Saturday, June 2, 2018

Memoirs of a Gay Leather Elder 02: The Beginning

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As I grow older, my memory is getting more and more erratic.  I've been sharing these stories verbally for decades. Now that I have polished them to a high sheen, it's time to write them down, and give them away to the universe.

Coming Out As A Leatherman

I was in the Navy back in the 1970's, and my ship (the Samuel Gompers) was basically a floating Naval base.  So, it had around 1,300 men onboard (there were no women onboard until after I left the Navy). We would head overseas to the Western Pacific for six months (this was referred to as "WESTPAC"), and stay in port in San Diego for the other six months.

On my third day on the ship in 1976, a short, muscular, tattooed and handsome stranger came up to me and said "Let's go up topside - I want to talk to you".  I was baffled, but I agreed.  Up on the top deck, we could chat in the open air without being overheard.

He said "You're gay, aren't you?"  In shock, I started stammering, but he cut me off with "It's okay - I'm gay, too". I was astounded.

For months, I had been hanging-out with a swarm of drag queens, and I didn't fit in. At all.  They found me to be hilarious - They'd tell me "Say 'Oh, girlfriend', or say 'BEYOTCH!'".  They'd shriek with laughter, because I simply couldn't say it in the same girly way that they did.  I tried to fit in, but it simply wasn't working. I didn't know any other gay men. The effeminate ones were all that I could find.

This tattooed stranger worked in the boiler room on the ship - The slang term for a sailor like that was a "Deck Ape".  I will always be grateful to that man, because he took me under his wing for a short while.  He brought me to his apartment off-base, and showed me his collection of Tom of Finland books.

I can't recall ever being so excited and inspired.  For the first time in my young life, I saw men depicted having sex together, where one of them wasn't pretending to be a girl. Back in the 1970's, that exclusive portrayal of gay males was fading away.

I particularly found the leather garments depicted in his books to be the sexiest thing I had ever seen.  I borrowed the books, went to a local copy shop and photocopied pages showing the best outfits that Tom of Finland had drawn.  I had definite plans.

Shortly thereafter, our ship took off for WESTPAC. After stopping off at Hawaii and visiting my boring brother, we headed off for Asia.  Back in those days, there was a lot of peer-pressure on young sailors:

- If you went to the Philippines, you were expected to buy Mamasan and Papasan chairs.

- If you went to Japan, you were expected to buy a Nikon camera and a stereo system.

- If you went to Hong Kong, you were expected to order a nice, custom-tailored velour leisure suit:

I had no interest in THAT idea. As soon as my ship pulled into Hong Kong, I gathered my xeroxed images of leathermen, and a perfectly-fitting pair of hip-hugger jeans, and went to a recommended tailor shop.  I handed these items over to the head tailor, and ordered a black leather jacket, shirt and pants.  I told the tailor to go ahead and disassemble the jeans as a pattern, since they fit me so perfectly.

Since platform shoes were hot-hot-HOT in those days, I also had the shop make me a pair of platform leather boots:

When the magical day came for me to pick up my new gear, I headed over to the shop and tried everything on. The pants were baggy on me!  I complained, and the tailor said "No too tight!  Will sprit!"  I told him I didn't care if they "sprit" - I wanted them painted on!

After a couple of days, everything was exactly as I wanted it, so I paid the shop and headed out to explore Hong Kong. I was trying to find Tiger Balm Garden, which was a well-known tourist destination, but I was lost in a strange, strange town.

I'd be standing on a corner, holding up a paper map, turning it this way and that way, trying to get to my destination.  I'd lower the map, and find fifty or so local folks staring up at me with their mouths open.  I'd catch their eyes, and they'd scatter.  As soon as I'd pick up the map again, they would gather again.

I can't blame them - I made quite a sight. With the platform boots on, I was around six foot ten, wearing exotic black leather garments, and about a foot and a half taller than anybody else!

My Only Porn Film

I wasn't originally planning to tell this part of my story, but I ran across this photo, and the time seemed right:

This is a Norwegian man, who spoke very little English. I was in a porn film with him, and we got along quite well.  He wanted to try on my gear, so these are the actual pants and jacket that were made for me in Hong Kong.  Since I wear size 15EEEE boots, he wore his own.

No, I don't remember anything more about the porn film, and I haven't been able to track it down in the forty years since then.  I'd love to see my young, virile self in action.  It was a blast.

My Leather Entreé into Gay Society

When our ship was heading back from WESTPAC, we stopped at Hawaii again.  There was NO way that I was going to hang around with boring relatives, this time around in Hawaii.  I had a plan for the next phase of my life.

We pulled into port on the beginning of a four-day holiday weekend.  I left the ship in full leather gear, and took a bus to a gay bar called The Blowhole.  It was near to a natural lava-tube formation at the beach:

It was also a very clever name for a gay bar.

The bus-trip was hellish - Hot, and very humid.  I was sweating my tits off, but I was determined. I arrived at the bar around 4PM, and it was crowded with men in shorts and flip-flops.  There was a small swimming-pool inside the bar.

I walked into the bar (ducking to enter), and stood by one side of the bar.  I slowly and deliberately stripped off each leather item, until I was completely naked.  The bar became very quiet.

I pulled a tiny red speedo out of my pocket, put it on, and then dived into the pool.

This is not a picture of me, but my ass looked like that.

I meant BUSINESS. I was in a mood to create some big adventures. I could have had any man in the bar, having arrived with a literal splash.  However, I saw a handsome, blond older man seated at the bar, and we hit it off right away.  I was always attracted to men in their forties and older.  They weren't my Daddies, they were my sexual PREY.  Wooof!

This man's name was Dan, and he was a Lieutenant Commander stationed on the big island. He offered to take me on a grand tour of the coast, since we both had four days to kill.  He took me on a full circuit of the island's coastal highway, in a pink and white Volkswagen Thing with a striped surrey top:

I was young and fertile, and we'd be fucking chest-deep in warm water in Shark's Cove, or under a waterfall, or in a bamboo forest, and on and on. I can't recall how many times that I fucked him, but it was a LOT.  He must have been walking funny when the week started again, but he didn't seem to be complaining - He was smiling at both ends!

Toward the end of our tour, we were in a clearing in a forest of giant tree ferns, and he was sitting in my lap with my cock up his ass.  Suddenly, Dan froze and started struggling to get up.  I was in no mood to cooperate, so I held him down.

I said "What's the matter?"  he said "People are coming toward us!  Oh, no - I'm going to lose my job!"  I gripped him firmly, still inside him, and said "Our clothes are 300 feet away, and WE WERE HERE FIRST!"

Right then, fifteen or so heavyset German tourists with pale knees, knee-high black socks and Bermuda shorts started marching through our clearing, with cameras hanging around their necks. Their faces were bright red, and they looked in every direction but at us, pretending that two naked men weren't fucking within a few feet.

I waved at them amiably as they strode by, and when they left, I finished Dan off.  I was a courteous Top, and I ALWAYS made sure that we always came simultaneously.

That was the end of my first adventure in gay leather.

Coming Out As Kinky

I had a boyfriend in 1977.  It was not a good relationship.  Mark and I had two things in common - we each had a big dick, and a lot of anger issues.  We didn't last long together, because we fought so often. We both had a lot of issues to deal with. Therapy helped a lot, when I sought it out a few years later.

Mark and I were staying at a huge barn of a house in the oldest part of Kensington (a neighborhood in San Diego), house-sitting for somebody that Mark knew. That didn't last long, either:

I had been out late one night, because I was out fucking strangers behind Mark's back. Being two exclusive Tops, sex between us wasn't all that satisfying. Plus, I was young and horny all of the time. I had a lot of man-on-man catching-up to do, after twelve years of Catholic school, and four girlfriends.

I came home late, and sneaked upstairs to clean off before joining Mark in bed.  I leaned against the century-old bathroom sink, and it snapped right off, severing the water pipes, right where they came out of the wall. Water POURED out, uncontrollably.

Mark was downstairs, sleeping, and was woken up by the sound of glass shattering. The dining-room bowl-shaped chandelier was below the flooding bathroom, and it filled up with water.  It smashed to the floor, and the flood spread rapidly.  The two of us frantically tried to figure out how to shut the water OFF, at three o'clock in the morning. After calling the water company, the water was finally turned off.

During our final fight as the sun came up, Mark did his best to provoke me.  He had a knack for that.  Finally, I threw him over my lap, and started spanking his naked ass.  We BOTH got immediate hard-ons.  I threw him off of my lap, confused and dismayed.  I had only come out as a gay man two years earlier, and now I had to come out again, as KINKY?!?

I wasn't ready for that, so we broke up.

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