Summer of '63

Part true, part fantasy--all erotic. Fun to have lived through, fun to have composed--lots of fun to read!

T’was the summer of 1963! Now, that is a long time ago—long before most of you were even born. Things were different then. Sex was around—yes even back then—but it was a lot different. The sexual revolution hadn’t hit the streets yet. People were still talking in hushed voices about the Kinsey Report; Playboy was still considered scandalous pornography by the oldsters; and gay sex wasn’t even known as “gay”.

Most of the revolution of the “60’s” actually happened in the 70’s. Sure, there was the Free Speech Movement at Berkeley 1964; there were definitely civil rights demonstrations that literally got hotter in 1965; the anti-Vietnam War sentiment started to burgeon in 1967; and, at the same time, the drug scene was just beginning to creep into public semi-consciousness. But that was only the beginning of the forest fire that really didn’t hit until ’68 through about ’75.

Yes, the early 60’s was more like the drab ‘50’s with a few little sparks starting aglow beneath the accumulation of ground fuel that was the “Baby Boom” generation. All of the values were post-war (World War II, folks): staid, conservative, get-married-have-a-family-with-four-kids values.

Being known as a homosexual, (homo, faggot, queer, cocksucker) resulted in being immediately ostracized from the mainstream group of whatever environment in which you happened to be associating. And it wasn’t just being looked at as different; it was actually being eliminated from whatever group that might be. Gay men and women lost jobs, and employability and apartments. Talk about second-class citizens?

Of course, there were compensations: AIDS hadn’t hit the scene, gay men never thought of using condoms, gay sex had heightened excitement to it because it had to be clandestine.

I was a freshman in college in 1963. I was struggling to maintain a straight persona, though I didn’t quite know it at the time. I dated girls but the pain of asking a girl out was compounded by the agony I felt while actually being out on the date. It was hard to talk to them; I didn’t understand them; I didn’t feel I was acting properly with them at any given time. Did they want me to make a move? If I made a move and my timing was wrong, would they insult me? Laugh at me? Slap me? If I didn’t make a move, would they feel insulted because they thought I didn’t thing they were attractive? Think I was a coward? Think I was “queer”? I wanted sex; they wanted fun—which might or might not include sex. What a game!

I had sex with girls a couple of times. Frankly, jacking off had been better. I didn’t know what I was doing and neither did they, except for that 22 year-old woman I met at the store. She was a (gasp!) divorcee who lived alone. She loved sex and we got it on a couple of times. But she didn’t want to waste time on an 18 year-old; her taste ran to greasy auto mechanics that were older and married. Go figure!

I had gay sex a couple of times, too. That was when I was in high school. I had a buddy who would sleep over and we would play with each other’s cocks, jack off, and things like that. We didn’t suck each other off nor did we do any actually fucking. It was just playtime sex. But I did enjoy it.

So there I was in the summer of 1963, feeling strange, wondering what was going to happen to me for the rest of my life, trying desperately to get laid, and knowing that I was probably just going to wind up jacking off the rest of my life.

Now, I worked in a department store, not that I actually sold anything, or did stock work, or anything like that. I worked in the kitchen of the employee’s cafeteria. It was grunt work, washing dishes, doing pots and pans, bussing tables, and just generally cleaning up after the slobs who ate there. But the pay was better and my wages didn’t depend on commission. I just work hard and got paid O.K.

Part of what I did was to bus the tables. I had to go out into the dining area and clear off the tables, wipe the tables off, and take the dishes back to be washed. For some reason, the cafeteria didn’t have a cart so I had to carry all of the tubs of dishes all the way back to the kitchen. This was practically a non-stop activity and--believe me--I hustled. “Better Busy Than Bored” was my motto.

I was in pretty good shape, even though I smoked. I was about 150lbs, without an ounce of fat, and I had a fairly good build. I didn’t work on it; I was just built that way. Besides, who worked out back then?

“Hey, Kirk?” The voice was from Brad, one of the guys who worked in the women’s shoe department. “You want to go to a party tonight?”

“Nah. I don’t think so.” I replied. Parties made me only marginally less comfortable that going out on a date one-on-one. I couldn’t dance, I wasn’t a good conversationalist, and drinking made me sick. To be honest, I’d rather go to a good movie alone than try to put up with a party.

“Ah, c’mon!” Brad shot back. “This is going to be a good deal. Mack knows this guy and it is going to be at a house up in one of the canyons. Honestly! Some guy in the movies, so Mack says.”

“Geez! Hollywood, huh?” I wasn’t enthused. I didn’t fit in with the “beautiful people”; I didn’t have the money, the car or the clothes. “I think I’ll pass on this one, Brad. Thanks anyway.”

“Ah, c’mon, c’mon.” Brad was pressing. “I know what you are thinking, kid. It ain’t gonna be fancy. It’s pool party for chirssakes! Hey, just go; have a couple of beers; see what the broads look like; and then, if you don’t like it you can split.”

“O.K. I guess so.” I said as I waited for Brad to write the address on a napkin. “But I’m gonna drive my own car. I don’t wanna get stuck there.”

I forgot to add that I wasn’t much of a swimmer either. I’d drop by but I wasn’t really planning on going swimming or even having that much fun, for that matter. Well, at least I didn’t have to dress to impress anyone.

That night I drove my beat up VW one of those narrow canyon roads that have been carved out of the hillsides above Hollywood. For the price of those neighborhoods, you’d think they’d have better roads. It took me a while to find the house; I passed it twice before I found it--no streetlights up there and the houses were all set back, up and away from the road. I parked way off the edge of the road, right up against the hillside.

It trudged up the long driveway and, the closer I got to the house, the louder the music got. Jesus! It sounded like they had a live band! When I got to the house, I discovered I was right. I walked in the open front door—there wasn’t anyone there to find out if I belonged there or not. There were lots of folks in the big, open, rustic looking living room, mostly facing the back of the house. The entire back wall of the house was sliding glass doors that had been opened to the yard behind. I could see through to the yard where bandstand that had been set up for this jazz quartet who were playing loud but mellow over the buzz of conversation.

I started looking around for Brad. I noticed that just about everyone was attired in swimwear. Some guys had on Hawaiian shirts; some guys no shirts. Everyone looked tanned and healthy. It was pretty clear that a lot of these guys worked out at least a little. I couldn’t see Brad in this group so I started to move through the crowd to see if Brad might be in the back yard.

One or two guys acknowledged me as I threaded by way through the conversations on the way to the glass doors. I could see into the kitchen—no Brad, no one I knew, no broads, no…..but….

“Hey! Wait a minute!” My head yelled at me, “There aren’t any girls here!”

I froze. I wanted to bolt but guys, chatting in twos and threes, blocked my path back to the front door that I had just negotiated my way through to get to where I was standing. I wasn’t about to start elbowing my way back out. I looked back to the yard and saw that things were just as crowded just outside the door. I would need to be patient.

I started to edge my way sideways when a 30-ish looking guy with blonde, curly hair stopped my progress. He had the look of the surfer types that were getting to be more prominent in Southern California. A can of beer was being waved in front of my nose.

“Have a drink?” He said through a broad, white smile. “I just opened this one.”

“No, thanks.” I held my hand up. “I get sick when I drink that. Besides, I’m just leaving.”

“Leaving? You just got here!” He put the beer on a nearby table, “So, what are you drinking. I’ll get you something.”

“Well, you gotta have something! How about a Coke?” He reached around one of the people standing in a group next us and grabbed a can of soda out of his hand. “I just saw him open this one, too!”

I had to laugh at that one. This guy really didn’t want me to get away. By this time, I had gotten the picture. I felt like I was on the front end of a line of bullshit just like the ones I tried to use on the girls.

“You look like you were looking for someone.” He jumped in with that fast to keep the conversation going.

I didn’t want to be totally rude so I said, “Yeah. I’m looking for Brad but I don’t see ‘em. I was going to meet him here but, since it looks like he isn’t here, I think I’ll split.”

“I know a guy named Brad!.” I saw the smile again as he firmly grabbed me by the arm. “Let’s go find him. By the way, my name is Thad.”

“So, Thad….Brad asked me up here but he didn’t tell me what it was about….So, I’d better get going.” I started to pull toward in the direction of the door; Thad and my arm were heading the other way. I decided to go with it for a minute. “Whose place is this anyway?”

Thad stopped and looked at me with a surprised look. “Well, this is Kirk Dickerson’s place. He does these parties all the time.”

Thad was talking about a fairly well known movie star. There had been a lot of rumors about him but I discounted them all. No one that good looking could be into guys—the girls wouldn’t let him.

“Ah, well, things we find out!” Thad grinned, as he steered me out the back door and onto the patio. “Here…have a seat…relax.” He positioned me next to knee high brick planter and sat me down.

“Hey! You’re gonna have a Coke even if I have to give it to you through a feeding tube.” Thad turned and started to walk to the bar that had been set up across the patio. He looked over his shoulder, held up the palm of his hand toward me and barked, “Sit! Stay!”

My urge to run away had abated. I figured I might as well look around. It might be the only time I would ever have the chance to see a place like this and people like this. Someday I could tell my grandchildren that I had been to a party at Kirk Dickerson’s house.

There were the same groups of twos and threes standing around on the patio as there had been standing around inside. But now I noticed arms on each other’s shoulders and even around each other’s waists. Over in the corner, I saw one guy start to put his hand down the back of his friend’s swim trunks. I looked away quickly.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw that I was actually sitting on the top of a terrace. A few feet away were steps that led down to the next level. I could hear voices and splashing and presumed there was a swimming pool down there.

I looked back to the front and saw Thad, under full steam, with a can of Coke in his hand. “This one IS fresh. I just snagged it out of the cooler and opened it myself!” He said that as if he had just landed a prizewinning trout.

The jazz combo had taken a break. Things were quieter, though there was still the buzz of conversation that had been drowned out by the music. I noticed that there seemed to be a lot of laughter. These people were having fun, indeed!

“So, this guy’s name is Brad?” Thad started up the conversation again. “I don’t know a Brad but that’s not unusual. There are usually a lot of folks here that I don’t know or, for that matter, that Kirk doesn’t know.”

“Why is that?” I figured I might as well find out some information.

“Well—I think you have it figured out by now—either that or you are one hell of a lot more naïve than I thought—our buddy Kirk here likes boys. The more the better!” Thad let out a laugh for emphasis. “And he gets tired of seeing the same old guys around all the time. He likes fresh new faces so he ‘recruits’.”

Thad must have seen the surprise in my face so he continued, “He tells the boys he wants to have back at the next party that they each have to find another friend to bring along or the boys can’t come back to the next party. That way he gets his favorites to come back and also gets to see a selection of new faces at each party.”

I nodded sagely, “What a manipulator!” I thought. Then something dawned on me, “Brad? Brad must have been one of those “boys” at the last party. And Brad asked me to come! Good old Brad! So where the hell was Brad?”

“Well, this all makes me a little uncomfortable.” I said, as I squirmed a little on my perch.

“Oh! I know what you are thinking!” Again, Thad let go one of those great smiles, “You think you have to be into sex with men to be here! That isn’t it entirely. If you want to that’s fine; if not, that’s fine too. Kirk loves sex with young men but he also just likes to see them around. I think it makes him feel younger.”

I must have seemed a little relieved because Thad followed up by saying, “So the deal is just to be comfortable. Have some drinks; have some food; get to know folks; go for a swim, if you want to. You don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want to. If someone tries to get too cute with you, it is ok to tell them ‘No’. They will understand. It is an unwritten rule up here that no one pressures anyone to do anything. No body is going to get his feelings hurt—and that includes Kirk!”

I was breathing easier now. I figured I could take it easy and just see what goes on here. What a story!

Thad must have been reading my mind. “Oh! By the way, it is another unwritten rule that no body talks about what goes on up here either. That is a good way to land yourself in a lot of trouble. Libel and slander are nasty words and a “lawsuit” is an even nastier one.” He paused and assumed a more serious look for emphasis, “Besides, most people wouldn’t want it to be known that they were at an all boy sex party?”

I got the point. Celebrities have ways of deflecting a lot of bad press; people like myself would have their lives destroyed if word got out that they were homosexual.

It was a very warm evening, probably still in the 80’s, and I could feel myself perspiring but, at the same time, I felt a little bit of a chill. This was a big deal.

Thad raised his glass to me and said, “Skol, my friend. Enjoy the party. I’ll try to catch up to you later.” With that, he sailed off to go back inside the house.

After a minute, I got up and decided to go down and check out the swimming pool. I wasn’t a big swimmer plus I hadn’t brought my swim trunks, but I figured it would be cooler down there—and maybe a little quieter. The combo had fired up again, even louder this time.

I walked down a long flight of brick steps until the swimming pool came into view. I was twenty feet above the pool when I first saw it. It was a large pool, not Olympic size but probably two-thirds of that. The lighting around it was only fair. Some parts of the cement decking around the pool were well lighted showing lounges, chairs and tables that had people sitting on and around them but there were also lots of shadows in the corners. There was a bright light beneath the surface of the water that put the bodies in the pool in stark silhouette. Most of the forms in the pool were couples—embracing.

I descended farther and got to the level of the decking. I saw clothes and towels strewn in piles around the far edges of the deck that had a lot of water on it. Some of the water had trickled over and obviously soaked towels and clothes alike. No one seemed to be concerned about that situation—everyone seemed too busy.

A few of the boys around the pool were wearing swim trunks; a few had towels wrapped around their waists; but most were simply naked. Some of them were just sitting and talking; many were in romantic embraces: kissing and caressing; a few were unquestionably having sex: blowjobs, sixty-nine, and ass fucking all appeared to be equally represented. Of those in the pool, about half were around the edges doing oral and anal sex and the other half were coupled in the water trying to keep from drowning while experimenting with aquatic sex. Here and there I could see an unattached person masturbating while viewing the orgy. No one seemed in the least bit concerned that others might be watching these intimate activities.

“You look hot, honey.” The voice came from behind me.

“I’m really not interested in playing right now.” I answered over my shoulder

“No, man. I mean you really look hot—like uncomfortable in those clothes. It’s a hot night.” The voice had a ring of sincerity and not of smarmy lust.

I turned around and saw a boy wearing swim trunks sitting on a deck chair. He looked to me to be in his 20’s, dark hair, latin looking. His hands were on the arms of the chair. He wasn’t doing anything but watching.

“You should cool off. Take a dip in the pool.” His voice was even as he dispensed his advice. “But I wouldn’t jump in with my clothes on, if I were you.”

I had to laugh at that remark. “I wasn’t planning on it.” I said, “I wouldn’t want to get my wallet wet. But I don’t have any swim trunks so I think I will pass.”

“Well, man. Its like you are going to stand out walking around fully clothed.” Again, the even tone of voice of a counselor, “And, frankly, I don’t think anyone is really going to notice another person in the pool wearing his jockey shorts. Then again, naked would be fun, too.” I detected a hint of smarm in that last comment.

The air was relatively humid for Southern California and I was feeling pretty sweaty. “What the hell!” I thought as I pulled off my shoes, socks, pants and shirt. I didn’t take off my shorts. I made sure I tossed my clothes far enough away from the pool to keep from getting wet. I was aware of my dark haired friend eyeing my body as I stepped off the side of the pool into the deep water.

The water was cool but not cold. It was not the shock to my system that I was expecting; in fact, the sensation was very pleasant. My guess was that the water was in the low 80’s, cool enough to be invigorating, warm enough to be comfortable. I swam under water for a distance and surfaced in the shallow end of the pool. When I stood up, the water only came up to my waist.

The air temperature and the water temperature were pretty close. I didn’t feel any of the goose bumps I was used to feeling on my wet body. The air stirred a little; it felt like hands lightly brushing my skin. One other thing: the water hadn’t been cold enough to make my dick shrink; my cock actually seemed larger as I looked down on it. It must have been the refraction of the water, except that it felt a little larger too.

I looked back to where I had entered the pool and saw my latin friend sitting on his chair waiving at me. “Nice job, Esther!” He yelled in my direction. (He was referring to Esther Williams the swimming star and actress of the 1940’s and 1950’s.) I flipped him the bird.

I pulled myself out of the pool and walked back to where my clothes and my newfound advisor were. Somehow, an empty chair and a clean towel had materialized. I grabbed the towel and began to dry off. I looked down as I dried myself and was shocked to find that my jockey shorts were practically transparent when they were wet. The shape of my cock could be clearly seen by anyone who wanted to look at it. It was then that I became uncomfortably aware that my every move was being scrutinized my Mr. Brown Eyes.