*Gay Sex: Older & Young men*

The crystal chandelier began to jingle as the thousand crystals of the huge lighting fixture clanged together like a wind chime outside a Chicago apartment. At first, it was subtle, almost musical. But, as the intensity of the Southern California earthquake increased, the chime-like sound became deafening and disturbing.

Mark, a tanned 16-year-old boy from New Zealand, sprang from his bed as the rolling motion and thunderous noises woke him. It was his first experience in a “shaker” and he was not enjoying the ride.

As he tried to walk across the apartment floor, he felt wobbly and unstable. Sure he would fall down anyway, Mark sat on the floor and, waiting for the motion to stop, thought about his family and how they would have reacted if they were with him.

Within a few seconds, the rumbling stopped; the floor became stable once again; and the tinkling of the crystals silenced. Mark looked around the room and for a moment, thought it was in his head. The only evidence that anything had occurred was the slightest sway of the chandelier.

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We were both only 16 at the time, in fact we were born almost a week apart. His name is Travis and we really didn’t get along too well. He was the cocky, arrogant type that got off on putting other people down and yet was about the most popular kid in our class. He was a good athlete, but a little bit on the small side though. He was about 5′10 and 140lbs. Soaking wet, but there was just something about him that attracted me to him physically. (O.K. I thought he was HOT!)

We lived in a small town so there wasn’t much to do except party a lot. One of the kids on our football team invited a bunch of us to his house one night to drink some beer so, of course we went. When we got there we were surprised to see his parents there. We found out that they had furnished the beer! Their philosophy was that they knew we were going to drink, so they would rather have us do it there where they could keep an eye on us, than have us driving around and kill ourselves. One of the big things though was that those who drank there had to stay the night. Eventually this became a weekly event. On a regular Friday night there would be as many as 15 - 20 guys spending the night there, most of which I was attracted to, and they were usually drunk and passed out. So you can see that this was like a paradise for a young, in the closet, gay kid, like myself.

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My senior year at school was coming to an end and I had no regrets. My grades were good. I had been accepted to the local two year community college and I had a part time job that would become full time during the summer. There I was, Richard Bauman (my friends called me Rick) with the world by the balls and whose only problem was trying to stay awake during my senior history class. It helped that Rob Anderson was seated infront of me. He was a super nice guy. Rob went out for several sports and was one of the more popular guys in school. The great thing was that he never let it go to his head. He was nice to everyone.

I had this thing about Rob that I’d never tell anyone. I liked looking at him. He had everything right. His smile, his face, his great bod, even the way he smelled. In history class when he sat infront of me, I could watch his back. Even that appealed to me. It tapered from his solid shoulders to a narrow waist. I dreamed about him when I jerked off and tried to imagine what he looked like when he was naked. I tried to figure if he was circumcised or not. I knew that he “hung left” because when he wore his jeans I could see the solid tube of his dick bulging off to that left side. This whole thing confused me because I didn’t think of myself as “queer” or anything. Rob was the only guy I felt this way about.

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We road our bikes for a long time before we stopped for sodas at the DGS store near the elementary school where I’d first met Larry. We sat on the curb sipping orange Tru-Aide he’d bought because I hadn’t brought money for the ride.

“Remember old Mrs. Walsh with that crazy hair?” he said.

“Yeah, I didn’t like her.”

“Me either,” he said.

“Want to see where I live. It’s only a mile and maybe Brenda will be out. I’ll introduce you,” he said. “What time do you have to be home?”

“I don’t know, six maybe,” I said, not wanting to commit myself in case we were having fun.

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For me, there’s nothing better than anal sex and passionate love between men. I’ve learned this and more from my older brother Skip.

Skip’s not the jock of jocks, he’s kind of plain which throws a lot of people off in figuring out what he’s like and what he likes. They expect him to be quiet and looking for some other quiet girl but that’s not what he’s into. I can say that Skip is queer as a goat, and his dick ain’t never gotten hard for any pussy other than what’s between another man’s buns.

I remember the first time I realized that men mated together. My best friend Rhett and me were inline-skating through part of Rooks Park one spring evening on our way from school.

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