Growing up gay

WARNING: If you prefer not to read about illegal activities, please skip this post

Last night the ABC screened 'Our Gay Wedding: The Musical'. Two gay men planned and carried out their wedding as a musical. The wedding occurred on the first day that same sex couples could legally marry in Britain. Pretty well everyone involved in the wedding from the Registrar and the grooms, through to the relatives and friends attending participated musically in the ceremony (and some did so less musically). Parts of the ceremony were cheesy but there were plenty of moving, wonderful moments such as when both grooms' mothers sang a duet expressing honestly their feelings about discovering and coming to terms with their son's sexuality.

I was taken with information displayed on a big screen during the ceremony which informed both the progress made in removing discrimination against homosexuals but also the many areas where discrimination, indeed persecution, against homosexuals still prevails. It brought back memories of my own passage through a gay adolescence to adulthood.

My experience would be familiar to many gay Australians now aged in their sixties and older.

It is as recently as 1984 that homosexuality was decriminalised in my state of New South Wales. I was thirty-five years of age at the time. Prior to then it was illegal for me to engage my sexuality. Considering that I began sexual activity at the early age of twelve that constitutes twenty-three years of illegal activity simply responding to the sex drive that nature gave me.

At any stage in those twenty-three years I could have been arrested, prosecuted and gaoled. Indeed I was arrested once. I say arrested but I'm not sure of the technical status. Perhaps detained by police for questioning might be the correct legal status but either way to me it seemed like an arrest.

I was only twelve when I was arrested. I hadn't engaged in sex, nor touched, nor even spoken to the other person when I was detained. The other person was a plainclothes policeman. It was an act of entrapment. After lingering at a public urinal he gestured for me to follow him outside where we were approached by another man who also was a plainclothes policeman. They identified themselves as police and ordered me into their car. They drove me to a police station for questioning.

No adult relative relative, indeed no independent adult at all, was present during the questioning. They instructed me to complete a statement 'helpfully' suggesting forms of words at points when I felt incapable of expressing myself. The completed statement was a factually correct account but using language that was not my habit to employ and that my parents had never heard me express before nor indeed afterwards.

You can imagine the shock my parents felt when I was brought home unannounced by two policeman who handed them a copy of 'my' statement, alien language and all, to read. I presume the matter was referred to a Magistrate or some such legal arbitrator. As I hadn't actually been observed by the policemen to engage in sexual activity I assume my offence was soliciting or perhaps it was loitering with intent. I was required to attend a Psychiatric assessment to determine the level of my mental health.

I concede that I was in the habit of engaging in what then was illegal sexual activity. However consider the actions of the police that day. Entrapment, detaining and interviewing a minor without any independent adult and/or legal representative present, and 'assistance' given in completing 'my' statement. I think the last used to be referred to as 'verballing'.

Six years later when I applied for my first full time job, with a Government authority no less, I was in fear that the obligatory police checks would reveal that I had a criminal record. To my relief that was not the case.

There are homosexuals around the world nowadays facing far worse treatment than I experienced. It was good to be reminded of that fact whilst rejoicing for the newly married couple in their more enlightened time and place.

In Australia, we have progressed but marriage equality is still not on the agenda.

If I were straight......

As a born and bred gay man for whom females make treasured friends but nothing more in the below the waist department I would have great difficulty in nominating some (any?) as a person I could fall in love with....if I were straight.

OK, as a pre-teenager there was...

....Donna Reed but that really was a puppy love. We watched her weekly family comedy series on television and I imagined her as my mother or even in a gay fantasy imagined myself as her. Well, as her character, that is. Of course I never disclosed those thoughts to anyone. I was a naive child but not that naive.

Then as a teenager I possessed non-feeling feelings for...

...Shirley MacLaine. I suspect I had an intuition that this pixie of a woman was gay friendly and in a reprise of my 'love' for Donna Reed I think I wished I was MacLaine.

And then I grew up. Sort of.

I no longer wished I was a woman, or rather no longer wished I was some woman's character that attracted my fancy as the type of spirit I wished to be. If that makes sense.

But now? Oh, if I were straight I think I might actually fall in love with...

...Robin Wright. Former wife of Sean Penn. Whether it be in House of Cards or the recent French/Aussie film Adoration whenever Wright is on screen I almost, yes almost, feel some manner of stirring in my gay loins. Not many females have done that for me. Actually I can't think of any others. Maybe it is the blonde, mannish hairstyle, but there is definitely, almost, something there.....if I were straight.

Getting lucky

SKIP THIS POST IF YOU HAVE NO INTEREST IN THE SEX LIVES OF PROMISCUOUS GAY MEN

Fireworks in Sydney NYE 2014

Andrew's post about the celebration of New Years Eve in simpler times reminded me of a succession of New Years I enjoyed in the late 1970s and the 1980s. The days when sex was not just a daily preoccupation but an essential daily activity. And there was no day - or should I say early morning - better for a memorable encounter than NYE.

You see it is a little discussed fact that there is no day of the year when cute tipsy straight young men are more amenable to a one off encounter - even if it is a gay one - than early morning New Years Day especially if their overnight expectation of scoring with a favoured lady failed to eventuate.

In those days of high sexual activity for me, a frolic in the bushes with a desperately horny good looking young straight man was a delightful way to celebrate the new year. I stress that no rape, coercion or other pressure was involved. These were straight men keen to bring, shall I say, a climax to their NYE celebrations with anyone, even another man.

Those were the days.

He needed Uncle Sam

The ever prescient Andrew recently retrieved a piece of Australiana from deep down in the memory bank that came to my mind on a bus journey today.

A gorgeous blonde youth boarded the bus and rather thoughtfully, from the perspective of this old queen, took the seat immediately in front of me. Sydney buses tend to be compact so someone sharing a seat with you or sitting on the seat ahead of you is really in close proximity. The thought of sharing the journey with this young man almost in my face, so to speak, was a pleasant one.

The blonde Adonis

As you can see, the Adonis was wearing what we in Australia call a 'singlet' and Americans, I believe, call a 'wife beater'. About five minutes into the journey the Adonis decided to place his right arm across the back of his seat bringing him even closer to me. Splendid, I thought.

This very cosy arrangement continued for a few stops when it dawned on me. Either his deodorant had failed him or he hadn't applied any this morning. Now there are plenty of situations that I won't enter into in this post where I would find this to be not unpleasant, even rather...err...arousing, but that wasn't the case on this bus trip.

What a bitter/sweet journey I found the rest of the trip. He needed 'Uncle Sam'.

DILF

Coincidence is a strange thing. Have you ever noticed coming across an event, or situation, or term for the first time ever only to encounter the same thing again almost immediately? Two identical instances in short succession having never encountered them previously? It is a phenomenom I've noticed in the past and it happened to me again today.

I was watching Ellen DeGeneres interview Ryan Phillippe today and he spoke about being referred to as a DILF. I had never heard of the term and was wondering what on earth he was talking about until I worked out from his conversation that the word was most likely an acronym for 'Dads I'd Like to Fuck'.

Fast forward a few hours and I'm reading Yani's blog and what should he write in his post but "Hello Mr DILF!"

Two references to DILF in the one day having never heard the term previously. A check for DILF in Google confirmed that my acronym assumption was spot on.
 
Then I thought I would check DILF in Google images and the very first response was the photo above of actor Christopher Meloni. Having seen Mr Meloni full frontal in the HBO television prison drama Oz I can only refer to my newly acquired term and quote Yani, "Hello Mr DILF"!

Young crushes

Andrew's posting on 'man crushes' brought back memories of my gay childhood crushes on the characters in a number television sitcoms or rather on the cute young actors who portrayed those characters.

Perhaps top of the list was Don Grady who played Robbie Douglas, the middle son of 'My Three Sons'. As a single child - and already knowingly gay - the thought of a life with two brothers was simply exhilarating especially if one of them was a Don Grady.

Don Grady

Maybe wishing for two brothers was too much so I would have been satisfied with one, an older one, particularly an older one like Tony Dow who played Wally Cleaver, the older brother in 'Leave It To Beaver'.

Tony Dow

In those days I also had this strange secret desire to be Donna Reed but only as she was as the 'typical' wife and mother in 'The Donna Reed Show' not as the naughty lady who did adult things I didn't quite understand in 'From Here To Eternity'. I especially wanted to lightly traipse up and down the stairs of her family home in a pretty frock the way she did in every episode.

Donna Reed in typical wife and mother mode lovingly attending to her cute family

I no longer have any desire to be a Donna Reed or any of her successors but if there are any cute 60s aged successors to Grady or Dow.....

Rodgers and Hammerstein On Stage and Screen

This is a bit of a gay man's wet dream. The Sydney Symphony Orchestra playing the film scores to Rodgers and Hammerstein musicals in the Sydney Opera House, accompanying clips from the movies. I grew up on R&H musicals and thrilled to hearing and seeing musical selections that are so ingrained in my memory.

The conductor, George Daugherty, links the pieces and film clips with his commentary and is clearly very enthusiastic on the subject. His exuberance on the podium is so marked that at times he appeared almost to be trampolining.

It was fascinating to re-visit memorable moments including the 'bench scene' from Carousel ('If I Loved You') and the 'Shall We Dance' sequence from The King and I. Both scenes appear quite chaste and tame by today's standards yet each remains undeniably sexy. There is no doubting what Yul Brynner has on his mind as Deborah Kerr explains English courtship practices to him.

It is a pity that the Orchestra drowns out some key dialogue during 'Shall We Dance'; the only misstep in tonight's performance for mine.

I ran into James on the bus trip home and assumed he must have been amongst the gay contingent at the R&H concert too but it turns out he had been to the nearby Dendy Cinemas attending the premiere of an Australian documentary on Palm Island. That makes three bloggers I have met in person now.

The French Kissers (Les Beaux Gosses)

I can be slow sometimes. Although this film has been advertised for weeks it was only queueing for tickets today that the double entendre of the title occurred to me.

A group of fourteen year olds is discovering relationships, love and (imagined) sex in and out of school. Viewing this film it seems that teenage schooling is little different in France from what we see portrayed in American movies. It wasn't what I remember from my mid-teenage days, around forty five years ago, no less, but then I went to an all boys school and at that age was already well and truly a gay boy.

Notwithstanding scenes of shared - but not mutual - masturbation, the characters in this film remain steadfastly hetero.

Strangers in the night...

...exchanging glances, wondering in the night, what were the chances...


A memory from my past.

I was at a popular Sydney gay venue prowling the wet sauna which was a notoriously dark room where an aging queen like myself often had to judge the attractiveness of other prowlers by touch and sound as my eyesight in the gloom was not up to seeing who they were or what they looked like.

On this occasion the touch was very appealing and the sounds (mostly moaning) as my mouth attended to his...well, you can guess...indicated that the pleasure I was feeling was reciprocated.

After a while, the recipient of my oral pleasuring, leaned forward and in a hoarse whisper suggested we adjourn to a nearby private cubicle for some enhanced activity. That wasn't the term he used but again...you get the idea.

So we moved from the blackened darkness of the wet sauna through the slightly more visible gloom of the adjoining showers from where we could make our way to a cubicle. Despite the gloom in the shower room the light was sufficient for us to recoil in instant recognition.

He and I not only worked for the same organisation at the time, we had adjoining work stations there. Neither of us was aware, until then, that the other was gay.

The ardour of the wet sauna disappeared immediately and instead of continuing to a cubicle we decamped to the cafe area for a friendly, non-arousing chat over coffee.

Father and son

Returning from coffee at Ae's yesterday, Hn asked me about my interest in football. Gay men are not thought of as being into sports usually. There are in fact plenty who are interested just as there are professional footballers who are gay although generally they do reveal themselves until after their careers have ended.

This conversation got me thinking to my childhood when I had no interest in sport whatsoever and how that changed completely from about the age of fourteen.

When my parents discovered my sexuality - and I was very young at the time - their initial reactions were, what I believe now is regarded as typical. They wondered where they had gone wrong. This included each 'blaming' the other for what their son had turned into.

Dad believed that Mum had been 'too mothering' of me. Well mothers and their sons do tend to be very close especially when the son is an only child and I must confess my mother in many ways is probably my oldest and closest friend. Mum on the other hand felt my Dad was too remote and had not done enough to influence my behaviour and development. Indeed my Dad had been of that generation that did not show their feelings and therefore on the surface seemed distant. Whilst I never doubted his love for me it was only much later in our lives that my Dad gave demonstrative indication of his love through words and touch.

Anyway, at the time there was much finger pointing and my parents pursued a number of strategies to repair, as it were, their homosexual son. One strategy was that my father started to take me out every weekend in winter to watch a football match. It is not as though my father was already a football goer. I don't think he knew much more about what he was taking me to than I did but that was what my parents thought would help 'fix' me.

At first we used to sit in the grandstands with his workmates. This exposed me to adult male hetero behaviour as they skulled their beers and became increasingly leery and noisy. As I was too young for alcohol and not interested anyway, this was a very strange example to set which I ignored.

Initially, I was baffled by what I saw happening on the field. I didn't know the rules, or the teams or the players or even how the scoring worked. But it didn't take long for me to develop an interest in the games and to look forward to each weekend's outing.

My father no doubt imagined at the time that I was being drawn into a natural hetero liking for manly activities but what initially was attracting my interest was actually the beauty of the men playing, their sexy physiques and the wonderful glimpses of their bodies. Unlike footballers in America who seem totally covered by their football uniforms and protective gear, the rugby, soccer and Australian Rules codes of football provide plentiful glimpses of skin and occasionally much more.

Indeed back in those days, Aussie Rules footballers used to get down on one knee and urinate on the field during the quarter time breaks in full view of the crowd. You can imagine how un-hetero was my interest in this activity as I viewed it through binoculars. Unfortunately but understandably this practice now seems to have been banned by the authorities.

Anyway what was at first an interest for the beauty of what I was seeing developed into an understanding and then enjoyment of the context in which it was presented. It was through my parent's attempts to turn me into a hetero that my homosexual inclinations transformed this gay boy into a sports fan.

"Pass me a napkin, please"

"Marine Napkin – The flap on the front of the traditional 13-button US Naval enlisted uniform trousers."

When I was a teenager Australian sailors wore trousers that had a flap in front rather than a fly. To a young gay sexually precocious man these flaps were just too erotic for words. The pants were tight and the flap hugged that interesting part of the sailor's anatomy in the most advantageous of ways.

Standing alongside a sailor in a public lavatory whilst he undid the flap generated a sense of anticipation and arousal in me that makes me sigh even now more than forty years later.

Just a memory that came to mind with the fleet in town.

Hello Sailor!

There are more than 4,000 sailors in town this weekend.

I better steer clear of the Kings Cross area. Those sex starved sailors, getting a glimpse of an experienced sexual being like me, would not be able to restrain themselves.

Just kidding!

At the wedding

I have survived the wedding.

The predicted showers did not eventuate nor did a threatened storm late in the day when dark clouds covered the sky for a while as the reception got into full swing.

The ceremony started 35 minutes late after Ry, the bride's father, held back her arrival insisting she should arrive fashionably late but forgetting that once at the Cathedral steps the photographer would insist in another quarter hour of photograph taking.

The ceremony was at St Mary's, Sydney's principal Catholic Cathedral, for no other reason than it was the only Church the bride and groom found that could fit their wedding in at their preferred day and time and then only because of the cancellation of another booking.

As a consequence, the 150 invited guests were boosted by a similar number of tourists who happened to be touring the Cathedral at the time and who happily observed proceedings from the rear.


The reception was held at Watersedge which if nothing else has a terrific location on the edge of the Harbour adjacent to the bridge. This photo taken from the venue's website gives an indication of the setup and venue location.

Our table was in the corner at the bottom right of the photo giving us a splendid view of happenings in the reception as well as on the harbour.


The setting became more spectacular as day merged into evening and the city skyline, including the Luna Park across the harbour, became transformed by night lights.

The nibblies on arrival at Watersedge were sufficient in quantity and diversity to constitute a meal of their own almost making the subsequent dinner irrelevant although the white chocolate mousse dessert proved a rich and satisfying finale. The toffee topping reminded me of a scene from Priscilla Queen of the Desert.


Thankfully the friends at the table I was placed with were congenial company and my fears of being odd man out did not eventuate. They were virtually the only people I knew at the wedding apart from the parents of the bride and two other couples elsewhere in the room.

There was plenty of man candy at the wedding, pretty well all of it far too young for me. Once again I had that odd experience of setting eyes upon one attractive man early on in proceedings and then finding him popping into my view time and again in the following hours.

This time it was a good looking, late twenties, blondish type sitting across the aisle from us in the Cathedral. I noticed him from the outset and cast occasional glances his way. As it turns out he was to deliver the first reading so I had the pleasure of hearing him speak in the fine acoustics of the Cathedral early on.

Later on as the reception got into swing I became aware that one of the guests had taken over the microphone and was singing impromptu to us. It was the same blondish man and he was doing a very professional imitation of a Frank Sinatra type.

Then once the dancing got underway, there he was again easily the sexiest male dancer on the floor moving sinuously around and, to my delight, dancing closely and sexily with both men and women, obviously completely confident and comfortable with either gender.

It would be thrilling to imagine that he was gay and even more so that he might be available but my intuition strongly pointed to him being a straight man totally at ease.

Vicky Cristina Barcelona

Rebecca Hall and Scarlett Johansson are best friends from the USA spending two months holiday in Spain. They are like chalk and cheese in their attitudes to life and when befriended by Javier Bardem, a painter with few inhibitions and divorced from Penelope Cruz, they predictably react in quite different ways.

This is a Woody Allen film without the oppressive New York angst (Spanish angst replaces it). The screenplay contains Allen's trademark quips and dense conversational style. Thankfully Allen does not appear nor is he heard and I enjoyed watching the attractive cast as they struggled, each in their own way, to come to grips with their relationships, loves and passion.

I think I could watch Javier Bardem read the telephone directory. He is an effortlessly sexy man which makes his scary, sexless performance last year in No Country for Old Men so remarkable.

The Spanish settings (apartments, cafe, street and rural scenes) are gorgeous. Allen is back in form.

My towelhead dilemma

(Artwork - Raphael Perez)

I mentioned a dilemma when I watched Towelhead. I was uncomfortable watching the scenes depicting sexual activity with the thirteen year old girl. This seemed a natural aversion given that I am not sexually attracted to children or youth. I am grateful that I don't have that particular demon to battle.

However, as the film progressed my mind turned to my own history. I was very naive when I progressed through puberty and yet my own sexual activity commenced at the age of twelve. I know now that I didn't really understand much about sex then but the urge was strong, the enjoyment was irresistible and so I pursued sexual activity at every opportunity.

At that tender age, my sexual contacts were all with older males; probably all of them adults although my memory of them, other than 'my first', is non existent now. It never occurred to me at the time that I might have seduced any of these men nor that any of them might be taking advantage of, let alone abusing, me. Nor did I give much thought to the illegality of the behaviour.

So, as Towelhead raised memories that frankly never worried me before, was my discomfort a feeling of guilt or a sense of hypocrisy or have I just grown up?

Towelhead

Well, I can't say that I had no forewarning.

The reviews and articles I read on Towelhead made it clear this was a story about a 13 years old girl discovering her sexuality with (amongst others) an adult neighbour.

Although the sexual moments are not shown explicitly, there is no doubt what is being depicted and in those moments of the movie I literally squirmed in my seat, uncomfortable with the confronting nature of the storyline. Those moments aside, I felt the film presented a very telling picture of cultural ignorance and intolerance. It also vividly showed how males can take advantage of and, in the wider sense, abuse females.

The audience at the session I attended was mainly senior citizens with a majority of females. No one walked out of the movie nor did I notice any restlessness amongst that audience so I believe that, like me, they accepted the movie as a serious representation not some salacious potboiler.

This is not a film for those who prefer their movies be 'entertaining' rather than challenging the viewer. Interestingly, I felt a dilemma in my reaction to this film which I will post about separately.

Amok in a brothel

A posting by Sunshine in which he mentions not having ever been in a brothel triggered a memory for me. I have been to a brothel - once - back in about 1979.

I was working in Hong Kong at the time and had travelled to Macau for a weekend with four colleagues; all with their wives in tow. I wasn't out to them at the time and at least one of the guys suspected my true sexuality but the others and the wives seemed either blissfully unaware or else didn't care.

To my amazement, my four colleagues, despite the presence of their wives, decided we five men should patronise the hotel's brothel. Even more amazing to me the wives didn't seem to mind their husbands' brothel visit.

I tried to get out of it but they would have none of it and I found myself unwillingly and completely naively in this house of ill repute.



We were were outside a room containing the working ladies and thinking it was what I was supposed to do I nervously stepped into the room to select a lady. The madam quickly dragged me out of the room and informed me that I had to view the ladies through a one way mirror to select 'mine'. I wasn't supposed to be parading around the room in front of them.

I have never found women sexually attractive in the slightest and didn't even find most of these women attractive to me visually. I ended up selecting one by wildly pointing at no one in particular. The others all made their selections and then we were led into separate rooms for our half hour of 'fun'.

I dreaded what was to follow but 'my' lady took the lead and got me to sit naked in a type of steam box which gave me a feeling of sickening claustrophobia. She sat herself down adjacent to this contraption and then leaned over and started to masturbate me. To my relief she wasn't expecting intercourse.

This was the least arousing experience for me and despite her efforts I didn't get an erection. She battled on gamely and after what seemed an interminable period she asked me whether I was married. I gathered she saw this as the explanation for my non-arousal and I happily said 'yes'. I took that as the opportunity to thank her for her services and ended the visit.

I felt I had been in that chamber for so long I was certain I would be the last to return but found that I was the first to end my sexual odyssey. To my secret amusement, when the other four returned they all commented how 'refreshed' and 'relieved' I looked and how 'obviously' I needed the shag I'd just received. What a bunch of morons.

Check list....

As I have passed each of my 50-something birthdays it has been good to check off certain aspects of my life continue to be in place. There is satisfaction in knowing that some things remain.

Today I have been 59 for all of three days and I am mentally checking off that list again.

Since turning 59 I have;

Had erections.....check.

Dreamt about having sex.....check.

Had actual sex.....no, not yet. Mmmmm....better get to work on that.

Skins

I loved last night's episode of Skins.

The scenes involving Chris (Joe Dempsie) as a real estate trainee and later at the flat in which he squats were hilarious. To top it off there was the thrill of watching his arse pounding his former teacher.

The only downer was that Maxxie (Mitch Hewer) did not feature more.

Barry's the man

Barry Hall's appearance at the Tribunal this evening to have a coffee and chat about that punch has featured prominently in Sydney news bulletins today.

I can only imagine the level of coverage this matter is getting in Melbourne and Perth where there is....ahem....slightly greater interest in AFL.

I have to admit that his boofish behaviour aside, I have often thought it would be rather pleasant to engage in some horizontal folk dancing with Mr Hall.

Postscript: The Tribunal so enjoyed Mr Hall's company tonight that they have given him a rest from football for seven weeks.