The Night I Lost My Virginity

When I was a kid at summer camp, my friend Marty told me that heterosexual sex comes in six steps, which boys had to follow in a precise order:
1. Kissing
2. Fondling the girl's chest.
3. Taking off her bra.
4. Taking off your pants.
5. Having her do things to you with your pants off.
6. Penetration.

You might engage in the preliminary steps many times, but not until you talked the girl into #6 had you "lost your virginity" and "become a man."

After I "figured it out," I figured that gay men must have a similar procedure, adapted slightly for the special conditions of two guys together:
1. Kissing
2. Fondling each other's chests.
3. Taking off your shirts.
4. Taking off your pants.
5. Doing things with each other with your pants off.
6. Penetration.

You could engage in the preliminary steps many times, but not until you talked the guy into #6 had you "lost your virginity" and "become a man."  I assumed.

I didn't get an opportunity to do anything until shortly after my 18th birthday, when my friend Mary asked me to visit her for spring break and determine if her "kid brother" Jake was gay.  We ended up sharing a bed.  (Don't worry, he was less than two years younger than me.)

We skipped the kissing, started with the fondling, and then, because our shirts and pants were already off, skipped directly to #5.  There was no #6.

So I decided that I hadn't lost my virginity; I was not yet a man.

My next opportunity came during my sophomore year at Augustana College, when I spent a semester in Regensburg, Germany, and dated Wolfgang, an 18-year old choirboy at St. Peter's Cathedral.

Since we both lived in dorms, we never spent the night together.  Our shirts came off, but not our pants, but we managed to go to step #5 anyway. Again, there was no kissing.

What was going on?  Why were the steps all out of order?  Why no kissing?

When I returned to Rock Island in the spring of my sophomore year, I dated Fred the Ministerial Student.  We spent many nights together, alone in his apartment, and later in the trailer we shared during our five weeks of living together in Omaha.

There was a lot of cuddling on the couch, followed by taking off our shirts and pants and going straight to #6.

Wait -- what happened to #5?  I talked him into it a few times, but he behaved as if it was much more intimate, much farther down on the list than #6.  Which one signified that you had "become a man"?

And there was still no kissing!  When I tried, Fred turned his face away!

In the fall of my junior year at Augustana, I learned how to cruise at the levee, wandering from parked car to parked care to strike up conversations, then either follow the guy to his house or engage in sexual intimacies right there in his car.  Either way, what you got was #5.

 No kissing!  No shirts or pants off!  Just an unzipped zipper!

Wait -- maybe for gay men, #5 and #6 were the least intimate.  You didn't need to take your clothes off.  You didn't know the guy's name.  Sometimes, in the dark, you didn't even see his face.

And maybe kissing, the act heterosexuals would do with anybody, even strangers, was reserved for the most intimate partners.

One of the guys I met at the levee was Ron Burton, a husky bear in his mid-40s who taught geology.  We soon had an ongoing arrangement: every couple of weeks he would invite me to his house, sometimes for dinner, sometimes later, sometimes to spend the night, sometimes not.

In about eight nights together, we skipped the kissing and fondling, and went straight to #3, #4, and either #5 or #6, never both.

After eight nights in Ron's arms, I wanted intimacy!

He held handcuff parties for his advanced students every semester, so in the spring of my junior year, I enrolled in his paleontology class and got invited.

No one had ever had the nerve to handcuff the professor before, but I did.  And kept him handcuffed as the other students left in pairs or groups, until only the two of us were left in the house.

"Ok, you can let me loose now," Ron said, somewhat annoyed.

"Not yet.  There's something I want to do first."  I put my arms around him and brought my face close to his.  He didn't turn away.  Then I kissed him.  Long, deep, passionate.  My first, unless you count brief lip-pushes with girls.

When I moved my head away, he was staring.  "Um...I didn't know you felt this way."

I removed the handcuffs, and we went into the bedroom for more intimacy.

I had lost my virginity.  I had become a man.

See also: Dad Explains the Facts of Life; and Are You a Top or a Bottom?

Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch

I don't care for rap music, but who in 1991 wasn't paying attention to rapper Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, whose "Good Vibration" reached #1 on the US Pop Charts?

We really weren't paying attention to the song; we were watching the music video, which showed Marky working out with his shirt off (and, unfortunately, having sex with a girl).

In live performances, he also took his shirt off, revealing an astounding bodybuilder's physique, and during the number he dropped his pants and grabbed his crotch, obviously aware that fans weren't paying attention to his musical talent.

Born in 1971, Marky Mark (Mark Wahlberg) was the younger brother of Donnie Wahlberg of New Kids on the Block (and a member himself for a few months).  A young gang-banger,he was  always getting into trouble. At age sixteen he was charged with attempted murder for a hate crime perpetrated against a Vietnamese youth that left him blind in one eye.  While in juvenile detention, Mark "got his act together" and moved into music.

Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch didn't last long.  Their first album, Music for the People (1991) went platinum, but their second, You Gotta Believe (1992), peaked at #63.  The group disbanded in 1993.

His biography on the IMDB claims that his decline and fall came when he was being interviewed on a British talk show, and fellow rapper Shabba Ranks called for the extermination of gay people.  His failure to comment was taken as agreement, and ended his career (I doubt it; aren't lots of rap fans homophobic?).

Mark then capitalized on his underwear notoriety by modeling for Calvin Klein (often hugging a girl).

Then he moved into acting, playing lots of muscular but dangerous/violent characters, or any role that capitalized on his physique and penis, such as Dirk Diggler in Boogie Nights (1997).

No gay roles.  No gay-friendly roles.  Now over 40, the actor has distanced himself from the racism of his youth, but he continues to make homophobic comments -- such as the script to Brokeback Mountain freaked him out -- although he claims that a closeted gay uncle taught him "tolerance."

Summer 1999: Third Wheel to a Muscle God

In gay neighborhoods, the custom of "sharing" one's boyfriend with friends and roommates applied only to guys in committed relationships.  It was practically unheard of  for you to be invited into your friend's bed during a hookup or first or second date, for obvious reasons:

The date might like you better. 
Or
He might not like you at all.

I learned that the hard way in 1999, when Yuri and I were visiting Basque Country, in search of the World's Biggest Penis.

After the Euskaldun Tournament in Vittoria-Gasteiz, where Yuri got "acquainted" with bicyclist Ruben Oarbeaskoa, we spent a weekend in San Sebastian, aka Donostia, the heart of Basque Country.

On Friday afternoon, after sightseeing, I wanted to go to the Donosti Libreria, a gigantic bookstore, to get some Basque books, but Yuri wanted to go to the gay beach. 

When we met up later, he exclaimed, "I met a hot Basque guy! His name is Garan.  Volosaty (hairy), big muscles, and a big package, too!  He invites us to have dinner with him tonight!"

"Are you sure he meant the two of us?" I asked.  "Remember last year in Estonia, when you met that Swedish guy who looked like a serial killer?"

"No, no, I tell him we are visiting Spain together.  He invited you, too. 10:00 pm."

So at 10:00 pm we arrived at the Bokado, a romantic restaurant with a beautiful view of the Bahia de la Concha.

My heart sank.  Was I really expected?

"Yuri!  Que tal?"  A gigantic, bearded bear with a massive chest and impressive biceps rushed across the foyer and enveloped Yuri in a bear hug.  He was so much bigger than Yuri that they looked like father and son.

Then he blinked and stared at me.  "Who is this?"  he asked in English.

Turns out I wasn't expected, but that may have just been the language barrier -- Garan didn't speak English well, and Yuri didn't speak Spanish or Basque.

But Garan was gracious about me tagging along on their date.  In fact, he gave me the embarrassing job of translating his Spanish, including compliments of Yuri's eyes and descriptions of his favored sexual positions.

After dinner Garan took us on a tour of Donostio by night.  I sat cramped in the tiny back seat of his car while he drove with one hand and fondled Yuri with the other.

Then he invited us back to his apartment on the Lizardi Kalea in Intxaurrondo.

"Thank you, but this is your date," I said.  "No me gusta andar como chaperon.  I would be a third wheel."

"Nonsense!" Garan exclaimed in Spanish.  "It is only hospitality.  Yuri's friend is my friend!"

So we went into his apartment, and I got to sit on the couch next to Garan and Yuri while they kissed.

A lot.

Occasionally Yuri would lean over and give me a "pity kiss."


Then we moved into the bedroom for more of the same.

Watching Garan and Yuri ripping off each other's clothes and exploring each other's tonsils wasn't fun.  It made me feel lonely and jealous.

When Yuri reached over and pulled me into the clinch,  Garan obligingly gave me a brief fondle.

Eventually he let me share his Kielbasa, which was enormous, #5 on my Sausage List.

But only as a courtesy.  He was too into Yuri to really notice that I was there.

He did put his massive bear arms around us both to fall asleep.

In the morning, I watched more rolling around and tonsil-swallowing.  Then Garan made coffee, put out some hard rolls, and asked "Who wants to go to Saturday Mass?"

Yuri opted to go for a run and then hang around the apartment, but I was anxious to hear a religious service in Basque.

Besides, if I could get Garan alone, I would feel less like a third wheel.

But it turned out to be a Spanish mass!

"Why do you want to hear a mass in Basque?" Garan asked  "It's only for old ladies.  It's what you speak when you go home to visit your mother!"

And he spent the entire morning talking about Yuri.  "He's so cute!  He's so hot!  You must convince him to stay in Europe longer -- I can come to Paris to visit you in a few weeks!"

On Sunday afternoon, when Garan took us to the train station for our trip back to Paris, he said "Call me when you return to Europe -- or if you want to move here and be my lover."

Later Yuri revealed that, for all of their passion, Garan wasn't really his type.  He was a little clingy, and his Kielbasa just wasn't big enough -- Yuri wanted Mortadella+!

See also: the 15 Biggest Sausages I've Ever "Cooked"; and Sharing Jim the Baseball Player.