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Back in the Day

Back in my early days I stumbled onto something that got me more sex than anything I could have imagined.

It started with my father. He was a very good do-it-yourselfer, as was common with men of the 1960s. When I was eight, I snuck down into the basement to admire his metal lathe. In the way a little kid will do, I kind of innocently flipped the switch that turned it on. With a quiet hum, it started spinning. That scared the bejeepers out of me. I went running upstairs to admit what I had done. My father accompanied me back down to the basement, and simply turned it off.

So, when it came time to explore his darkroom equipment, there was no way I was going to touch anything. Until he bought me a camera at age twelve. That thing was practically bigger than I was. It was a 4 x 5 Speed Graphic, the kind newspaper photographers used in the 1940s through 1960s. I don’t know what he was thinking. That huge camera was a real misfit for me. The one in the picture above is very much like the one I had.

Still, he encouraged me to play with it, and provided some film. I learned to take pictures. They weren’t very good, most being too dark, too light, or out of focus.

Of course one of the first pictures I took was a close-up of my little erection. As soon as I developed the negative, I destroyed it, being all worried about it being somehow wrong.

You see in those days, cameras weren’t like the camera on your smartphone. Every picture had to be manually set up. One had to gauge the amount of light, typically using a device called a lightmeter, and then turn a knob to make sure the picture would be in focus. Furthermore, you didn’t just click away, taking several pictures in a series. Oh no, to take a picture, I had to pull out o 4 x 5 inch cover slide, snap the shutter, put the cover slide back in, remove the film holder, flip it over and put it back in, ready for the next shot.

Sure, there were roll-film cameras, and even 35mm cameras by then, but that’s not what he got me. What was he thinking, really?

Then there was the whole developing business. With your digital camera or smartphone, your picture is instantly available, ready to text, email, whatever you want. Not so with photography in the 1960s. I had this big vertical projector called an enlarger. After developing negatives from the film, I’d put one in the enlarger, focus it on an easel on a tabletop, set up the exposure and focus, then put a sheet of paper in the easel and expose it to light from the enlarger for a few seconds. This all had to be done in near darkness. I had a dim orange light called a safe-light, that allowed me to see what was doing without ruining the picture.

I found that orange light very sexy somehow. I spent many an hour not developing pictures, but rather admiring and rubbing my penis in the dim light. My parents never came down to the basement except on wash day.

OK, so was that it? Expose some light-sensitive paper, than take a break to wank? No! Now I had to put the exposed sheet of paper in a tray full of a chemical called developer. I agitated the sheet back and forth with a pair of bamboo tongs. When the picture was fully developed, I lifted it out, and set it in a tray full of another chemical called stop bath, being careful not to touch the tongs to the chemical, since just a drop or two would kill the developer. Next the picture went into a final tray containing ‘fixer.’

Now was I done? Nope. From there, the picture had to be set in a sink and washed with water for 20 minutes, and then into a dryer. There. Now I had a picture!

The reason I’m telling you all this is really about the darkroom. One afternoon I invited my friend Debbie Cornwall to keep me company in the darkroom. While I was working away, she got off the stool on which she had been sitting, came over, and kissed me. You see, the dim orange light, must have affected her the same way.

I was annoyed. After all, I was only 13 years old. What did I know about kissing?

She was not the last girl, or boy, that I invited into my basement darkroom. Even though kids developing their own pictures was not unheard of back in the day, it was rare, and my friends enjoyed watching the process.

Fast forward about five years and at age eighteen, I had figured out what kissing was all about. No longer annoyed, I did a lot of kissing in that darkroom, and eventually lots more, which I’ll tell you about shortly.

I thought of myself as dorky. A kind of skinny techno-geek, and perhaps my friends thought that way too. However, I was such a crazy person that I accidentally developed a winning personality. The car I was driving, my dad’s car, was an old Land Rover, a fun jeep-like thing, which went around mostly topless in the summer. I took to wearing mechanics boots because they felt good and safe to me with their steel toes, and because I thought they made me look like a mechanic, which thought I might like to become. Well, within six months, most of the boys in high school weer also wearing mechanics boots. Then, I got a Stetson hat somehow. I think someone gave it to me as a joke. I started wearing it, along with plaid shirts and bluejeans, and the next thing you know, all the kids had Stetsons and cowboy clothing.



My father’s Land Rover, I drove it more than he did.

I wasn’t trying to be cool. It just turned out that the kids thought I was, especially the girls. I was still inviting them into the darkroom, but by then were doing a lot more than kissing. It’s just good luck that no one got pregnant.

One day, my good friend Michael wanted me to take some pictures of him. I was like, “Sure, why not?” But here’s the thing: He wanted to be stark naked. It felt weird to me, but remembering all the photos of naked women in the Popular Photography magazine articles, I felt that’s what photographers do – take pictures of naked people. It didn’t occur to me those were all women, and Michael was a guy.

So I took his pictures. By then, I had a smaller camera that used rolls of film. I developed the negatives, then hung them up to dry. So there was a long strip of 12 pictures of Michael totally without his clothes.

When my dad came home from work, and saw the strip of negatives, he went nuts. This normally fun-loving and mild-mannered guy was all carrying on about ‘homosexuality’ and things I hadn’t really heard before. For some reason, he was mad about Michael’s pictures.

My dad settled down after a day or two, and probably figured his son was going to turn out gay, and maybe that was alright. My dad was always cut and dried like that. It most likely didn’t occur to him that I might end up bisexual, ar maybe even straight, after seeing the pics of Michael.

Mike got his pictures, and to my amusement, he was showing them to the other kids in school. Even now, that’s a super-bold move. He didn’t have an erection in the pictures, but still, they were full-frontal.

John, one of Michael’s friends wanted me to take some naked pictures of him. I was like “No way” after the strangeness from my father. He talked me into it, plus the $20 he offered didn’t hurt. Back than, that would buy a lot of film.

We went out into the woods. He took off all his clothes, and posed this way and that. He was erect the whole time. Silly me, I didn’t really understand that. I mean, sure, I’d been erect many times, even masturbated almost daily, but being erect in front of another guy? Weird!

His penis started to go soft but he wanted to stay erect. He asked me to help him. At first I didn’t understand, but before long, I was touching the first penis in my life that wasn’t my own. It had an almost electric-like shock on me. Within a moment, without intending to do so, I had the tip of his penis in my mouth and was very much enjoying running my tongue around his glans. He came. I nearly chocked, but managed to swallow it all, without really tasting his semen.

I had a lot to think about that night, as I masturbated myself to a crashing orgasm. It became almost an obsession. I wanted to know what his cum actually tasted like. I got that opportunity around a month later. He and I became wank buddies.

Meanwhile, Cindy, a super-sexy, huge-breasted girl that I really admired from a distance, had also seen Mike’s photos. She wanted a nude photoshoot. A girl, a real live girl, was offering to get naked in front of me! Holy mackerel! Of course we arranged that. My parents always went out on Friday nights, so I invited her to my room. She got naked, and I took her pictures.

That was enough for me. I mean, sure I would have loved something more, but I didn’t dare even touch her. What would she think of me? I needn’t have worried. As I later found out, Cincy was a true, card-carrying nymphomaniac. She reached out. She started by suggesting I get naked, show her how to work the camera and she’d take pictures of me. I wasn’t so sure that was a good idea, but I went ahead with it. It was such an emotional high, or maybe a roller-coester getting naked in front of her. I was scared, horny, everything all at once. I was erect immediately. She reached out, and the next thing you know, I was the one getting a blowjob. Heaven! Except, I came right away. She spent a good few minutes trying to get me hard again, but I was too freaked out. I believe we would have fucked if I had been able to get it up again.

Cindy and I became ‘a thing’ for several months. I was so proud to be seen with her, let alone the feeling of hugging her naked body next to mine for hours at a time after intercourse.

We were young. We broke up. Why? Because I had become so enamored of the girls that I couldn’t keep it zipped up. By now, I had 3 girls a week paying me actual money to take their pictures. Oh sure, most wore bikinis or were otherwise not naked, but I was in heaven, and had plenty of opportunities. I took advantage of those opportunities at every turn.

Fast forward to now: I’m a professional photographer. Photoshoots are no longer $20, and I no longer use chemical photography. I left that behind years ago. My clients are mostly couples. Some want regular lingerie photos. You know, nothing overt, but very suggestive. Some, however, want the whole works. I mean they want to fuck, and they want close up photos of fucking, sucking, even anal intercourse. Especially the guys. I get guy couples, and the occasional single guy who goes all out. In general, it seems guys are less restricted in terms of their sexual expression. Guys or girls, I’m having a great time and being well paid. I never grow tired of this line of work.

Hey Dad, if you can hear me up there, thanks for the Speed Graphic!

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Hysteria

I found this on Quora:

What medical condition from history was treated with a technique we might consider highly inappropriate today?

In the 1913 study, The Sexual Impulse in Women, it was reported that about 75% of women suffered from “hysteria,” a condition with symptoms ranging from headaches to epileptic fits to verbal outbursts. It was essentially akin to epilepsy.

Any female behavior could be deemed as an indicator of hysteria, and the primary treatment was pelvic massage: clitoral stimulation was a palliative cure for this condition.

Who was supposed to handle this? The doctors, who apparently found no pleasure in doing so!

For Victorian women, clitoral stimulation was not even considered a sexual act, as it was believed that they were incapable of experiencing sexual desire.

If a woman moaned during a pelvic massage, she was said to be having a “hysterical paroxysm.” After reaching this state, patients would temporarily ease their issues.

The invention of the steam-powered vibrator came as a savior for these specialist doctors, relieving them from the hand-cramping work.

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Josephine Baker


Josephine Baker was a sexy and highly sexual woman. She became the biggest African-American star in the world. Here is her strange mini-biography.

Josephine was born in 1906 on the wrong side of the tracks in Saint Louis, Missouri, USA. Her grandparents on her mother’s side had been slaves.

Josephine Baker as a baby

Her parents had a vaudeville background. Vaudeville was live variety entertainment presented in theaters. Acts ranged from singing and dancing to magic, juggling, trained animal acts, and comedy. Back in the day, vaudeville was an attractive pursuit that was profitable for some performers, but barely made ends meet for most.

Her deadbeat father was a drummer who left when Josephine was one year old. He may have been of Native American heritage. No one seems to know for sure. Her poor mother had to take in laundry to barely put food on the table.

To make matters worse, her mother found another man to marry. Another deadbeat. Oh, this one didn’t leave the family, but he didn’t work either. He spent his days sitting around reading the newspaper. The family was so poor that Josephine, her younger step-brother and two step-sisters, her mother and father all slept in the same bed.

After a while, that was too much for her, so she took to sleeping on the floor, under a blanket made from newspapers.

When she was eight years old, to bring in more money her mother sent her off to work for a white family as a maid. Things got worse, not better. Josephine slept in that family’s basement with their dog.

One time, she put too much soap in the laundry. The white woman burned her hands. Evidently, it was just mild enough not to leave permanent scars.

Despite all that, Josephine managed to stay in school until age twelve.

Things weren’t yet bad as they could be. By the age of thirteen, she was living on the streets, scavenging for food and using cardboard boxes for shelter from the weather. Needing money, she took up unskilled street performing. She emulated popular dances of the era, Trucking, The Tack-Annie, The Itch, and Messing Around.

Finally, things started to improve. She met and married Willie Wells. She was thirteen years old at the time. He was fifteen. One can only imagine what kind of sex life they had. How much did they even know about sex at that age?

Josephine’s rough street performing improved and she started performing with the Jones Family street performers in front of Booker T Washington theater.

One day, the opening act in the theater, the Dixie Steppers, failed to show. You guessed it. The Jones family, along with Josephine were invited into the theater to perform on stage.

By this time, Josephine could dance, cross her eyes, and play trombone at the same time. She had comedy talent.

By the time she was 15 years old, she had divorced Willie, and married a guy named William Howard Baker at age 15. Just like her father, William turned out to be a lazy non-worker. Isn’t it amazing how often people will marry someone who has the same traits as one of their parents?

Right around this time, the manager of the Dixie Stepper took the Jones family and Josephine to New York. During this time, Josephine’s career evolved. She was truly a professional, although not by any means well-paid.

Still only fifteen years old, Josephine won a role in the 1921 all-Black production “Shuffle Along.” She played comedy clown at the end of a chorus line who couldn’t keep up, stumbling around out of time, and making a hilarious mess, but she ended the routine with skillful dancing.

She performed in New York City for four years as her skill continued to grow. Then, at age nineteen, she moved to Paris, France.


She became a nearly instant sensation. Billed as having come from an African tribe, she could dance like no other, taking what she had learned on the streets of Saint Luis including things like popping and locking, which she was doing decades ahead of time, to the stages of Paris.

Some have said that she’s the founder of much modern dance including hip-hop. Reviewers at the time called her style ‘uninhibited.’ Beyonce, among other modern celebrities have attributed some of their skills to Josephine’s influence.

It didn’t hurt that she was an exceptionally beautiful Black woman, a rarity in France. Furthermore, it didn’t hurt that she danced nearly naked, something that was somewhat common in Paris at the time. Did I say ‘nearly naked?’ She was absolutely topless other than some necklaces, and had invented a skirt made of sixteen rubber bananas that were hung from a belt and swayed back and forth in such a way that the audience could see everything. She was obviously not afraid to be seen in her entirety. According to some reports, she sometimes performed 100% naked.

Josephine Baker in her banana skirt, also known as banana girdle

Two years later, Josephine Baker became the ‘Toast of Paris.’

Josephine Baker, the Toast of Paris

Great opportunities came her way. She was the the first black star in a major motion picture, Siren of the Tropics, a silent film released in 1927. Later she starred in “Zuzu” in 1934, and “Princes TamTam” in 1935.

One of her trademarks was a spit curl, a little lock of hair that was pasted to her forehead, Betty Boop style. In fact Betty Boop, who came along in 1930, may have been inspired by Josephine Baker. Josephine started selling the paste she used for that spit curl, calling it BakerFix, and made a literal fortune with her acting plus that product.



Another trademark, besides nudity in performing and the spit curl, was that she seldom if ever wore high heels, preferring flats. That was probably influenced by her dancing.

While many people have a housecat or a dog, Josephine fell in love with Chikita, a cheetah, giving her kitty a diamond collar that matched Josephine’s diamond bracelet. Josephine were sometimes spotted around Paris in her white convertible Rolls Royce, with Chikita by her side. She often performed with Chikita on stage. Sometimes the cat would wander down to the orchestra pit, scaring the musicians, which added to the show.

She fell in love with Giuseppe Pepito Abatino, a former stone mason from Sicily. Unlike her father and now estranged second husband, Pepito actually worked. He became her agent. She couldn’t marry him because she was still technically married to William.

Already on a spectacular projectory, with Pepito’s management, she became the most successful Black woman in Europe.

With all her success, she still missed America. She pestered Pepito to get her a booking on Broadway. He got her a starring role in the 1936 Zigfield Follies. However, this was America. She couldn’t drink from ‘white’ drinking fountains, couldn’t use ‘white’ bathrooms, or eat in ‘white’ restaurants. She had to use the service entrance of the very theater in which she was performing.

As you can imagine, she went back to France as soon as the Zigfield gig was done.

In time, she could have married Pepito, but he died of stomach cancer when she was 30 years old.

She counted among her friends Jean Cocteau, who is described in Wikipedia as “French poet, playwright, novelist, designer, filmmaker, visual artist and critic.”

Ernest Hemingway called her the ‘most sensational woman anyone ever saw.’

Picasso featured her in art.

So what about her sex life? When asked, she would say she believed sex was a good workout, it was fun.

She had many affairs with men, sometimes picking up random guys in nightclubs. Women too. She had an affair with Ada “Bricktop” Smith, who was the other famous Black woman in Paris at the time. Ada was a singer, dancer, and owned a nightclub in Paris.

Josephine Baker's Friend, Ada Bricktop Smith
Ada “Bricktop” Smith

According to a Wikipedia article, Josephine also had lesbian affairs with French novelist Colette, and possibly Frida Kahlo.


Colette

Frida Kahlo

Time went on. She continued in her success. In 1937 she married Jewish French industrialist, Jean Lion. For a year, they had a wonderful time, riding horseback, flying in private planes, going fox hunting, and wining and dining with the biggest of celebrities. She left Jean after fourteen months, at least in part because of her many affairs with both men and women.

Along came World War II. She hated the Nazis. They were like prejudiced white people in America, but they tormented Jews instead of Black people. Josephine also loved France so much, the country where she was invited to dine with white people for the first time in her life, the country where everyone adored her for who she was rather than shun her just for her skin color, that she signed up as a spy with the French Resistance.

She also performed for the troops. She never charged any money for these performances. At the same time, being the celebrity that she was, she could wine and dine with many influential people, including Nazi dignitaries. She was able to get next to them – in bed one would assume, listen to their secrets, and pass them on to the French military intelligence and eventually President Charles deGaul.

At one point, she was asked to set up an army entertainment camp in Morocco. She did entertain the troops, but it was really a cover for her continuing spying activity. While in Morocco, she nearly died from the last in a series of miscarriages, probably brought on by improper abortions. This one was so bad that she developed peritonitis and a blood infection. Her uterus was removed.

Even as she was still recovering from that, she continued not only her spy work, but also, along with a entourage, she entertained the troops, charging no money, and allowing no civilians in the audience.

When the German men spilled the beans, ‘mansplained’ as one biographer called it, she wrote notes that she folded into her panties. She had no problem passing through customs as she went from country to country. No one was going to strip search the famous Josephine Baker. Instead, customs officials asked for her autograph.

Another bold trick she used to smuggle information was to write in invisible ink on her sheet music. Of course she’d always be carrying sheet music in her business.

When she was forced to leave France, she took out as many Jewish refugees as she could fit in her Rolls Royce.

The war ended. Time went on. The little girl who grew up abused and in abject poverty remained one of the biggest and wealthiest stars in Europe.

In 1947 at the age of 41, Josephine married orchestra leader, Jo Bouillon. Jo Baker and Jo Bouillon.

By the age 45, she could sing in English, French, Italian, Portuguese, Yiddish.

May 20, 1951 was declared Josephine Baker day by the NAACP.

Even though she could perform at the world-renowned Stork Club, she evidently couldn’t sit in the audience. When the management tried to expel her, Grace Kelly, later to become Princess Grace of Monaco, held her arm and walked out with her, including Grace’s entire entourage. They became close friends.

Also in 1951, while performing at the Stork Club, she complained about their policy of discouraging black audience members. Her friend Walter Winchell did not come to her defense, she she got mad at him. He retaliated by calling her a Communist in his newspaper column. That, among other complications, resulted in the government canceling her visa. Once again, she had to return to France.

She came back a few times to the United States, where she was also a celebrity, but not on the same scale as in France. In the US, she was still a ‘Negro’ and relegated to only designated restaurants, bathrooms and hotels. At one point, she was turned down by 36 hotels because she was black. People were still so fucked up about race in America that her magnificent performance in the follies earned her bad reviews.

Here’s a Time Magazine review:

“Josephine Baker is a Saint Louis washwoman’s daughter who stepped out of a negro burlesque show and into a life of adulation and luxury in Paris during the booming 1920s. In sex appeal to jaded Europeans of the jazz-loving type, a Negro wench always has a head start. The particular tawny tint of tall and stringy Josephine Baker’s bare skin stirred French pulses, but to Manhattan theater-goers last week, she was just a slightly buck-toothed young negro woman who’s figure might be matched in any nightclub show, who’s dancing and singing could be topped practically anywhere outside France.”

Shortly after the war, and possibly starting before, she began executing a brilliant idea, one many years ahead of its time. In 1936 she had purchased Château des Milandes, a chateau with a village that she hoped to turn into something like Dollywood, with peacocks, a J-shaped swimming pool, hotel, rides, and much more.

She also started adopting children, but not just any children. She wanted variety for a very special reason. She initially wanted a white child, a black child, a yellow child and a red child. She did manage to adopt White, Black and Asian children, but never managed to find a ‘red’ – American Indian child.

In total, she had twelve kids, ten boys and two girls, that she called her Rainbow Tribe. The kids she selected came from varied backgrounds, Catholic, Jewish and Muslim. She was intent on proving that people of different backgrounds can get along just fine. She said, “They will serve as an example of true democracy and be living proof that if people are left in peace, nature takes care of the rest.”

Most of her kids grew up to become successful, although one did commit suicide as an adult.

One of her children, Finnish-born Jarry, came out as gay at the age of 15. Uncharacteristically, Josephine, herself a practicing bisexual, threw him out, forcing him to live with his adoptive father, Jo Bouillion, by then in Argentina. This must have been due to what she figured would be negative publicity for her Rainbow Tribe. But still! Right?

How was Josephine as a person? People say she was sweet and kind, but also could act like a demanding brat, in the way that rapid wealth can spoil people.

When in America, she was a big civil rights advocate, being the only female speaker in the 1963 March on Washington.

When Dr. Martin Luther King was assassinated, his wife, Coretta Scott King, asked Josephine to lead the civil rights movement, but she turned it down out of consideration for the safety of her children.

The Château des Milandes experiment never quite worked out. If you’ve ever owned a village with a chateau, then you know they can absorb a lot of money. In fact, Château des Milandes ate up all of Josephine’s fortune. By 1968, she was flat broke, and was evicted from the villa. Leaving her home of 32 years was not easy for her. She had to be removed bodily.

Fortunately, her friend actress Grace Kelly, gave her an apartment in which she could stay and live in style for the rest of her life.

In 1975, at the age of 68, Josephine Baker was still a very well-regarded celebrity. A sold-out show celebrating Josephine’s fifty years in entertainment was arranged at Carnegie Hall. She performed brilliantly. The show was attended by Mick Jagger, Sophia Loren, Jackie Onasis, among others.

Four days later, she died peacefully in her bed, surrounded by newspapers all with glowing reviews of her performance.

20,000 people attended Josephine Baker’s funeral.

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Post-Pandemic History Class

By 2040, the world was much different than it had been only twenty years before. As you may have read, the great pandemics starting in 2020 eventually took ten percent of the world’s population. True decimation. It wasn’t until about 2032 that scientists discovered how to permanently prevent any more pandemics. What I’m discussing today is the major changes in social norms that took place post-pandemics. This whole business of public masturbation in particular.

No doubt you know about the huge shift in economy. Personally, I think the biggest single factor was the finding by scientists at the University of Rochester Medical School that clothing was one of the biggest carriers of the virus. Sure, it was airborne, and could live on surfaces. At first, science thought it was hard surfaces like tabletops and coins. But no, cloth was actually the worst offender.

Science started advocating nudity. Well, not at first. At first, they let us know that washing machines and clothes dryers were not adequate for killing viruses. They then suggested that people turn up the heat and wear less clothing in homes and offices, and while shopping.

The brother and sister team Jenelle and Jeremy Watson of ProWank.com, who had long been outspoken advocates of masturbation, started suggesting people wear absolutely nothing, as often as possible. They also suggested masturbating in public. Their suggestion for nudity caught on. It took a few more years before public masturbation became commonplace.

At first, in the major cities, especially Los Angeles, New York and San Francisco, you’d see the occasional individual with nothing but a face mask, and some even without that.

Within a year, by 2028, you’d seldom see anyone with clothing on a warm day. That became the new norm. And of course, within homes, families pretty much never wore clothing any more. That too, was a huge hit on the economy, since clothing sales fell off to nothing. Of course we all know how the financial system recovered. The governments just kept printing more money. They called the monthly payments, “stimulus checks.” At first there were just occasional stimulus checks. Eventually they became scheduled. Everyone said that putting more cash into circulation like that would cause massive inflation. It happened, but never to the degree everyone expected. The economists forgot to take into account how symbolic money actually is. It’s not anchored in anything real, so why not make as much as needed?

Then, around 2033, just about the time the pandemics were finally over, when you’d think people would start putting clothing back on, it didn’t happen. They stayed naked. Furthermore, they were partying in the streets. Literally. Sections of major downtown avenues were blocked off and made into naked pedestrian promenades. Restaurants dragged tables into the streets, and every evening, the streets filled with happy, naked people.

How happy, you may ask? It started with erections. Men were no longer afraid to allow their penises to harden in public. At first, just like typical nude beaches not many years before the pandemics, having a hardon in public was generally a no-no. Oh, people said it was ‘natural,’ it was ‘OK’ but guys were still very reluctant to be seen with erections. Now, it was totally normal. Then they, and the women, too, started wanking. It became absolutely ordinary to see people sitting in chairs or lounging on the lawn in public parks, having conversations with each other while jerking off.

And that takes us to today. Looking around the classroom, I see three of you are wearing little decorative bits. The rest are as naked as the day you were born, just as I am. I see Cindy and Jason are fondling themselves, lightly wanking, during the lecture. I used to worry about that. I was almost offended, thinking my students weren’t paying attention, but as I’m sure you’ve heard many times, research has shown that when people do that while learning, it actually helps them retain the information.

Oh, time’s up for today class. We’ll pick this up where we left off tomorrow. Meantime, read section seventeen on the history site so you’ll be prepared for tomorrow’s little quiz on the Post-Pandemic Period.

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Bianca’s Smut Shack

By Spurtz

Bianca’s Smut Shack was an online community created in 1994. You can read the details in Wikipedia. Look up bianca.com/wikipedia. It was created by Alex Thau and Chris Miller. The story I heard, but never confirmed, was that it was created as a social experiment meant to be the subject of Miller’s college thesis. The idea was to give people a site where free speech was totally unregulated and to see how people would react.

Originally there was no fee to become a registered member. About the only benefit to being a registered member was you owned your own handle and nobody else could use it on the site. Non-members were free to use any of the Shack’s features but did not have a permanent handle. I believe at some point later that a fee was charged. I don’t remember every paying anything. But that might have been because I acted as a moderator for one of the Bianca Forums.

In the beginning the Bianca concept worked pretty well. Let me describe, as best as I can remember, what the Shack consisted of. It was actually a quite complex site. One of the mainstays was a series of chat rooms, said to be the first functional public chat rooms on the web. I was never a huge user of the chat rooms so I don’t remember exactly how many there were. Each one had a different theme. Some were quite tame while others were not.

In trying to research the details of the Shack, since my memory of the details was not that good, I ran across a site where a significant portion of the Shack is archived. However, only top level links are active. For example you can open various forums and click on the top level links that do open but if you try to open any lower level links, they don’t go anywhere. Here is the home page of the Shack. There is a crude drawing of a house floor plan. You can click on any of the rooms to see what’s there. The Parlor is where I spent most of my time.

Bianca's Smut Shack Map

https://web.archive.org/web/20051126203426/http://shack.bianca.com/shack/shackmap.html

The Parlor contained three forums where users could ask and answer questions. One Forum, that was my favorite, was a Sexual Question and Answer Forum. The page held 50 questions. As a new question was added at the top, the bottom question dropped off the list. A person could post a question and it could take a couple of weeks to work its way to the bottom. In the meantime several people could answer each question. Additionally, you could post replies or further comments under the answers. All the questions and answers that dropped off the list were archived and available if desired.

Moderators were added later to the Forums and Chat rooms and I moderated the Q&A Forum using the handle Boner.

The other two Forums in the Parlor were the Sexual Fetish Forum and the Sexual Fantasy Forum. The woman who moderated the Fantasy Forum was one of my close Shack friends. The gal who designed the little heart icon that identified you as a member, was also a close Shack friend and one who I met offline at one point.

I found an archived page of just the Q&A Forum. You can read the questions but the responses to the questions are not available. The title of the response is shown but the response itself is not.

https://web.archive.org/web/20050823010347/http://parlor.bianca.com/shack/parlor/questions/

If you look closely at this page you will see a link to Boner’s Shacklet. This is a very large compendium of links to a number of sex sites including several sites set up by Bianca members. Until I noted this link and looked at it, I had completely forgotten I had put this together. As can be seen, it had to have been a huge task.

The thing that is a bit mysterious about these archived pages is they are dated 2004, long after the Shack was essentially shut down in 2001. I used to check back in 2002 and other than some chat, nothing was going on. It appears that by 2004 it was somewhat operational again. And I do see a couple of names on the Q&A archived forum that I remember from my days on the Shack. Danae and Suzie Creamcheese are two of them.

Another feature of the Shack was any registered member could set up their own site within the Shack. These sites were called Bianca Shackets. In addition to Boner’s Shacklet, I had one where I posted my movie reviews. There were a large number of these private sites. Some open to anybody and others only to friends who had to use a password to enter. The sites ranged from hard core sex to innocent stuff like my movie reviews. One of the Shackets was devoted to handjob photos and videos. For the life of me I can’t remember the name but once Bianca folded the guy set up his own web page and ended up with hundreds and hundreds of handjob pix and movies. You have to remember that this was back before there was the huge amount of porn available on the internet like there is today. In fact, if you check Boner’s Shacklet there is a note that I am still looking for XXX sites with videos. That wouldn’t be much of a problem today.


Bianca's Smut Shack Dick Photo

One of the things that I found most appealing to the Shack was how friendships were formed and regular members would gather together into cliques. Some groups were friendly to others while there was also some animosity between groups. Overall it was an amazing online community that was seriously addicting. Many of us created the private Shacklets that were password protected and a group of friends could go in and leave private messages (readable by any of the friends). My group at its height had about ten members who were close friends. After Bianca shut down, my group continued to have our own private forum on the State of Insanity site. I’m still in touch with a few of them.

There was one woman who went by the name of Psycho, who in my opinion really was a bit nuts. She had an online boyfriend named Thunder and the two of them tried to terrorize anybody who they didn’t like. One of the things that happened was the two of them had their own private Shacklet where they shared nude photos of each other and also sexy private posts. One of the women in my group somehow figured out what their password was and passed it around to everybody in my group. We could go into their private site and look at their naked photos and read their private messages. And then laugh about them amongst ourselves. Sounds mean but they were both jerks.

Over time things started to get out of hand in some of the forums and Chris Miller decided to create moderators for each forum, as mentioned earlier. This kind of went against the original concept for the Shack and Psycho and her group ranted and raved against it. I was appointed moderator the Sexual Question Forum. Basically what I, and other moderators, did was to delete personal attacks and underage stuff.

At one point a woman asked a question in the Q&A Forum about what it was like to participate in a threesome. Even though I had never been in one, I did respond to her question, also wondering what it might be like. Her handle was L.A. Gal which further intrigued me as I was also in L.A. We became online friends and swapped email and later phone numbers and eventually met in person and then six months later got married. And we both got to actually experience a threesome, which was very successful. Several marriages resulted from the Shack.

After a couple of years, the guys behind the site held a party in San Francisco open to any of the members of the Shack. This was before I met L.A. Gal, but I attended and got to meet many of the online friends that I had made via the Shack. Some of these friendships were extremely close. One very outspoken woman lived in S.F. and invited me and several other Shack members for a drink at her apartment before we went to the party. Much later L.A. Gal and I attended her wedding which was a riot. Although we left the reception before the action really got started, we heard that, among other things, the bride sucked off the best man in front of the entire assemblage including the groom. Unfortunately she died a few years later from some incurable disease she had been living with.

But at the party, I did meet in person one of the women who I had carried on many posted conversations with and although she was not a member of my immediate clique, I considered her a friend and was very taken with her obvious intelligence. Only to be blown away when I met her face to face as she was one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. A bit too young for me. Well, let me put that differently. I was a bit too old for her. My loss. I left the party about midnight. The venue where the party was held was really dark and consisted of a whole series of rooms broken up to where it could be easy to get lost. I did hear later that quite a bit of sex took place in the wee hours of the morning. I really didn’t expect anything like that to happen or I would have stuck around longer. What was I thinking? Of course there would be sex.

It was also great fun to meet a lot of people who I had interfaced with on the Shack site. You form an idea of what a person looks like based on a couple of years of reading their posts only to find out that they looked nothing like that.

Prior to meeting L.A. Gal I did meet in person two of the women I had originally met in the Shack. They were both in my immediate clique. Both of them lived way too far away from me for any kind of regular hookup. I did spend four days with one of them in the general area of Yellowstone National Park. Her specialty was giving deep throat blowjobs and when she had my entire cock down her throat, her tongue came out and licked my balls. We are still email buddies although she’s now happily married with several kids.

The second one flew into L.A. on her way to visit friends but spent four days with me first. Keep in mind that this was the first time I ever met her face to face. I picked her up at the airport and within 15 minutes of arriving at my house, we were both naked and fucking our brains out. It was four days of near non-stop sex including a four-way with another couple. Years later my then girl friend and I visited her and her fiancée and had a nice dinner together. No sex. We are still email buddies. My girlfriend was aware that she and I had been intimate but her fiancée had no idea. The photos included with this story are of her and me.

Bianca's Smut Shack, Blowjob Photo

Back to the Shack. I went through a period where I would go into one of the chat rooms using a female handle. I would hook up with a guy and through more and more explicit chat get him to jack off for me. I know these poor guys were totally convinced they had latched onto a real sexpot.

Then things took a turn for the worse. I never knew if it was one guy causing all the grief or if it was several. Whoever it was started bombing the Forums. Somehow they had figured out a way to post 50 questions in the Q&A Forum at once. It was actually the same question posted 50 times. Which of course wiped out every question and answer on the Forum. Basically shutting it down. As soon as a few legit questions would start to appear, they would get wiped out.

They did this to all the Forums. Then they went after the Chat rooms effectively shutting them down with multiple posts. I contacted Chris Miller, one of the originators of the site, to see what could be done. The only way to combat it would be to only allow registered members to make a post. For some reason he didn’t want to do that. Probably because the vast majority of the people cruising the site were non-members.

Part of the problem was the amount of bandwidth needed to support the site, which had grown to a huge size, was beyond Miller’s and his partner’s ability to finance it. The site was purchased by Nerve.com, an online magazine devoted to sexual subjects, in 1999. I believe Miller was somehow still involved. But by 2001, Bianca’s Smut Shack was history. I was a faithful follower the entire seven years of its existence. Almost too much. I was badly addicted to the site.

In its heyday it was to my mind the most interesting site on the internet, and not just because of the sex, although that was a powerful attraction. It’s too bad that someone hasn’t attempted to recreate it. I know that there are some sites that are somewhat similar but I’ve never found anything that comes close to what the Shack was in its prime. I’m not big on pay sites, but I would pay if the Shack could reappear in its original format.

If you Google bianca.com you just get a page that says “bianca loves you.” For many years after its demise, the page also included the crudely drawn map of the site listing all the chat rooms and forums. Even after I gave up on it once the Q&A went down, I think a couple of the chat rooms limped along. And even the Q&A somehow stayed active although by then I had lost interest. The idiots who destroyed the site also lost interest and allowed the chats to continue.

There is also a bianca.org site that claims to be the real world extension of bianca.com. They have staged parties in conjunction with The Burning Man event. Their first involvement with Burning Man was in 1996 while the Shack was still active. I remember Chris Miller telling me about the event and what a trip it was to attend. According to the bianca.org site the last event held by the group was in 2006 so that bianca effort has also appeared to have run its course.

But right around the time it was falling apart, a group of Biancanauts got together for a first time face-to-face lunch meeting in a TGI Fridays in Marina del Rey. That Fridays is gone now. My wife, L.A.Gal, and about six or seven other Biancanauts attended the luncheon. None of them were in my clique but all were Q&A regulars who I had communicated with numerous times. I believe only a few of us were from the L.A. area. The rest had traveled in for the get-together. There was this one gal, whose Bianca handle was something like Stranded in SLC. I don’t remember the details but she and her husband or maybe a bf had moved to Salt Lake City and then broke up and she couldn’t afford to move away. Or something like that. I do clearly remember she was very attractive and super sexy and if I wasn’t in a hot and heavy relationship, I would definitely have made a move on her. We had a great time trading stories and lamenting about what was happening to the Shack. No hookups took place that I’m aware of.

######

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Create Your Own Story

Hi Folks! Jeremy and I would love to hear your stories. Please write a story in the comment area below, or you can send direct to me using jenelle@prowank.com.

You do not need to identify yourself but you can if you wish. Your story can be a true memoir, how-to information, fiction, or whatever you want. It would be great if you could let us know whether it’s true or fiction, however. It can be from any perspective.

The length can be anything from a sentence to a complete ebook.

If you’d like to include video or pictures, that would be great. Email them to us.

Please don’t send any copyrighted material unless you are the owner. Don’t send pictures of anyone without their full permission, and the knowledge that their pictures may be copied throughout the Internet. Once a picture is posted on a website, it can be impossible to get rid of it.

Let us know whether it is OK or not to edit your story.

We can’t pay anything for your submissions, and do not guarantee to publish every one, but we’ll do our best to publish anything that’s of reasonable quality.

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Middle School Madness

Middle school sexual madness

Our school was one of the last in the country to get rid of the concept that boys swim naked, girls wear suits. Of course the girls and the boys had separate swim times, but still, I was one of the last to have to strip naked with a bunch of boys and go swimming.

But that wasn’t bad enough. This was in the days of forced integration. The schools had to mix the black and white kids. The school system in our particularly violent city had the remarkably bad idea of integrating a traditionally all-black high school, by changing it into a mixed junior-senior high school, then bringing all white 7th and 8th graders, who had to defend themselves against much larger black kids in a world where the kids of both colors were taught hate by their parents. Not only that, the school was ridiculously overcrowded.

Needless to say, I had a bad time. At only twelve years old, I was given a bus pass, and had to take city two busses each way, every day. I got up ridiculously early in the morning, and got home late.

I was assaulted many times in the school, and on the busses, too. I’m not sure how I came through all that unscathed.

Due to all the mixing of kids around the city, I only knew a few kids in the whole school, and none of them were in my huge gym class of approximately 60 boys. Probably due to the confusion caused by the integration mandate, the gym class wasn’t just all 7th graders. It was mixed ages from 12 years old to 19.

The teachers in this wonderful school had given up on actually teaching. The gym teachers, for instance, sat in a glass walled office overlooking the pool and shower room, reading paperbacks and not participating in any way. For the baseball rotation, all 60 kids tromped out into the school yard, and tried to figure out for themselves how to manage an inning and a half of softball with so many kids in the outfield. The teachers stayed inside.

It was only a few minutes on the field, because for some reason I’ll never know, all gym classes required two showers. We were told to shower before going out on the field, then shower again afterward.

The shower room was a big open room, with showerheads lining the walls. All the boys were naked. It was terrible, yet it wasn’t so terrible. I was rather excited by the idea of seeing other nude kids. Especially their balls and willies. I was fascinated by the black kids. Their penises were much larger. Not because they were black, although perhaps there’s an optical illusion that makes black objects seem larger than white ones. It was because they were older. They had gone through adolescence, growing full-size genitals. Most were also uncircumcised, whereas the white kids were cut. In this class, most of the big black kids had hair ‘down there.’ Most of the white kids had no hair, or were just starting out with a few straggly hairs that you could barely see. No one had an erection.

At the time, I was imagining that if any of the boys got erect, they’d be hounded out of the school. It was fashionable to point out anything ‘gay’ about another boy as a way of teasing. Having an erection among the boys would have been an over-the-top infraction of our unwritten rules.

Another thing I’ll never be able to understand is that after the showers, sometimes the three gym teachers would put down their books, come into the shower room, line us all up, then slowly walk up and down the line behind us, every now and then pointing out a boy who had dirty ankles. That’s right, these teachers seemed to be concerned specifically with our ankles. Sometimes a couple of kids would be held back while the rest of us dressed to go on to our next class. I never knew what happened with the held-back kids.

When the swimming rotation came around, I was filled with dread. The showers were bad enough. I hadn’t been naked in front of anyone since before I could remember, except for doctor’s exams. Even those weren’t naked. He’d stick his hand in my underpants, feel around for like three seconds, then get on with the rest of the exam.

The day came, and like all the other kids, almost all of which were feeling weird and shy as we were marched out of the shower room, into the echoey, windowless, green tile lined swimming pool room.

We stood along the walls shivering. The gym teachers had disappeared again. There was no instruction. A few kids jumped in, and eventually most of us did. We just splashed around a bit, then it was back to the showers. I stayed in the shallow end, because I couldn’t swim, and was afraid to put my head under water. I learned nothing in that class, and still can’t swim, fifty years later.

Nothing more happened that day. Two days later, it was another swimming day. It started the same. All sixty kids showered, then went naked into the pool room. We got in the water more quickly. At one point, a big scary black kid started swimming back and forth in front of me, and when he popped up, he whispered in a hoarse voice that he expected me to meet him behind the cafeteria after school. I didn’t know what that was about, but it scared the hell out of me. You can bet I stayed well away from behind the cafeteria for weeks after that.

There was something sexual insinuated in his request. Maybe he was offering or asking for a blowjob. I don’t know, or don’t remember. I’m not even sure I knew what a blowjob was back then. But it had an effect on me. Maybe it was the vision of his smooth, shiny black butt. Maybe it was being talked to while naked by a boy. Maybe because there was something in his voice, as if he especially liked me or something. I started growing an erection. I was immediately scared. More scared than the threat of this big black kid. In a moment, I’d have to hop out of the pool, and everyone would see me with a boner. What was I to do? What could I do? I was thinking frantically, but had no answer.

Then, one of the coaches reentered, and blew a whistle. This was the moment of no return. My erection had not subsided. I did the only thing I could do, I climbed out of the pool and lined up against the wall with the other kids. At first I tried to keep my hands in front of my erection, but I realized that only made the situation more obvious. I brought my hands to my sides, giving up. I tried acting as if I was being bold, and proud or at least indifferent to show my erection. Nothing could be further from the truth, but what else could I do? Now-a-days, I wonder about that. Why did the erection persist? Was the fear actually affecting me adversely?

I was convinced all the boys would point, and laugh, and call me all sorts of names like ‘gay’ and maybe even worse. There was a bit of snickering, and a couple of pointed fingers, but not nearly the fanfare I had worried about.

In the shower, the erection would still not go down. I had given up, and just walked around and in the locker room with it waving, sticking straight out in front of me. No one talked to me, no one said anything. There wasn’t any more snickering or pointing. Finally, I dressed, and the erection subsided.

Once I got home and to the privacy of my bedroom, I was very preoccupied with what had happened. How could I ever return to school? What was I going to do? Then too, I was feeling something else. Like every afternoon after gym class, I jerked off with memories of the naked boys. I had orgasms that were still mostly dry, maybe letting out a drop or two of clear semen. But the orgasms were very enjoyable. They also made me feel guilty. Among the other teasing and carrying on among boys my age was the general idea that masturbation was a very bad, even a ‘gay’ thing. But the orgasms were so good! After that swimming class, I was especially horned up and still scared at the same time, and jerked off big-time. When I came, for the first time in my life, the cum was thicker and had a whitish cast.

The next Tuesday was like facing a firing squad. I had to swim naked again, and I was the boy who had had an erection in front of everyone. The reaction I got as I entered the shower naked with the other kids wasn’t at all what I was expecting. Boys, both big and black, and little and white, started coming up to me and trying to start conversations. They somehow respected me, or wanted to know me or something. That was a huge surprise.

Well, that was fifty years ago. I still think about the whole thing from time to time. I know now that things were way worse than I realized at the time. The school officials should have been sued. We learned almost nothing in that school, and I do believe there was something way more off about those gym teachers than I’ll ever know. I do remember telling my parents, and they simply didn’t believe me, thinking I must be making it up, because surely a school couldn’t be that bad. And, “Why was I talking so negatively about black people?” they asked.

For high school, I was transferred to a school in my neighborhood that was all white 9th – 12th graders, and integrated with all black 7th and 8th graders.

Here’s the good news: Although I’m a high-school dropout, I’m alive, happy, well, and somewhat successful today. Although I am bisexual, I’ve been happily married to the same woman for 32 years. I don’t hate black people although I was starting to during my junior high-school years. In fact, my wife is black.

I wrote another version of this memoir here: Integration, in which I was originally too shy to mention my own erection.

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Integration

Middle school integration sexual experience

Wait ’till you hear my integration story! There’s a surprising sexual part, too, a little later on in this rather long-winded post.

At twelve years old, right before I was to start seventh grade in middle school, our school district was federally mandated to integrate at all costs. In this case, the cost being the welfare of the children.

In their great wisdom, they took an all-black high school, and turned it into a combined junior-senior high school. And how did they do that? They brought in all white seventh and eighth grade children, and left the older, bigger black kids as-is. This was in a major city where many of the parents of both races had taught their children to hate people of the opposite color.

Instantly, from the very first day, the little white kids got pounded by the big black kids. In very short order, I learned to bring a lunch, not lunch money to school, because it was taken every single day. I was assaulted constantly, as were hundreds of other little white kids.

I complained to the teachers, the vice principal, the principal, the school board, and my parents. In every case it was, ‘We can’t do anything about it,” which I interpreted as, “We don’t really give a shit.” In fact, my parents chose to believe I was making this up. In retrospect, I understand. If they let themselves believe it was real, they’d be heartbroken or worse, knowing what was happening to their child, and not being able to do anything about it.

I was given a city bus pass. I’d ride right past the local school I should have gone to, head north to downtown, wait at a transfer station for a second bus, then take that southeast to my school. It took ninety minutes each way.

Twice I was accosted on the buses. In one case, I had a broken glass bottle held against my chest. In another case, a knife against my stomach. I wasn’t actually cut in either case, but it was super-scary.

Then there were all the assaults at school. My wife says I have traces of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) to this day. One kid I know from that school was hit so hard – knocked against the corner of a table – that he required brain surgery, lost the sight in one eye, and had a very weak grip with one hand.

Toward the end of the school year, it was a hot spring day. The school did not have air conditioning. A riot broke out in the cafeteria. It wasn’t the first time, but this riot became much more severe than any prior to that. Immediately all the teachers ran out of the room. Many children were injured. Kids piled up against the doors so hard no one could get out. Chairs, trays, food and silverware flew through the air. I saw one girl get smashed in the face by a flying chair. I did not see her for the rest of the school year.

I knew the pattern could not be repeated for eighth grade, even if I myself, with no attributes other than any other 13-year-old, had to do something about it. So, I showed up the first day at East High School, the one in my own neighborhood, claiming I hadn’t received a schedule in the mail. Actually, I had wadded it up and thrown it away.

They assigned me temporary classes. For the first two weeks I was sure they’d figure out what I had done, and I’d be in big trouble. But they never found out. Unfortunately, East High School had been integrated in a similar way. Now, I was almost the only white kid among all the 8th graders, and was hated for that. All the older kids were white, but that didn’t help me any. Approaching 14 years old, my body was starting to grow, so I was less of a target.

But that’s not the worst of it. Back in seventh grade at Madison High School, the phys ed department was absolutely horrible. In my massive class of more than sixty kids, we were of all ages. I never understood that. Why not just seventh graders?

The three ‘teachers’ sat in a glass-walled office just off the shower room reading paperback books. One of the gym teachers was remarkably heavy set, just the opposite of physically fit.

If the weather was fifty degrees or above, the sixty of us would be shuffled out into the school yard, and we had to figure out for ourselves what to do, as the gym teachers stayed inside. We might play an inning and a half of softball until the time was up – with three kids on bases, a pitcher, short stop, and maybe thirty kids in the outfield and thirty more waiting to bat.

Now, it starts to get weird. For some reason, we all had to take showers before we went out into the field, or into the gym on cold days. It was a common shower room, with shower heads all along the walls. We were expected to get stark naked in front of all the other kids, which for me, and no doubt many of the others with conventional, conservative upbringing, was exceedingly scary and embarrassing.

We’d have about fifteen minutes for our little bit of softball or rope climbing, or dodgeball or whatever it was, then back to the showers AGAIN. Again naked, we all showered together.

Then, the water would be shut off, and the three teachers came out of their glass-walled office, had all the naked boys line up, and would slowly walk up and down the line, pointing out a kid here and there with dirty ankles. I’d look at the ankles of kids who were singled out, and didn’t see the evidence the teachers were claiming. These few selected boys would be held back while the rest of us put our clothes back on. I never did find out what happened with them, but have my suspicions.

I should point out that the kids in this gym class were integrated. Many of the little white kids, such as myself hadn’t grown any hair yet, and had little peckers. Some of the older black kids had the whole works, with glistening curly black hair ‘down there.’

At one point in the year, we had swimming. All the naked boys were shuffled into the pool room. It was a tiled room, with a high ceiling, and no windows. Yes, we swam naked. Now, I’m told this was fairly common in the 1950s and maybe the 1960s, but this was the early 1970s. Perhaps ours was the last school on Earth to do that. I don’t know.

We were given no swimming instruction. I don’t even recall the teachers being in the room. We just splashed around in the pool. Those who could swim, did so. Those who could not, hung along the wall at the shallow end just shivering and conversing a bit.

One day, a big black kid start swimming near me as I hung against the narrow wall, standing about chest deep in the water. He came really close to my dick several times, then squeezed behind me, between my ass and the pool wall, pinching my ass as he passed by. He then rose out of the water, and commanded me to meet him behind the cafeteria after school.

After school that day, I never ran to the bus stop so fast in my life! I was scared for days that he would find me and along with several of his friends would pound me to death. I was so scared, I dropped out of gym class. I just quit going, wandering around the halls, or escaping out of the building until the period was over. Again, I was scared to death that I’d be in big trouble.

I was never found out, and my report card showed a B for gym class every time.

Very occasionally, a kid might have an erection. At one point I was one of them. I wrote that up in a bolder version of this story here: Middle School Madness.

My own take on all this was of several sorts:

1. I was terribly embarrassed to be naked with the other kids.

2. I was scared to death by the bigger kids. Without clothes I felt even more vulnerable.

3. I was somewhat sexually excited. I had started secretly masturbating at home, had no access to any sort of porn, so this much nakedness, even if all young and male, was ‘interesting.’

4. I knew however, that springing wood would be real trouble, and somehow managed not to get erect during any of those showers or swimming ‘lessons,’ except one time. When I think back on it, it’s just amazing that as a kid of that age, I had that much control.

So that was my seventh grade gym class. That, at least, was better in eighth grade at East High School.

During my Madison High days, I, who had been open-minded toward black people, learned to hate them. Over the years, as if by slow-acting magic, I became more balanced in my reasoning, knowing that black people, if given the same opportunities as white people will excel to the same degree. I met black people who were empathetic, lovely individuals, and so finally came to a much better mindset.

However, I seem to maintain a very bad attitude toward school administrators:) And that’s hilarious, because I sometimes play pickleball with a university president. OK, so I don’t hate him.

For years there was talk of class action suits against the school board, but nothing ever came of it. After all, they were just ‘doing their best’ in the face of federal mandation.