tagGay MaleHis New College Friends Get a Show

His New College Friends Get a Show


My junior year in college, I went for a study abroad program in Australia. This was a big step for me. I was a naïve farm boy from rural Pennsylvania. I had never been on an airplane before. My mom is afraid of heights; my dad is afraid of water. That combination meant that any family vacations were limited to short jaunts in the car.

My social development was a bit hindered by my upbringing. Growing up, my mom's best friend had been a duck. I, myself, wasn't quite that sheltered, but I still had missed out on many of the social opportunities of my peers. My mom was a neat freak, and thus never let me invite any friends over.

So, going to Australia was my first opportunity to escape the (over)protective wings of my mother. Maybe 10,000 miles was overkill -- but I had gone as far away from home as possible. The "you must be home by 9pm on weekends" and other assorted rules imposed by my mother would no longer apply.

Although I was now free of my familial restrictions, I was still a shy guy. I hadn't yet learned how to be comfortable in social settings with other people. For the most part, my Australian experience consisted of going to class, going to the beach (by myself), and teaching myself how to cook.

One thing I learned through my Lonely Planet Guide was that there was a nearby nude beach in Swanbourne. It was just a bus ride, followed by a short train ride, away. It became my escape. The farm boy in me loved nature. The introvert in me was uncomfortable among people. But, I could venture off to the beach by myself. The beach was never really that crowded, and I could set myself up on a towel and enjoy some solitude, either reading a book, watching the waves, or just taking a nap.

I really didn't make that many friends at university. A few times, people invited me out, but the shy guy in me said "no" even though I didn't have any plans.

Many of my classes were quite large; i.e. 200 students in a big theatre-type classroom. It was easy to blend into the crowd and go un-noticed. However, one of my classes (cross-cultural psychology) had just 15 students in it. It was a late afternoon class, and thus was probably half comprised of "non-traditional" students at the university, which did cater to a large commuter population (as opposed to residents like me).

In the class, we would often arrange our chairs in a circle and have group discussions. In my other lectures, I could safely avoid being called upon. But, in a class of just 15, you really couldn't hide. So, this was really the first opportunity that a small segment of my classmates had an opportunity to get to know me, as I presented my ideas in class.

Following one of the classes, two guys asked me if I wanted to go grab a drink. My brain was thinking "no", but for once, the inner introvert was overruled. I guess it was helped that these guys seemed "normal" in class, and so I conceded.

They took me to a bar in Freemantle. With a few drinks, the conversation began to flow a little more easily. It was obvious (from my accent) that I was an American, and they asked the typical questions about where I was from, how I liked Australia, etc. One commented on my tan and cautioned me about the hole in the ozone above Australia. I acknowledged that I was aware of the hole, but I just loved the beach too much. The other asked me what beach was my favorite. I replied, "Cottesloe."

"Oh, are you sure it isn't Swanbourne?" the other asked me.

"No, I don't go there," I said, blushing.

"Are you sure?" asked the other.

I don't know why they were pestering me with such questions. I was embarrassed to admit I went to a nude beach. I pretended that I had never been. However, for some reason, I sensed they knew otherwise. Maybe they were scholars of psychology and I was not a good liar? But, then I started questioning myself -- maybe they had seen me at the nude beach? Was that possible? I had no recollection of ever seeing them there.

It's probably no surprise, I was still a virgin at this point in my life. In fact, I really hadn't even contemplated my sexuality. I assumed I was straight. I had no experience to back up that assumption. I also had no experience in identifying if others were gay. Well, basically, I thought all gay men were like Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.

Yet, something about these two men from my psychology class made me start questioning. I ran through various scenarios in my head, and I concluded that these two men were boyfriends.

I really can't explain how the thoughts in my brain evolved. I was confused by the interest of these two men. Was it just the Australian friendliness, and I was reading way too much into it? No one had ever really gone out of their way to befriend me before, and while I was confused, I was also becoming aware that I liked the attention.

Sometime before the next class, I concocted a "scheme". Granted, it wasn't all that well thought out of a scheme. It was a chess game, and I was only thinking of my next move. That afternoon, I put on a scooped tank top. It was my favorite tank top. It was probably more appropriate for the gym than for a class, but then again, everything in Australia was so relaxed (many students even went barefoot to class). The deep arm scoops in the side of the tank top gave good visibility to the sides of my pecs when I raised my arms. And, although I was no muscle god, years of working on the family farm had given me a lean body that, admittedly, I enjoyed looking at naked in the mirror.

I also wore my favorite pair of umbro shorts. Designed to allow unrestricted movement while sprinting during a soccer game, the umbros had considerably wider leg openings than most shorts. I had modeled these shorts in front of a mirror many times before. I knew that, when positioned just so, it was easy to see up the leg holes of these shorts.

So, for that next class, I deliberately selected a seat in the circle sitting directly opposite my two new friends (they always sat side-by-side in class). The classroom was just a circle of desks/chairs, with nothing in the middle. I knew that the two guys would have the ability to take an unrestricted view up my shorts. But would they even look?

I can't even recall what that lecture was about. I was focused on my 'tease' of the two guys. I didn't feel threatened by them. I knew they were boyfriends, and thus they weren't seeking something sexual with me. But, if they liked to look, I was going to let them take a peek.

My suspicions were rather quickly confirmed. I would look over to either my left or right when another student was speaking, and when I returned my vision straight ahead, I would notice the two guys quickly looking away from me.

We went out to drink after the class and several that followed. These guys were becoming my first two friends. A couple times we went to bars, and I learned of the Australian custom of "shouting". Basically, if it was someone's birthday, they bought the entire bar a round. It was a nice surprise of getting a free drink and not even knowing the person.

However, my 21st birthday was approaching, and I was nervous. I was finally coming out of my shell. You only have one 21st birthday, right? But, I knew that I couldn't afford to buy a round of drinks for an entire bar. So, I was contemplating staying in on my birthday.

Ryan and Paul knew my birthday was coming up, and at first did not understand my apprehension about going out on my birthday. "Don't worry. It's custom -- but you don't *have* to do it," Ryan explained.

"Oh," I said, feeling quite relieved.

They arranged to pick me up on Friday night and take me out. Rather than the typical sports bar where we went and watched footy (or rugby), they said they had a different place in mind.

The first thing that struck me when we walked into this place called Connections was the drag queens. I asked Paul, "Is this a gay bar?"

"Yes, it's a gay bar. But, in Australia, it's not like America. Both straights and gays go to the gay bars. Straight people come here because they love the drag shows," Ryan replied.

Still, as I looked around, this bar seemed to be about 85% men. And some of the women -- I wasn't entirely sure they were women.

Perhaps I hadn't thought far enough ahead in this chess game. I had assumed that Ryan and Paul just had "friendly interests" in me. Why did they bring me to a gay bar?

So, we walk up to the bar. Ryan greets the bartender, who appears to know him. "Guess what, it's our mate, James's birthday," Ryan says.

"Oh, so a round on you, eh?" the bartender says, looking directly at me.

"No, no. I can't," I say, turning to my two friends.

"But, you have to. It's your birthday," says the bartender.

"I can't," I reply, beginning to think how miserable my 21st birthday was becoming.

Ryan turns to the bartender and says, "I guess we have to invoke the exception alternative for James."

"Alternative exception?" I ask.

"On your birthday," the bartender says, "you have one of two options. Either you shout a round for the bar -- or you strip to your birthday suit!"

"Wait -- what?" I stammer.

Ryan replies, "Yes, those are the two options."

"Oh shit!" I think to myself. I look around the bar. There's probably 150 to 200 people. But fortunately, I don't know any of these people...well, except for Ryan and Paul. I didn't have anywhere near enough cash on me to buy a round for the whole bar. It was apparent I had no other choice.

I took off my shirt.

"Wait," the bartender said, "You're stripping?"

"Yes," I replied meekly.

The bartender then turned around and reached up and rang a bell. "Birthday boy in the house!" he screams.

Oh man, this was way more attention than I had expected. Now it seemed like all 200 people were looking at me. Although, I guess at first, they were scanning the bar trying to figure out whose birthday it was. But, I presume that became apparent as I started taking off my shirt.

"Take it off. Take if off!" a few guys started chanting from a nearby table.

I can't say that I gave a seductive strip show by any means. Instead, it was really more of a 'get this done as fast as possible'. I unbuttoned my shorts, and pushed my shorts and underwear down. I was wearing flip-flops, and thus it was rather easy to step out of my shorts and underwear. I put my clothes on the barstool next to me.

I noticed Paul pick up my clothes and hand them over the bar to the bartender. For my safekeeping, I presumed, so that no one would steal them.

Not even Ryan's giving Paul a high-five made me realize that in fact, *they* were stealing them.

So, at that point, my hopes for my 21st birthday became 'sit at this bar, with my back to everyone, and drink until it's over.'

However, Ryan and Paul would have none of that. First, they insisted we play a game of darts. I couldn't help but feel that the patrons at the bar were taking more than the typical level of interest in an 'USA vs Australia' game of bar darts.

Then, they insisted we should dance. At first, it was line dancing, and I managed to hide near the middle of the floor. For some reason, though, the 1 or 2 lines of people in front of me would seem to fall apart as the song continued, and I found myself in the front line as we 'boot scootin' boogied' on the dance floor.

Ryan asked me what my favorite song was, and I replied, "It's Not Right, it's OK" (Whitney Houston).

Ryan went to the DJ and made a request. Next thing I know, "my" song is playing. Paul points to a box (a stage/platform) and tells me to hop up. "No, no. I can't," I protest. But, Ryan and Paul each grab me under one armpit and hoist me onto the stage. I can't help it; it's my favorite song. I danced.

For some reason, whoever was the lighting/stage manner at the club, instead of rotating the light around the dance floor like I had usually seen done, was instead shining the light directly at my box. It was kinda blinding, to be honest.

Then the unexpected happened. Well, I guess it shouldn't have been too unexpected. When I used to dance alone, by myself, naked in front of the mirror at home, as I would sway from side to side, my dick would become longer and longer, until it became hard.

Whitney was doing it to me again. The beat was too catchy. And I could tell that as my penis was flopping around, I had reached the 'point of no return'. As much as I was trying to mentally stop it, the floodgates had been released and inflation was a one-way proposition at this point. By the time the song ended, I was pointing nearly straight up (like 11pm on a compass dial).

I jumped off the stage, and Ryan and Paul caught me. Each one managed to catch an arm. At that moment, a young man walked up and asked if he could take a photo of the three of us. I started to say "N...", but Ryan had already said "Yes" to the guy. Paul was on my left; Ryan was on my right. The way I had landed, I had wound up with one hand on each of their shoulders. As I tried to move my hands to cover my privates, Ryan and Paul each gripped one of my arms pinning it to the back of their shoulders. "Oh my god," I thought to myself, "This stranger is taking a picture of me completely naked."

Then, Paul pulls his phone out of his left pocket and hands it to the stranger. "Can you take one with my phone, please?"

"No way!" I thought to myself. It was one thing if it were a stranger, but this is a person I know. These two guys -- my classmates -- are going to have photos of me completely naked. But, in a couple instants, it was over, and the phone was back in Paul's pocket.

I don't remember much more of that night. I know there were a few more times that guys walked up to me, or more often to Paul and Ryan, and asked them if they could take a picture of me. At that point, I had become numb to it. The alcohol had loosened me up a bit. "What, you've never seen an American dick?" I teased one guy as he stood taking photos of me.

When the night was finally over, I walked up to the bar and the bartender handed me my clothes. A young man sitting at the bar asked me, "In America, is it a tradition that a guy strips naked in a bar on his birthday?"

"No, not in America; it's not," I replied.

"Then why did you do it?" he asks me.

"Because it's a custom in Australia," I reply.

"No, it's not," the young man says.

And then I notice that Ryan, Paul, and the bartender have the biggest, shit-eating grin on their faces that I have ever seen in my life.

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