Gay or Confused? Maybe Both

Earl made love to me on Thursday, August 16, 1977. I remember the exact date because it was the day Elvis Presley died. We found out watching TV in Earl's bed, our arms entangled together with a pink rose colored bed sheet draped over our sweaty and cum stained loins. Elvis was dead we were told.

We stared in silence at the screen filled with images of thinner rock idol in days gone by. I was no big Elvis fan, so his death seemed just another passing event. What I always remember from this day was not a dead Elvis but what Earl and I did. It was the first time a man-made love to me. It was just a month after my wedding.

I had met Earl two years before in an acting class just after I graduated from college in California with no idea of what do with myself. He was 32, I was 24. Earl had watery pale green eyes that always seemed to be on the verge of tears. With a bushy mustache and short cropped brown hair with strands that lapped over his right eyebrow, I couldn't help but think that he looked like a distant cousin of Adolph Hitler. All he needed was a swastika armband and brown shirt to complete the family resemblance.

Earl ran a dry-cleaning story and said he had always wanted to act but wasn't really good at it. He said he took acting classes to be creative. I think he did it to pick up men.

I hooked up with my then wife around the same time. She had dark hair and a buxom figure that attracted the constant stares of men Earl knew about her, but she did not know about him.

Up to this point, I was searching for an identity as well as a career. Both seemed to be vacant, empty lots. My identity, sexual or otherwise, could only be listed as unknown.

"You're like me," Earl told me one day after class as we sat in my beaten-up spruce green Toyota Corolla.

"What do you mean?"

"You're sensitive. You're kind and ...."

"And what?"

"You're like me," he said.

I would often follow Earl to his place in the Hollywood Hills, off Topanga Canyon Boulevard. It was a two-bedroom house with a row of windows in the front looking out over the downhill landscape of manicured brush and imported Eucalyptus trees. We sat and talked and drank vodka tonics and sloe gin fizzes. We talked art and acting and life. I did feel I was with someone that was... like me.

I don't know what I felt toward Earl. It wasn't love or lust even. I wasn't even attracted to his body, a simple, unadorned piece of muscle and bone that was thin and mostly shapeless. But just knowing someone wanted me kept me going to his house.

"Come on. You like men, don't you? Admit it. You like men. Men can give you more than any woman," Earl would say.

I didn't like certain men. I didn't like beer drinking males drowning in a sea of testosterone. I had nothing in common with them. I didn't call women pussy or cunts. I didn't whistle or tell them to sit on my face. I didn't count aloud how many women I fucked. I hadn't fucked that many, anyway.

I also didn't like men who listened to Judy Garland records or drooled over Liza Minnelli or collected pictures of Marilyn Monroe with her white dress air blown above a New York subway grail. I didn't call another man 'honey.' I didn't like men who stared at me too long with soft blue eyes.

I never chased men. I chased women, and some of them chased me. What I did know was that being hunted felt better than hunting. If there was anything I wanted, it was to be among the hunted.I knew Earl wanted me. I played with him like a coquettish tart plays with an incensed john. I egged him on with each long look I gave. I promised him everything with those looks. I gave him nothing.

He wanted me to leave my wife.

"Come live here with me," he said, even though we had never touched.

I was fucking my wife, but it didn't stop me from being with Earl. Each time I thought I would never go back to see Earl; I did go back. My dick would get hard as I drove away from his house, thinking about what he would do to me. What would he do to me? I didn't really know.

On the day Elvis died, I went to Earl's house. I called in sick to my job at Los Angeles record store since I was making no money as an actor and got there to his place got there around 9 am. Early as it was, he fixed me a vodka tonic. I took a few sips, and it wasn't long before my head began to spin. My blood felt hot, boiling. My arms felt heavy, immovable. My heart felt huge, ready to burst through my chest. I looked down and saw my cock. It has huge and hard through my pea-stained khaki slacks. I had pissed in my pants. As wet as my groin was and now the piss was dripping down both legs, I felt a tingling sensation with each drop of piss that flowed.

I often measured my dick when I was alone. It was always six inches; no matter how determined I was to make it longer. I thought it seemed too short to make any woman happy. Now with Earl, it looked six feet long.

At some point, I could see myself from above the room. I looked down and saw that I was naked sitting on a bed. Earl was naked. His hands pushed me down on the mattress and his mouth was on my cock.

Earl's tongue was licking my shaft like a child's lollipop. Then he took my balls between his teeth. I stared at his head lost in pleasure. I laid my head down and closed my eyes.

"Here lift up," he said.

Earl grabbed the back of my head with one hand and held a black little bottle of liquid up to my nose.

"Breathe deep."

"Okay."

"Breathe some more, " he said."

The amyl nitrate rushed through my head. A resurrection of sin and lust took over inside and out. I grabbed Earl by the head with my hands and pushed him on my cock, forcing my dick down his throat.

Earl sucked me harder and harder. I was close to coming when Earl pulled up. He must have tasted my jizz and stopped sucking me. He didn't want my come yet.

He moved his mouth to mine. I wrapped my arms around him as he lay on top of me. I kissed him on his lips as my arms around his neck pulled him toward me. My tongue flowed from my mouth to his. His tongue flowed from his mouth to mine. He pressed me. I pressed even harder against him. I felt his mustache rub against my nose and mouth as he circled my face with his tongue.

With each kiss I tried to put my whole body into his.

Then, I felt a hard sensation at the front of my ass. Something was trying to make its way inside me.

"Breath this again," Earl said. Somehow, he kept the small brown bottle of amyl in his right hand and opened with this left. With each breath I took, Earl pushed his cock in my ass. I was tight and in some pain.

"I'm not sure I can take you," I said. "It's hurting me."

"Easy," Earl said. "Breathe some more of this."

Each push of his dick matched a breath of amyl. I nearly swallowed the bottle. I breathed more and more. The pain went away, and I was full of his cock. He went deeper and deeper until his whole dick was inside my ass. I didn't ever want it to stop. I didn't ever to have him pull out. We rocked back and forth. My ass was his. His dick was mine. I felt his cock push through my ass and into my soul. He had breached my sexual identity.

A hot sensation followed, "I'm coming! I'm coming," he said.

"Fuck me Earl. Fuck my pussy," I said.

I had no idea where those words came from. All I knew was that I felt like a pussy.

The warm liquid inside me was mine. I wanted it to stay there.

Earl was on top of me. We breathed in and out together. He could call me his cunt. I was his cunt. He was my dick. My cock.

"You liked it didn't you?" he asked in a heavy breath.

"You loved me fucking you. I know you did. You couldn't let me fuck you like that if you didn't like it."

I didn't answer. I took him inside like a woman. I wondered if I would this way forever. I didn't have the post come depression I had so many times before.

Was it the drugs and drink? Would I seek out other men? Would I suddenly put on a dress and bra? Would I wear pantyhose and dream of rippled male chests? No. I was just stopping at this station for a while. My train ride would keep going. So I thought.

"A woman can't do that. It felt good having me inside you didn't it?"

"Yes, I liked it."

I laid there and he turned on the TV. Elvis was dead. I went home.

That night I made love my wife. I got hard easily enough before I put my cock inside her. She was always wet and easy to slip into. I pushed and pulled her large tits up and down and rocked back and forth. She was moaning, I was moaning She was yelling, I was yelling. She grabbed my head and put her lips on my neck. She sucked the same spot as Earl.

I moved down to her lower parts, her pussy, her cunt and sucked her lips.

"Suck them harder," she said. "Suck me."

"I'm coming," she said. And with that I exploded, and she exploded. All of this was done in a minute.

I would see Earl over the next two years. We would fuck and make love, but the intensity wore off. At some point, I stopped going to his place when it was clear I wasn't going to move in with him. Joan didn't know I kept seeing Earl. Or at least I thought she didn't. I found out later she was seeing an old flame during our marriage at the same time I was seeing Earl.

Where Earl ended up, I do not know. I never saw him again after a final face to face about whether I loved him or not. I did love him. I loved the wife. I loved them all.

Over time, there would be more men as well as other marriages. There would be she males and massage parlor girls. I would still be searching. I still am. I have accepted the part of me that might be confused about my sexual identity. I just accept me as who I am and all that goes with it.