By Mighty Mouth

I swear to you, dear reader, that everything I say is true and without exaggeration. All my adult life, I have considered every male I have encountered in terms of what it would be like to have sex with him. For me it’s an incredibly subtle thing to be able to distinguish between my sexual interest in a person and a normal response to a positive social or business interaction. I also consider every male I meet to be gay until proven otherwise.

By the time I reached twenty-one, I lost count of the number of guys I had sex with. Imagine the accumulated number sixty-four years later! I believe I directly inherited my sexual desires from my great-grandmother, Millie, who had so many men she must have lost count. The experiences that I remember possibly number in the hundreds, most of which are too repetitive to recount here. My sexual contacts with males began with the early onset of adolescence. I and a neighbor boy would masturbate together.


Not until two years later, did I experiment further, but still at an early age There was only one boy my age on our block in Louisville. He had the rare name of James Smith. Though he was fat and ugly, I made friends with him. One night, we were walking through a deserted area, with overgrown, vacant lots. I suppose that by this age most boys know what blow jobs are. I asked him if he ever had one, and he replied "No." Some primordial instinct deep within me sprang to the surface and I asked, "Want me to give you one?"

          He said "Sure," and we went into the high weeds. It was over in seconds. I was in disbelief at my own boldness. But I liked it so much that I began to proposition other neighborhood boys, who were more attractive. My reputation spread quickly, and in short order I had a wide choice to pick from. I had no remorse. Thus began my life-long insatiability.

I got a part-time job in a small supermarket a block from my house. Even in the late forties many people still didn’t have phones at home. Neighbors would receive phone calls at the grocery store and I would run to tell them. One of the customers who lived on the same block as the supermarket was a guy whom I learned was twenty-four. He was muscular and extremely handsome. Once, he got an early morning call and I went to get him. The store’s phone was in the back room, and I accompanied him. I lusted for him, and when he finished his conversation, I chatted him up. Just like that, I asked if he wanted a blow job, and he accepted. We went into the back stockroom and I did my thing. There was no one else in the place except my colleague at the check-out counter. I imagine my fellow worker might have thought it strange that the “conversation” was lasting so long, but he didn’t mention it.

To be continued. Comments, pro or con are welcomed: [email protected]

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. Mighty Mouth


Mighty Mouth


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