By Mighty Mouth

    I swear to you, dear reader, that everything I say is true and without exaggeration. Soon after I moved to State Street, Brooklyn  in 1967, a young straight couple would show up every afternoon and spend hours kissing across the street from my house. My gay neighbors on the block commented on it. I wondered why they chose our block for this. He was gorgeous and I envied her. After a year or so they disappeared.        

Several years later I was in the john at the Long Island Rail Road station on the corner, waiting at the glory hole. A guy walked into the next booth and sat down. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the kid who spent so much time making out with his girlfriend. I said to myself, "Oh, God, I want this more than anything in the world."

I asked him through the hole if he would like to come back to my house, and he accepted. It was great, and he became a regular. Strangely, he would always show up at the stroke of midnight. I nicknamed him pumpkin. He was into poppers and obviously bisexual. After a while I bored of him. I realized that he previously had ulterior motives for choosing our block to make love in public to his girlfriend. He wanted to show himself off to all of the faggots who lived there.

Near my house, on Atlantic Avenue near Third Avenue, there was a welfare hotel. It housed mostly men down on their luck, drug addicts, and assorted kooks. Walking past one day, I came face-to-face with the "cute as a button" guy from the Flatbush Avenue bar I had previously frequented near Grand Army Plaza. I lusted after him in the bar, but he was always busy talking with his cronies, and I never got a chance to speak with him. He had sunk very low and was living in the hotel. I still wanted him, so I invited him to my house for sex. He began to stop by frequently, to take a private shower instead of a communal one at the hotel, and submit to a blow job for money, of course. He showed his appreciation by saying "Damn, you give good head." That pleased me. but I soon tired of his arrogance and told him not to return.

Across the street from my house on State Street, a city office issued working papers for teenagers. They opened at eight, I believe, and in late spring long lines would form in front. The boys usually arrived before the girls. I would sometimes see something I liked and go talk to him. Once I saw three guys arrive early together. One was adorable. I chatted them up then asked the pretty one if he wanted a blow job. He said, "Sounds good, but I have a question." I imagined he would ask how much I would pay. Instead, he asked, "How long will it take?" I replied that it could take as long as he wanted. He replied that he didn’t have much time, as he didn’t want to lose his place in line.

When I lived in the furnished apartment on Court Street while waiting for my house to become available again, I had a phone problem. A guy came to fix it one evening while Roger was at work. (more about Roger in a future episode) As he was leaving, he asked if he could use my bathroom. He said, "My next stop is in Red Hook, and I don’t know how clean the bathroom there might be." He went into the bathroom, but left the door ajar just enough that I could glance in. I thought it strange, but wasn’t sure what was going on. He was big, tough, and good-looking. At times men are careless about these things and I didn’t peek in at him, much as I would have liked to. He finished and left.

About two hours later, my doorbell rang and I looked out the window to see who it was. He yelled up at me, "I forgot my screwdriver. Can I come up and get it?" I said, "Of course.! He came up and sure enough there was a screwdriver in the kitchen that I hadn’t noticed. He said, "I’m sure glad to be finished for the day. Can I hang out here a while?" By this time I suspected something was up. I hadn’t come on to him, so I was puzzled. I figured it was safe enough to pop the question. He said AOK,@ and out popped a monster cock. After only about thirty seconds, he said, "I really want you to fuck me." I was so shocked I almost collapsed on the floor. I agreed, but am sure I didn’t satisfy him. He dropped by my place a couple of more times and begged me to do it again, but I refused. He disappeared, but about a year later I was having dinner with my dear friend Ellie in an Italian restaurant in Park Slope; he was there with a woman too. She could have been his wife or girlfriend. We acknowledged each other with a slight nod, but said nothing.

    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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