TRUE CONFESSIONS - 7

By Mighty Mouth

I swear to you, dear reader, that everything I say is true and without exaggeration. Some gay contact recommended the downtown Louisville YMCA as a good make-out spot. The YMCA often didn’t have many young guys, some were "doubtful" males, and definitely not Christian, but boy did they associate. The second floor housed a dormitory where many Ft. Knox soldiers would sleep during weekends off the base. I would go into the Y and sneak up to that floor. In those, days they didn’t maintain the type of vigilance they do today. In the bathroom, I would plant myself in a toilet stall with a full view of the shower. When a guy came to bathe, I had a front-row seat. If I liked what I saw, when he came out clad in only a towel, I opened the door to my booth and offered to show him the deck of pornographic playing cards I usually carried with me. Strangely enough, most didn’t register much surprise. If they got hard, I offered them a blow job. My success rate was pretty good.

Once I picked up a guy and took him to my Market Street apartment. He wasn’t particularly exciting, but returned a few days later with his brother. The brother was a different story. He was handsome and had the most beautiful cock I had ever seen. It was totally proportional in terms of length and girth, and sizeable. It was ramrod straight and rock hard. He became a regular until I left Louisville in 1955. I still think about him to this day when I hear the revised 1945 ending of Stravinsky’s "Firebird Suite" (not to be confused with the original version of 1910). Likewise, when I hear the ending of Brahms’s "German Requiem." I remember a Rican guy I knew in Brooklyn whom I never had but always coveted. For some reason, I took one guy I met in Louisville to a hotel. He was my usual type. After sex, we were lying in bed. He asked me out of the blue, "In your opinion, what is the most beautiful word in the English language?" I replied instantly and without reflecting, "archipelago." Do you suppose he left the hotel room and forgot all about me, after asking such an interesting question? I never saw him again. I'm willing to wager that he never forgot me, just like I never forgot him.

I got my B.A. degree in philosophy in 1954 from U.of L. During my hitchhiking trips from Louisville to Lexington in the summer of 1954 to take private lessons in symbolic logic from the head of the philosophy department at UKY, I would occasionally stay in Lexington for several nights to avoid making the 78-mile twice-a-week trek. I put up in a flea bag hotel with the minimum of amenities. The first room I rented there was a windowless cubbyhole, reminding me of my similar room in Louisville, with a communal bathroom in the hall. When I got to my room I decided to leave the door open to get some air.  

    Shortly afterwards, an interesting guy went in to take a bath. There was no shower, only a bathtub without a curtain. I followed shortly, porno cards in hand. These were part of my technique for making a seduction. There he sat in the bathtub, revealing nature’s gifts. I decided that I could eat his frankfurter with relish. Faster than a rifle shot, I began my usual pitch. I think he cut his bath short, dried quickly and we were off to his room, adjoining mine. His shot was almost as fast as mine, and I was soon out of there. I couldn’t sleep. It was the middle of a hot Kentucky summer and my room was so stifling it seemed like it was 110 degrees.

The next night, I rented a room with a window. It probably cost $2 more. Exhausted, I "retired" early, but left the door to my bedroom cracked Ato get better air circulation.@ That way I could listen to the comings and goings on the entire floor. Soon, a prospect passed my door and went into the room next to mine. Liking what I saw, I contrived some cockamamie story and knocked on his door, porno cards in hand. He acquiesced quickly. When I left his room, he said, "Hey, thanks guy, I enjoyed that. That was the last thing that I expected would happen to me here." Another satisfied customer.

At least my hitch hiking trips back and forth between Louisville and Lexington offered me opportunities to indulge in sexual exploits. I didn’t get give many blow job for some reason, but I got picked up by gay guys who serviced me.  My journey took me through Frankfort, the state capital. Once on my way back home while hitching just outside of town, a cop car pulled up to me. It had only one person in it. I thought, "Uh, oh, what’s he gonna do?" In a friendly way, he asked, "Where ya goin?" I told him Louisville. He said, "I can take you down the road apiece." I told him no thanks, I was waiting for a longer ride. The truth is I thought he was going to run me in. But he persisted, again friendly, and never demanded I get in his car. He finally gave up and drove off. Only later did I realize that he was offering me more than just a short ride. It was the first time I even considered that a cop could be gay.

When I moved to New York in 1955 to enter graduate school at NYU to continue my philosophy studies, I quickly discovered the subway men’s rooms. Had they rented space in them, I would have slept there too. I spent far more time in them than I should have. In those days they were free.  Later, the city required that one deposit a nickle to enter, to everyone’s joy.  This meant that one didn’t need to look out threw the door slats while getting blown to see if anyone was approaching. Just the sound of someone inserting a nickle was sufficient. I knew about Central Park’s Ramble, went there a couple of times, but decided it was too dangerous. There was a public park on Ninety-sixth Street near my first apartment, where Rican kids hung out from a high school across the street during their lunch hour. I made a few conquests in the men’s room there, and one of them became a regular. While waiting once for a "customer," a cop came up to me and said, "Don’t hang around here any more." He probably thought I was a drug pusher. I never went back.


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

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