Good Times!

It's been about 15 years since I placed a personal advertisement in the Boston Phoenix, looking for a man to fuck. At the time, I was a student at UMass Boston, majoring in biological anthropology and loving it. A beautiful young actress had my attention at the time, but that went nowhere. Although it went nowhere in an enjoyable way. She was in a play that was written by a professor and performed at the university theatre. We met in a theatre arts class, and I was quite taken with her.

In the wake of that, I decided to experiment by screwing another man. Somehow the word, "experiment" seems pretentious. Like I'm Jonas Salk or something. Sex with another man appealed to me, so I decided to try it, pure and simple. As it turned out, I'm most certainly not gay, or even bisexual. Men are disgusting little creatures. Or in the case of the man who answered my ad, disgusting large creatures. A large African-American gentleman from Hyde Park invited me over for a little sodomy.

He was pleasant enough, with the disposition and sensitivity of an artist. If memory serves, he was in outstanding shape. The fact that I was morbidly obese at the time seemed to appeal to him. Sex with him was sort of like slamming a piece of dough with a titanium hammer. In this example, I was the dough.

Why did I do it if I'm not attracted to men? Well, I wanted to be bisexual, as it was all the rage at the time. Heterosexuality is so bourgouise! My motive to be with this man, however, was primarily about playing with a functioning cock and balls. My testicles were the size of raisins (and were soon after removed surgically due to a pre-cancerous lesion). Having just learned that I could never have children, I was emotionally vulnerable. In fact, I started crying my eyes out in his bed.

He spoke sweetly to me, with kindness and a strong feeling of affection and trust developed between us, although it was brief. He told me I was beautiful as he put a condom on, then he fucked me. His body was simply beautiful. Just magnificent.

Then I got to see what most women complain about when it comes to sex and men. After he came, he got up and showered. He was in there for awhile, and I drifted off a bit (his bed was magnificent). He woke me up a few moments later by rubbing my back and saying my name loudly. "You have to go, Lyle" he said. To this day, I don't know if he knew that "Lyle" is my last name.

Twenty minutes later, I had showered and we were saying our final goodbyes. He drove me to the Ashmont "T" station on the Red Line and dumped me off, with barely a word or two. He left me there, and I never heard from him again. I felt used, even though we were using each other. And I confess that, in his flat, I was a little afraid of him given his size.

Since then, I'm totally and proudly embraced my heterosexuality. It may not be fashionable, but there it is!

Why am I telling you, a bunch of strangers, about a sexual dalliance almost twenty years ago? I don't know. Why not? It has all the elements. Sex, blackness, fatness, and sex. Yay!