By Mighty Mouth


I swear to you, dear reader, that everything I say is true and without exaggeration. I admired another cute kid at high school from a distance. He drove me nuts. By the most remarkable coincidence, the tenants on our farm knew his family. I think they were relatives. I don’t know how I accomplished the connection. Perhaps they told me that the boy was a student  there, since they knew I was too. I was determined to use the most sophisticated technique I could to seduce him. I let the tenant couple in on a plan and they were totally unsuspecting. He lived on the second floor above a storefront. I asked them to tell me how many steps there were up to his apartment and I said, "The next time you visit, count the number."

Sure enough, I shortly had this bit of "revealing" information at hand. Soon I saw him in school and said, "I know everything about you." He had certainly never even noticed me. He was dumbfounded when I gave him the information I had. I guess he thought I was psychic. This was the entry I needed. We formed a friendship. It didn’t take me long to tell him what my real interests were. He accepted. He had a car, and one night picked me up for a drive. We didn’t know where to do it, but one of us suggested a city park famous as a hetero trysting spot. We pulled off one of its many isolated roadways and both climbed into the back seat. Within minutes a bright flashlight shined into his car. It was the cops! They caught us in action. We were both terrified we would be arrested. One cop asked, "Can’t you guys find a girl?" We said, no we couldn’t, and he said, "You can’t do this here, get on your way." We had another couple of encounters, once when I visited his apartment and we were able to consummate the deal uninterrupted. Then it stopped.


    I can’t recall how I met Ronnie P. in high school. He was the typical all-American boy. Like seventy-five percent of males, he turned me on. I had him a few times, but don’t remember how where. Once, I was cruising on East Market Street and he happened by in a car with three or four other boys. He said, "Come along for a ride." I accepted, and it was a wild adventure. Once into the car they said, "You are our captive now; you will do what we tell you." I became apprehensive, but I was trapped. We went to some deserted area, and I had to service them all.

When it was over, one of the guys became very hostile and said, "Let’s beat the shit out of this faggot." Ronnie’s cool and intelligent head prevailed, and he said, "No, this isn’t a good idea," and they drove me back to my area. One of the boys was exceptionally beautiful, a younger version of Marlon Brando à la AThe Wild One.”  He even owned a motorcycle. I asked for his phone number. He gave it to me. I asked, "Can I take a ride on your bike with you?" He said "Sure." I phoned him one time, but he said he was busy. I didn’t know whether it was true or he had gotten cold feet. I never phoned him again.

Ronnie and I maintained contact at University of Louisville and I saw him frequently, always to my satisfaction, and hopefully to his. After college, he stimulated me to get a job at the Post Office, where he worked. He was a great tease. Mail for persons who worked at the Post Office was pinned to a bulletin board.  He would write suggestive postcards and leave them on the bulletin board for everyone to read. I went to my fiftieth anniversary high school reunion and Ronnie was there. He came with his very ugly wife. He called me aside and said, "I have to tell you, I have always been bisexual, but it took me a long time to realize it." I gave him my New York phone number and he made a few calls. I quickly realized that he had become a nut case, and I didn’t return them after a while.

    If anyone wants to read a free copy of my book, "Memoirs of a Gay Rights Maverick," I’ll send it to you as an email attachment.  Advise me via email: [email protected]

Mighty Mouth


Mighty Mouth


Rate Story Choose rating between 1 (worst) and 10 (best).

Bookmark and Share

blog comments powered by Disqus