An Unusual Cruising and Sex Spot in Downtown Louisville

DOWN UNDER THE TRESTLES

AND OTHER DOWNTOWN SEX ADVENTURES

 When I was in my late teens, I lived in downtown Louisville on E. Walnut Street.  I could explore the area on foot, day and night. I loved taking solitary walks at night to clear my frustrations. One evening, I stumbled upon the cruising area at Sixth Street and River Road. It was on a narrow band of land beside the Ohio River. Part of its width was covered by the trestles of the Illinois Central Railroad, with a train station above.

When I first entered the very dark area, I imagined I was alone. A black guy emerged out of thin air. I thought, "What have I got myself into?" I imagined I was going to be robbed. Instead, he said, "You’re sure a good-looking kid, do you want a blow job?" I couldn’t believe my ears. Always horny, I answered, "Yeah, sure." We went up under the trestles and he did his number (or my number). From that moment, I was hooked on the area. The narrow strip extended some fifteen blocks or so. It had only one entrance.

I soon found out that the spot had nonstop action, day and night. Most of the "servicers" were black, while the "servicees" were white, straight, and mostly young rough-trade types. These guys weren’t there to get paid, they went there to unload. Why it was this black-white division of labor, I never figured out. I have always believed that blacks give better oral sex because many have larger lips and bigger mouths. This certainly must contribute to a more enjoyable experience. I suspect that the cruising area had been in operation for years, and was apparently widely known, as there were always "customers." I didn’t fit the mold. Sometimes I gave, sometimes I got, but not with the same person. In spite of being totally open, it was completely safe. I never saw cops there, although they must have known about it. Nor did anyone go there to rob.

At times the railroad workers would stand above the trestles and peer down. Sometimes there were two or three and they would make comments like "Look, that guy can really suck." This in never bothered anyone being watched. That’s because there was no way to get down into the area directly from above. Had they wanted to stop the action below they would have had to run fast for four blocks just to get down there. There were unobstructed views toward each end of the cruising area, so any suspicious persons could be seen from a distance and one could disperse long before they reached one’s spot. I suspect that some of the workers would sometimes sneak off from their colleagues to go get their share of blow jobs.

I got to know an assorted cast of characters that frequented this haven. One was a black guy who earned the name of "Sweet Lips" due to his superior talents. He had his own regulars, who insisted on using him and no one else. I met a white gay a few years older than me and we became speaking acquaintances. I asked him why he always wore a toboggan cap even on hot summer days. He answered, "I’ll show you why." He pulled off his cap and long tresses fell halfway down his back. I gasped in disbelief. I had xpndtw-1 never seen a man with such long hair before. This was well before the age of the Beatles. He explained that he was a drag performer with something called The Jewel Box Review, and that his stage name was Bonnie Belle. I begin to attract my own regulars. Two were an unlikely pair that often stopped by together to get serviced. One was a man in his mid-thirties, the other a teen-age kid of about eighteen. The boy had only one nut.

I deliberately chose the location of my last apartment before leaving Louisville because it was only two blocks from the cruising strip. That way, if I met someone I liked, I could take him the short distance home. On one visit, the place was deserted. I waited for a while, and a cute teenage boy arrived. I decided to play a game with him. I struck up a conversation and said something like "Really slow today, I’ve been here a long while and no one has showed up to blow me. I guess I won’t wait any longer. I think you will be waiting in vain. I’m going home. I live two blocks away. You are welcome to join me, I can offer you a coke." He said  OK, and home we went. Once there I began my strategy. I asked him if he went there often, and he said whenever he got horny. He liked the blow jobs guys gave there. I told him that I did too and wasn’t it too bad that there was no one there to take care of us that day.

I told him, "You know, I’ve never sucked a dick before, but if you want me to try it on you I am willing to do so." Of course he accepted and Iain  gave the best performance possible. It was over quickly. He said, "For a guy that never did that before, you sure are good."Whether he was naïve or just playing along with me, I didn’t know.

From age eighteen until twenty-four I frequented that area, stopping only because I left the city. It’s an irony for me that the Illinois Central train station was torn down, along with the trestles, and a magnificent concert hall was built at the spot. Many years later I attended a concert of the Louisville Orchestra in the hall, enjoying the exquisite experience of the music, and knowing that I was sitting right above the locale for so many of my sexual adventures--another coincidence.

Other downtown sex adventures

When I moved to my windowless room at Second and Jefferson while working at Philip Morris, I was surrounded by sex opportunities. The Trailways bus station was a half-block away. There were always young guys with a couple of hours to kill waiting for the next bus to their destination. It was easy to strike up a conversation with them and whisk them off for the short walk to my simple and tiny room.

I met a short but tough gay there who fascinated me. He had most voracious sexual appetite of anyone I ever met. His home base was Kokomo, Indiana, but he said he was always on the road. He never said whether he worked or not. He told me he would go into a hick town and start a conversation with teenage boys hanging around. He would offer his services and say, "Round up as many others as you want, I’ll take care of you all." Whether it was pure fantasy or not, I can’t say.

Across the street from the bus station was a burlesque movie house, the Savoy Theater. The straight films it showed were tame compared to today’s pornography. But that didn’t stop horny guys from frequenting the place. And they in turn attracted predatory gays. It was a madhouse. One frequent visitor was a guy in a wheelchair. Another guy, perhaps his lover, would wheel him into the theater, then down the steps to the men’s room to spend the afternoon. He would move up beside the urinal and wait there. His wheelchair was low-seated, putting him at about cock level. When a guy with a stiff prick came to "piss," there was a mouth inches from his cock. They got the message quickly and either accepted the obvious offer or left. Mr. Wheelchair didn’t mind who watched him in action. No one ever got angry with him and struck him, I suppose because he was in a wheelchair. Maybe that device was just a ploy.

Either at the bus station or the movie house I met a guy my age who was riding his motorcycle from Boston to New Orleans, stopping for a while in cities along the way.  For me he was Marlon Brando personified. He invited me to join him. I was enthralled with the idea, and willing to throw everything away for someone I had known only two days. Fortunately, I told my friend Fred W. about it. He said, "Are you crazy? Don’t do it." Thank heaven I listened to reason.

         Sometimes, instead of going to bed after an exhaustive day at the University of Louisville and the tobacco factory, I would cruise the streets around my house. I often saw a strange, thin guy doing what seemed to be the same thing. He looked defenseless. Once we crossed paths, and I said, "Be careful, these streets are dangerous at night." He pretended he didn’t even hear me. Imagine my shock when I enrolled in an art history class at the university and he was the professor!

[Note: Because of Demon guidelines, part of this narrative was omitted. Anyone wanting to read the full story may contact me via email: [email protected]]