By Mighty Mouth

I swear to you, dear reader, that everything I say is true and without exaggeration. Sometimes, instead of going to bed after an exhaustive day at University of Louisville and the night shift at a tobacco factory, I would cruise the streets around my house after midnight. 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!

    Living downtown, I had the chance to meet lots of unusual guys. One kid had "sweet" tattooed under one tit, and "sour" under the other. Another one bore a more fascinating tattoo. I noticed some lettering on his cock when it was soft. After it hardened a bit, I could make out the word "love." As his member grew, so did his love. How he could have suffered through the tattoo process was a mystery to me. He had served time in the pen. He told me, if you were in prison, gorgeous young studs would die to have you suck them off. I liked the fantasy, but decided that I didn’t need the experience. I met a sexy guy who said he was married and invited me to his apartment when his wife wasn’t around. He didn’t want it in bed. He insisted on lying in the waterless bathtub while he was getting serviced. I nicknamed him the bathtub boy.

I discovered one of the last remaining public bath houses in Louisville near my tiny widowless room on Second Street. It was managed by an elderly couple. Each customer had to sign in and out. Usually when I arrived, there were many names listed as having arrived earlier in the day. Yet the bathhouse was always empty or had one other person at the most. I found that I could actually make out at the bathhouse. I would take showers in a stall with a view of another shower that would last an hour, waiting for a "victim" to arrive, Many times, no one came. But when I signed out, the register contained at least ten phantom persons who had signed in after me. The couple were obviously trying desperately to keep their job and were fabricating visitors. One wonders how long they were able to maintain this charade. Once, a teenager came in with the longest and skinniest dick I had ever seen. When hard, it looked like an extra-long pencil. I popped the question, and he accepted. Not wanting to do it in the bathhouse, I took him down under the trestles, not far away.

I somehow had a speaking acquaintance with a young lesbian. She was fat and had an acne- scared face, but was a nice person. I nicknamed her "the ugly dykling." We would often chat on the street, but that was the extent of our relationship.

About this time I discovered Central Park. Unlike New York’s vast park, Louisville’s was very small, although the two had the same architect, Frederick Law Olmsted. While not in the same class as the trestles cruising area, it was very active at night. The middle of the park was its highest point, with a colonnade. From here one could see almost the entire park. Guys would wait for contacts there and do their business out in the open without fear.

This spot, too, had its regulars. One was a middle-aged queen who called himself Aida Brown (I eat or brown). He was really witty. He said, "Guys ask me how I can breath with a big cock down my throat. I tell them I breath thru my shit chute." I met a guy there whose job was to read electric meters. I nicknamed him the meter reader peter eater.

Word got around that teenage boys were robbing the gays. I decided to come to the defense of my fellow cruisers and teach the bastards a lesson. For several years during my late teens and early twenties, I always carried a switchblade to protect myself should I face a difficult situation. I had to visit the park several different nights to accomplish my task, but eventually I saw two kids approaching the center of the park. When they got close enough I could tell they were menacing. I was ready for them. I yelled out, "OK, you motherfuckers, come one step closer and I’ll cut the two of you to shreds." They could see my knife and they turned and fled the park. I’ll bet they thought twice before going after their next victim.

    Louisville’s main library sat on a public square that was a pickup area at night for hustlers who were bottom feeders. I avoided the place, but walked by one night on the way from downtown to my apartment in Old Louisville. A rather good-looking boy approached me. As usual, I succumbed. We went to a dark alley somewhere and he let me do it. Then he tried to rob me. Always being a fast runner, a trait I inherited from my dad, I soon outdistanced him. That night I didn’t have my knife with me. I vowed to get even with the SOB.

I met him again a few nights later. I took him into the alley, showed my knife, and said, "You tried to rob me, I’m gonna kill you." I didn’t know that he had a group of accomplices lurking nearby. He yelled for them to help him. Out of nowhere, four or five guys appeared. I knew I didn’t have a chance. I fled down the street, but after a couple of blocks I realized that they were catching up to me. I darted into a hotel and told the lady at the front desk that a bunch of guys tried to rob me. I didn’t think they would enter the hotel, but they did. They heard me tell her that and my would-be robber said, "No, he tried to rob us." The lady asked, "Son, what is this all about?" It was his mother! I could see she didn’t believe him. She probably already knew he was a troublemaker. She said "You guys get out of here!" Then she turned to me and said, "I’m getting off work shortly, I’ll drive you home." This was just one of the many coincidences related through my book of memoirs. I avoided that place afterwards.

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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