My Gay Summer at Science Camp

I did know, intimately, that he watched me careful over the frames of his glasses when he sucked me off, carefully observing the effects of the deft use of his lips and tongue. And I knew well the soft contented moan that he made when I came in his mouth, as if he were tasting some particularly delicious chocolate. But I certainly couldn't write about that in a letter for fear that it would be discovered by a prying parent or sibling.

We spoke little even about sexual matters during our time together relying instead on actions rather than words. I recall the first time we learned about the pleasure of having our balls sucked by another person. One day, John had, after licking my balls profusely, sucked first one than the other ball into his mouth. My immediate reaction was mixed, there was something a little disconcerting about having one of the most vulnerable parts of your body surrounded by someone else's teeth. At the same time, the slightly ticklish feeling of your balls in someone else mouth was extremely pleasurable and I founded myself adding to the wetness of his mouth with an extremely powerful orgasm, pumping jet after jet of cum down his throat.

He was equally excited when I returned the favor. After spending a few minutes moving his balls around in his sack, Following his example, I sucked both of them into my mouth. He moaned softly as I massaged each of them with my tongue in turn. After a few minutes of this, in playful frustration he pushed me onto my back, straddled my head with his knees and, thrust deep and fact into my moth. I laid still, applying pressure with my lips as he furiously fucked my face. Like me, when he came, he came profusely, so fast and hard that I couldn't swallow fast enough to keep up resulting in his cum spilling over my face. After he came, he continued to rub his cock and balls all over my face, soaking it with a combination of my own saliva and his cum.

At any rate, our letters became less frequent and then stopped altogether. But that left me contemplating the future of my love life as I entered college. My experiences with Janine and then later with John had familiarized me with the pleasure of sex while giving me a measure of self-confidence that I previously lacked. But whom would I seek out as a future partner when I got to college. Would I try to start a relationship with a young coed or find myself associating with the then mostly- closeted gay men. Because, at this point in the nation's history, unless you lived in San Francisco or Greenwich Village, there were serious negative consequences to being identified as gay. And most gay people hid their sexual orientation in order to avoid ridicule, harassment or worse.

This question was soon resolved. Although I never would describe myself as a ladies man, I soon entered into a relationship with a young woman. That was followed by a breakup and a series of other relations with women. Although all of these relationships were clearly heterosexual, it was always the case that, between relationships or sometimes even during them, I was as likely to masturbate to fantasies of Janine or John as to an erotic book or magazine.

As time passed and society became more tolerant of differing sexual orientation, I slowly began to realize that sexual attraction was not always binary, not strictly the either or of attraction to men or women. I thought of how even the most macho men deprived of the company of women on board a submarine or in prison would gladly avail themselves of sex with another man. And how many women would go through a period of radical lesbianism while in college or have an experience when, deciding with their roommate to stay in their room on a Saturday night studying have an evening that started with lit candles, an open bottle of merlot and a back massage which ended with their faces buried deep between the spread thighs or ass cheeks of their roommate.

I came to believe that sexual orientation seemed to be more like a line, a continuum of preference. Perhaps some people existed at the extreme ends of the line, seeing only one gender as potential sexual partners. But I suspected, and continue to believe, that most people probably dwell someplace in the middle. I located myself closer to the female side of the spectrum but sufficiently close to the male side to have experienced sex with a man and be open to experiencing it again.

But, despite my openness, I never followed my experience with John with similar activities. And it was not for lack of opportunity. I remember one instance of travelling on business. Normally, at the conclusion of a busy day, I generally retired to my room and order a room service dinner. On this particular evening, I was in no rush to head up to my lonely room and decided to have a drink at the lobby bar. The lounge was filled with happy hour revelers and I was lucky to find a single empty seat at the bar. I ordered a beer and heard the man at my left insist to the bartender that it be put on his tab. We spoke about the difficulties of business travel, spoke a little about sports teams and he ordered a second round. As I got closer to finishing my second beer, I noticed a change in his demeanor. Instead of the outgoing,, confident person he had seemed in the beginning, he seemed nervous and distracted, absent- mindedly toying with the wedding ring on his left hand.

As I drained my glass and started to thank him and leave, he asked me if I would be interested in joining him for a drink in his room. He asked in a nervous , a tentative, stuttering way that suggested that this was his first time trying to pick up a man or that, perhaps, a previous attempt had met with a violent response from a man threatened by the suggestion that he might be gay. I, of course, felt no need to demonstrate my masculinity by a threat of violence. I looked at him in order to determine my interest in his proposition. But I could not imagine myself kneeling in front of him while he unbuckled his pants or pulled down his zipper, I felt none of the giddy anticipation that normally occurs just before seeing a prospective lover naked for the first time. I could not imagine myself placing my fingers in his hair as his head bobbed up and down on my cock.

In short, I felt nothing. I lied, telling him that I had to catch a very early flight the next day and was exhausted and, thanking him for the drinks, took my leave. I hope he was successful in finding what he was looking for after I left.

I repaired to my room and proceeded to fire up my laptop and started to look for porn. I first settled on a video showing a woman talking to a slightly younger and thinner woman in her bedroom, supposedly her step daughter. The supposed stepmother was trying to console her "daughter" over a recent breakup with her boyfriend. The consolation ended with both of them naked with the older woman enthusiastically straddling the face of the younger, riding it a s enthusiastically as a mechanical bull rider.

I next found myself viewing a compilation video of transsexuals masturbating to orgasms. I found the trannies mysteriously arousing. Some of them seemed like grotesque parodies of femininity but others, from the waist up, could rival any women on the internet for the beauty of their faces and shapeliness of their breasts. I found the marked contrast between the upper half of their bodies and their erect cocks, some of them dwarfing my own, to be fascinating. I ultimately came imagining myself kneeling in front of five most beautiful ones, sucking one of them off while the other four stood languidly stroking their own cocks waiting to finish off in my mouth.

For whatever reason, my encounters with John proved to be my only actual sexual encounter with a man to date. And as I enter my sixth decade, and continue my relationships with women, the prospect of a second gay encounter grows steadily dimmer. I find that prospect less and less disturbing, though and I find myself content with memories, remembering my extraordinary experience with John, during my gay summer at camp.