OK, then will
you?"
"...yes." But then
I didn't. Because I'm the worst.
"Ok.. so..."
Then something came over me
and I was like, arrrright fuck this gay-ass small talk, this is corny. So I not
only leaned in, but I got up and straddled him and started making out with him.
As I was doing it, I was like, "What the? Who am I? Who... what... why...
I'm no longer in control of my body."
I actually remember not
really liking the kiss. It was the first time I'd ever put my tongue in another
man's mouth. I can't say it was awesome. I didn't have this epiphany where the
moon and the sun and all the planets were in alignment and I was like
"this feels so riiiight, this is meeeee!"
Obviously we didn't have
sex. Well to me, that was obvious. I wasn't going out to have sex with him. In
fact, I didn't even cum. It was pretty terrible. He practically came in his
pants. We were making out on the couch and he was rock hard. HAARD. He pulled
out his little weiner and it was so small. It was the smallest little adult
ween I'd ever seen. Granted, I'd only ever seen my own and then all the huge
rhino dicks you see in pornos--which I knew was not accurate of the general
population.
His was tiny. I was like,
damn, maybe I have a big dick--if this dude's is average. (I've learned that I
am not big, I will be totally honest, I'm actually very average--most dudes I
hook up with are bigger than me :( haha but it doesn't bother me, really. I
mean, I wouldn't mind an extra inch, but who wouldn't? At my core, I'm OK with
it) But his? Tiny little man-ween. Hard as rock, but toddler sized. I sorta
jerked him off a little bit and he blew his load in probably 45 seconds.
He then transformed into a
wet blanket. He came and all his horniness was out the window. He made it seem
like a chore to kiss me, he reluctantly touched my penis and I was SHOCKED he
put it in his mouth. He gave terrible head... probably because he didn't really
want to. I didn't cum. He said his jaw hurt and then he stopped. Cool, thanks.
Then while I was still naked on the couch, he got up and went to the bathroom
and gargled his mouth with peroxide.... I was offended. I got a clean dick,
bitch.
Anyway, it was really late
at this point.
 |
| Is this real life? |
So I, only half satisfied, got into my car and drove home where
I stayed awake rehashing every single detail of the night over and over in my
head until I fell asleep. I guess I was officially gay now. Yay!
I admit it wasn't
awesome--but it was a start. In my more experienced days, I've learned it was
all him. My sex life today is awesome. To this day, he was my first, and worst
lover.
Months passed and I
continued to talk to Tommy, and we met up a few more times. They were always
similar as far as the sex part. I never came and he came in seconds. It was
pretty annoying. I did top him, but he said it felt like I was stabbing him
over and over so we stopped. Pretty uneventful--but damn he had a sexy body. He
never saw me finsih, ever.
Eventually, his negativity
and depression got the best of me and I couldn't handle it. For example, when I
asked why he wasn't on facebook he would say, "Why? I hate everyone. All
people. Why would I make an account to show everyone how much of a loser I
am." We eventually stopped talking and I am a better, happier person
because of it. I haven't talked to him in years and I have no plans to. He was
an alright guy, but had so much "growing up" to do, and coming from a
21 year old child, that is saying a lot. I was a mere child.
I sometimes wonder what he's
doing or if he's alive. (dramatic right?) I will always remember him as being
my first, but that's about it. So be it.
