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Some three years later
I went to university, and for the first time in my life was able to able to escape being under parental control. But, of course, being on my own had its scary side too. Particularly as I didn't really know what direction I was heading in. I made a few (final, as it turned out) attempts to get it on with girls, and I remember one disastrous (well, comical looking back at it) incident. I'd started to get off with this girl, also at college, and was trying (as all the continual indoctrination had told me) to touch her boobs. And, whilst on the one hand "this was what guys were supposed to do", on the other, it felt plain ridiculous, and it wasn't doing anything for me at all.
And then, a light suddenly went on in my head. All the feelings for men I had had for so many years, and had tried (nay, succeeded) in suppressing were true. I knew there was a gay society in college, but had continued to say that it wasn't for me. Now I knew. I knew for certain. I managed to release myself from the evening with the girl by saying that I thought we were rushing things too much, so I hope I didn't make her feel bad about things. In the event she never contacted me again, so I guess she didn't get much of a thrill out of what happened either. I never saw her again.
That was just before the summer holidays at the end of my first year, so I had a couple of months at home, with my mind made up, and being able to do nothing about it, being able to talk to nobody about it. I wanted to touch another guy sexually, but had never done so. Although the newspaper "Gay News" had just started, it would not have made its way to the small town where I lived, and still less would I have the courage to buy a copy. I would have been too scared of anyone seeing me get one, never mind being spotted by someone who I knew. However, I do remember being fascinated by one public toilet on the way when I had to walk back from the centre of town to where I lived. I usually had to stop there, as I'd most likely been on the beer all evening. (Before you all say 'oh yeah', yes, that was just the reason).
I was fascinated by the graffiti that was on the walls. It was all about "masters wanting slaves", and "slaves seeking master for a good time", with phone numbers by the messages. At the time, I was completely naive, and it didn't mean anything to me, I didn't know I was in a "cottage", and these were messages from men wanting a homosexual encounter. Looking back on it, it's as well I didn't take that avenue any further - I was young, easily taken in, and it was probably very dangerous.
It's only years later that I realised how much cottaging went on. It was very difficult for gay men to meet, even more so to have sex, without being discovered. In those days it was illegal for men under the age of 21 to have sex, and it must not be in public. There was also the shame of being found out and the (very real) risk of being beaten up for being queer (the only word for it in those days). Men kissing each other were being arrested and charged with gross indecency. It must have been so hard for men coming out who had to manage without gay groups in very protected circumstances.
At the beginning of my second year at college, I found out the date and place of the first meeting of the gay society, and steeled myself to go there. It was so scary; I was more afraid of being spotted by people that I knew than anything else. I knew it was something I had to do. But I just had to do it. As well as finally admitting to myself that I was gay, and not feeling uncomfortable about it, I might finally get the sex with another man that I had been wanting all these years.
So, I went through the door into the room where the meeting was being held. I wasn't sure what to expect at all. There was a group of about twenty guys there, of various types and appearances, and I realised that some of them looked, in fact, quite similar to me. There were a few who were markedly older, but most were in their late teens and early twenties. As I said, I wasn't sure what to expect, and was pleasantly surprised (no, relieved from being petrified) when a guy came up to me and said hello.
He wasn't threatening, just friendly, and remarked that this was my first time there. I said, yes, I think I must be gay. I nearly felt my legs give way under me, when I finally said those words to someone else. Oh, that's all right, so are all of us here, he said in reply. I couldn't quite believe it - all these ordinary looking guys who were in fact gay, and had sex with other guys. My turn for that came soon after as well. I've been digressing, but coming out as gay was (and still is) the most important thing to happen in my life. What has all this got to do with balloons you ask. Well, interestingly, I had been playing with balloons, albeit alone, long before I played with another man. Whilst at college, I did manage to have two incidents with balloons.
One night, coming up to Xmas time, after a session in the college bar, I brought a group of guys back to my college room, for coffe and a chat,
where, surprise, surprise, I had blown up about twenty balloons, which were scattered around the floor, and on chairs and tables. Nothing spectacular in size, just a packet of mixed balloons from the local Woolworth's. But I wondered if I could enjoy the situation. I never dared admit that I really had a fetish for them, and I had to hurriedly adjust my stiffening cock inside my pants as guys were kicking them around. One guy in particular, I had the hots for (100% straight unfortunately). I have always fancied the bigger, beefier type of guy, and Michael fitted the bill perfectly.
He picked up a round one, and was rubbing it against his T-shirt, in order to electrify it, so as to stick to the ceiling. My dirty mind was working overtime, wishing he could be rubbing it against my chest, or better still squeezing it between his body and mine. But such thoughts had to stay in my imagination! But then it burst!. He looked at me sheepishly, not realising how much I had enjoyed seeing that happen. He apologised genuinely, which was a complete switch from his usual rough character. What could he do? But, I was prepared, unintentionally as it happened. I brought out another bag, and told him he'd have to blow up another five as penance. He jumped at the chance, wanting to make amends, rather than enjoying the ballons, I think.
I told Michael it was easier if he stood up, and used the full effect of his lungs. Really, I wanted to get a better look at his body! So he started to blow up this balloon. I just stood, and watched, enthralled. Watching him blow it up bigger and bigger; indeed, I wondered when he would stop. Having blown up the balloon, including most of the neck, he realised that if he blew it up even more, he'd never be able to tie the neck. Michael of course thought he was just replacing the balloon that he had unexpectedly burst, rather than pleasuring me. I just hope no-one saw the stiffy in my pants. I would have loved for him to carry on blowing, until the neck was full, and then see how much more he could do. Actually, if he wanted to do more, he could have stripped off bare, and blown up the balloon. But that was well in my fantasy. So, that clinched it; seeing another guy blowing up a balloon was a turn-on for me. I still thought that I was the only one though.
The second was at the GaySoc Xmas party, a year later. I was happy to play with balloons, though had no opportunity to do it with another guy. I'd tied a big bunch of balloons to my jacket, hoping to get other guys to play with them. (Other gay guys this time). And, deliberately, they weren't too securely fastened either. I pulled off a long one (about twelve incher I think,) and tapped a guy on the head with it. He wasn't quite sure what to think (I mean, what were twenty year old guys playing with kids balloons for?!), but pulled of another long one from my bunch. And then hit me hard on the head with it, except that I turned slightly, and it hit me on the face. Wow. All at the same time, the feel of the balloon hitting me, the appearance of it coming so close, the 'boink' sound as it hit, and the wonderful heady smell. I was in heaven. But sadly, he was doing it to tell me off, and that was the end of that.
If you are enjoying this personal history, let me know!
On to History Chapter 5. Back to Ferdie's home page.
