It was going to be a wasted summer. It was 1969, the height of the decade which actually didn't end until the oil crunch in 1973.
There were music festivals, and dope, and loud music and I was going to be off to college soon. I was interested in the concepts of the Age of Aquarius, though I hadn't seen much of it in the mid-western town I found myself stuck in.
It was a great time to be alive, but my toes were tapping. I wanted to get on with things.
I missed my pals, and I missed being around the Big City. My family had moved because of my Dad's reassignment. I was now in a suburb around an old brick city filled with the descendents of the hardy block-headed Dutch who populated this part of the state. It was staid and boring.
On the upside, it was easy to get alcohol. On the downside there was nobody to drink it with.
I was as excited as anyone that summer, following the flight of the Eagle to the moon. They went in July of that summer and on July 20 at 4:18 p.m. EDT, the Lunar Module touched down on the Moon. At 10:56 p.m., Neil Armstrong jumped off the Lunar Lander.
In between I lay in my bed and gazed out the window where the moon hung silver in space.
I couldn't quite believe it. Interplanetary travel seemed to be possible. I wondered everything was the same way, possible. I was horny all the time. It did not take much to tent my trousers.
I wondered about a lot of things. Women. They were such impenetrable beings. I thought about the airbrushed Playboy images as I stroked myself, and thought about the strange fortress undergarments they wore under the mini-skirts when they shot us a look in High School. The all seemed to wear the same foundation garments, of a sort. It was the mid-West after all.
But the way they crossed their legs under the desks and that resolute aspect of their crotches filled me with wonder, and a certain amount of dread.
It wasn't like that with the guys. I used to love Phys Ed, and the shower afterwards. I could see that I stacked up pretty well with the other guys, and I often found myself thinking of what it would be like to see a guy as hard as I was.
I laid down on my bed and looked at the moon. I thought of Playboy images with airbrushed pneumatic women. But increasingly I found myself daydreaming about hard penises. I had found a copy of the shocking story of Fanny Hill in my father's remote library, in with the magazines I liked to look at.
Fanny was poked and prodded by all manner of lusty rakes. It was curious that I found myself wishing to be on her end of things. I inserted a candle in my ass one day, and pulled it in and out just like the fat cocks that filled up Fielding's heroine.
I didn't understand why this felt so good, or why I was so attracted to the idea of having it in me. It just felt good, and seemed to touch something deep inside me that tingled. God, it felt good. In fact, when I stroked myself I clenched my tight ring around the smooth intruder and when my balls boiled I came in a Technicolor plume that shot up and hit me in the face.
This night, I looked at the moon and stroked my eager cock, thinking of astronauts and hard dicks. Mine rose to the occasion for the second time that day, spewing hot milk on my hand. I shuddered with the release.
In the silvery light I licked the back of my right hand, tasting my warm seed. It was slippery, with a slightly sweet musky taste and a hint of something else that made my throat tingle, seeming to close it of its own volition.
It was powerful stuff. I knew that.
I was up late with everyone else that night, and was tired when I drove my little red VW to the Mall the next day.
The department store I had worked for back home had an outlet here, and I was able to secure a job selling clothes. They were stricter here in the smaller town, more formal, but I got the same employee discount on clothes and I enjoyed interacting with the customers. I was a born salesman, and so long as I moved product, the management left me alone.
This morning the Manager of the men's department caught me early. I had a cigarette going in one of the dressing rooms, so I tried to sidle away from him and put it out. He was a nerdy type, a little old maid guy. He grasped me on the upper arm to keep me fixed in place.
"Listen," he said. "We have a new employee coming in today."
"O.K." I said. "I can handle that."
"No." He scowled. "This is different. He is a Negro."
I gave him a puzzled look. I had worked with black people all the time back home.
"Our first Negro," he said, as if I was supposed to understand the enormity of it.
"O.K.," I said again. "I'll try to be nice."
He gave me one of those looks. "I just don't want any problems that would reflect badly on the Men's Department."
I promised him that I would be on my best behavior and got back to stub out my cigarette before it fell out of the ashtray and caused a fire. That would reflect badly on the Men's Department, I thought.