May 31, 1985—Stanford University
It never ceases to amaze me how gay communities rush to a call to arms whenever a segment of society has been targeted for discrimination; victimized due to intolerance or some other means of prejudice. I wonder why as a class they rush to defend the rights of others when those same people would return the favor with intolerance.
In the early ‘80’s South Africa’s policy of apartheid was being challenged around the world. Demonstrations popped up everywhere, especially on university campuses. Stanford was no exception.
Stanford’s board of trustees was gathering at the university for their regularly scheduled meeting. A group of students organized by the Gay and Lesbian Alliance at Stanford (GLAS) assembled a large group of students including gays, straights, whites, blacks, Hispanics, Asians, etc., to demonstrate outside of the board meeting. The demonstrations were peaceful, but never the less a police presence was required.
The tactic demonstrators used was one of obstruction. They would block entrances to the buildings where the trustees would meet and impede their movement any way possible. They went so far as holding trustee’s cars hostage. After their first day of demonstrating, some protestors decided to campout in front of building entrances, afraid the police would erect some type of barriers that would prevent them from being effective.
On the following morning I was sent out with a team of other officers to evaluate the demonstrator’s strength and motivations. We found them all asleep. In the gay group of demonstrators they were the most prepared in their overnight accommodations; equipped with mattresses, candles, blankets, pillows, food and drink. A few of the gay boys were sleeping together all spooned and cuddled in each others arms. I watched, no—I stared at them for a long while taking it all in. I thought how loving it looked; how peaceful they were; how intimate and natural it all seemed. I also thought of how brave they were.
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Eye-Candy
1982-86—Stanford University (Palo Alto), California
After graduation from the police academy, I was hired by the Stanford University Department of Public Safety. As I went through my field training, the period in which a rookie is trained by a seasoned officer, one of the first things I noticed about the student body was the overwhelming number of attractive males. They outnumbered women 3:1, and were mostly white. While the other officers complained of this, I was pleased to see so many guys out and about while I was on patrol. The collegiate eye-candy kept me entertained on quieter days.
When I started working at Stanford, it was May and the weather was warm. The afternoon temperatures begged many a young man to shed his shirt and don a pair of shorts. They were everywhere: on the soccer fields, basketball courts, tennis courts, at the pool (swim suits instead of shorts), the track, around the quad, in front yards, the fraternity houses and on and on. I couldn’t get enough boy-watching on any given shift.
I couldn’t explain it, but it was like an itch. I was nearly obsessed with befriending as many of these hotties as possible. Had I known I was gay, that there were other men like me, I wouldn’t have been so obsessed because these guys were 90% straight…maybe more. If I had known, I would have gone to San Francisco (30 minutes away) where the odds were a little more in my favor. But I didn’t, so I just kept trying to scratch an itch I couldn’t find.
I loitered my patrol around the dorms, fraternities and intramural fields on the watch for the errant bicyclist, motorcycle or car to run a stop sign or commit some minor traffic violation. If it was serious, I’d stop the person and take appropriate action. If the violation was really minor, and if the guy was cute (not a conscious motivation) I would stop him and give a verbal warning as I tried to initiate a friendly conversation. Girls rarely got stopped. I did make some friends this way and to this day a few still are, but none are gay (that I know of).
After graduation from the police academy, I was hired by the Stanford University Department of Public Safety. As I went through my field training, the period in which a rookie is trained by a seasoned officer, one of the first things I noticed about the student body was the overwhelming number of attractive males. They outnumbered women 3:1, and were mostly white. While the other officers complained of this, I was pleased to see so many guys out and about while I was on patrol. The collegiate eye-candy kept me entertained on quieter days.
When I started working at Stanford, it was May and the weather was warm. The afternoon temperatures begged many a young man to shed his shirt and don a pair of shorts. They were everywhere: on the soccer fields, basketball courts, tennis courts, at the pool (swim suits instead of shorts), the track, around the quad, in front yards, the fraternity houses and on and on. I couldn’t get enough boy-watching on any given shift.
I couldn’t explain it, but it was like an itch. I was nearly obsessed with befriending as many of these hotties as possible. Had I known I was gay, that there were other men like me, I wouldn’t have been so obsessed because these guys were 90% straight…maybe more. If I had known, I would have gone to San Francisco (30 minutes away) where the odds were a little more in my favor. But I didn’t, so I just kept trying to scratch an itch I couldn’t find.
I loitered my patrol around the dorms, fraternities and intramural fields on the watch for the errant bicyclist, motorcycle or car to run a stop sign or commit some minor traffic violation. If it was serious, I’d stop the person and take appropriate action. If the violation was really minor, and if the guy was cute (not a conscious motivation) I would stop him and give a verbal warning as I tried to initiate a friendly conversation. Girls rarely got stopped. I did make some friends this way and to this day a few still are, but none are gay (that I know of).
Monday, February 21, 2005
Close Encounter with the Female Kind
Summer of 1981—Santa Clara, California
I wanted to improve my chances of becoming a police officer, so I decided to put myself through the Santa Clara Valley Criminal Justice Training Academy; sponsored by San Jose City College, the San Jose Police Department, the Santa Clara County Sheriff's Office and other local agencys.
While attending the Academy I met a girl from San Jose while attending a buddy's pool party. I thought she was cute and she thought the same of me so we hung out together that day and started dating shortly thereafter. It was kinda nice having a companion. She'd bring lunch to me at the academy, fix meals for me after work and invite me to stay the night with her on occasion.
On the nights I stayed with her, I slept wearing a new pair of those bikini breifs I had seen in the department store. She thought I was sexy in them, so that was cool by me. You'd think I would be a shoe-in for some sex, but I wasn't. I was still a virgin and inexperienced in the way of figuring these things out. I didn't know how to initiate the action. I was paralyzed and didn't do anything. It was miserable. I'd spent many a night with this girl, awake the whole night with a total hardon and a case of blue balls so swollen I thought they would burst. Damn they hurt.
The closest I came to having sex with her was this one night when she drove up to stay with me. By now I was frustrated over not having any sex. I was determined to get some this time. I had become more comfortable with her, so I wasn't so apprehensive about going for it as we were making out after dinner. Big mistake! She went into a tirade accusing me of being same as all men with nothing on our minds but sex. Duh! That's what guys do.
Apparently all was forgiven in the moring because all she wanted to do was sit on my crotch and dry hump me through my boxers. Well, gawd, she went wild and was screaming and moaning and shit; she was bucking like a bronco. It all scared me because she was so wild and vocal. I think she came twice, which left me with really wet boxers :)
I wanted to improve my chances of becoming a police officer, so I decided to put myself through the Santa Clara Valley Criminal Justice Training Academy; sponsored by San Jose City College, the San Jose Police Department, the Santa Clara County Sheriff's Office and other local agencys.
While attending the Academy I met a girl from San Jose while attending a buddy's pool party. I thought she was cute and she thought the same of me so we hung out together that day and started dating shortly thereafter. It was kinda nice having a companion. She'd bring lunch to me at the academy, fix meals for me after work and invite me to stay the night with her on occasion.
On the nights I stayed with her, I slept wearing a new pair of those bikini breifs I had seen in the department store. She thought I was sexy in them, so that was cool by me. You'd think I would be a shoe-in for some sex, but I wasn't. I was still a virgin and inexperienced in the way of figuring these things out. I didn't know how to initiate the action. I was paralyzed and didn't do anything. It was miserable. I'd spent many a night with this girl, awake the whole night with a total hardon and a case of blue balls so swollen I thought they would burst. Damn they hurt.
The closest I came to having sex with her was this one night when she drove up to stay with me. By now I was frustrated over not having any sex. I was determined to get some this time. I had become more comfortable with her, so I wasn't so apprehensive about going for it as we were making out after dinner. Big mistake! She went into a tirade accusing me of being same as all men with nothing on our minds but sex. Duh! That's what guys do.
Apparently all was forgiven in the moring because all she wanted to do was sit on my crotch and dry hump me through my boxers. Well, gawd, she went wild and was screaming and moaning and shit; she was bucking like a bronco. It all scared me because she was so wild and vocal. I think she came twice, which left me with really wet boxers :)
Sunday, February 20, 2005
A New Friend of a Different Kind
Circa 1980—San Mateo, California
I worked at the mall in San Mateo for a couple of years and experienced and saw a lot of crazy crap. It's amazing how many thieves come to the mall to "shop" like everyone else...except they don't pay for anything. They bring their kids too. Some even come with their own Macy's and Nordstrom's bags. Of course, that's to make it look like they actually bought the stuff the lifted and tucked away inside.
The big stores had their own security of course and sometimes they needed an extra hand or two, so they'd call us—mall security. Usually it was to hang around outside the store in case a shoplifter decided to run for it. Security would wait until they actually walked out of the store to make their case stronger; thats when they'd usually bolt.
One afternoon we got a call to help Emporium store security (Agents) to aprehend a shoplifter. Me and a couple of guys went on over and hung around waiting for store security to tell us what they wanted us to do. After a while an agent came outside and said they wouldn't need us as the guy got spooked and left without the merchandise. My buddies left, but I hung around to chat with the agent.
Chad (not his real name) was an attractive young guy. He was about my age, 21 or so; lean, fit, short hair, witty, and very personable. We had stepped back into the store and it just so happened we were in the mens underwear department. Awful convenient I thought.
We just chatted about stuff and in casual mention I commented about the new mens underwear that were making a scene. This was around 1978-9 and mens bikini and thong underwear had recently made their appearance. Men were buying them up like crazy. Their popularity was astounding, but you wouldn't catch one guy admitting he bought a pair—men were still supposed to wear tighty-whities or boxers.
Chad didn't feel embarrassed talking about the thongs at all. We started joking about them as a matter of fact. We were Vanna Whites troducing the latest in mens fashion wear, highlighting the finer aspects of each. We had a great time joking and cutting up.
Chad was different. We could talk to each other honestly and when it came to sexual matters he didn't shy away from discussing the topic like straight guys did. He would talk about himself which was exciting because I didn't know what other guys did in their prvate lives or what they thought. I was always an outsider for some reason and never had any close friends. Chad changed all of that. We saw each other a lot after that day.
I didn't know what was so different about him, but we clicked and I liked it. I developed a crush on him but didn't understand my feelings. There were all of these little clues about me that should have told me the reason I was different was because I was gay, but I was too naive and the clues weren't close enough together in time for me to connect the dots. I just wasn't ready I guess.
I eventually left the mall and became a police officer for Stanford University in 1982. During that time we lost contact with one another and weren't to see each other for a couple more years.
I worked at the mall in San Mateo for a couple of years and experienced and saw a lot of crazy crap. It's amazing how many thieves come to the mall to "shop" like everyone else...except they don't pay for anything. They bring their kids too. Some even come with their own Macy's and Nordstrom's bags. Of course, that's to make it look like they actually bought the stuff the lifted and tucked away inside.
The big stores had their own security of course and sometimes they needed an extra hand or two, so they'd call us—mall security. Usually it was to hang around outside the store in case a shoplifter decided to run for it. Security would wait until they actually walked out of the store to make their case stronger; thats when they'd usually bolt.
One afternoon we got a call to help Emporium store security (Agents) to aprehend a shoplifter. Me and a couple of guys went on over and hung around waiting for store security to tell us what they wanted us to do. After a while an agent came outside and said they wouldn't need us as the guy got spooked and left without the merchandise. My buddies left, but I hung around to chat with the agent.
Chad (not his real name) was an attractive young guy. He was about my age, 21 or so; lean, fit, short hair, witty, and very personable. We had stepped back into the store and it just so happened we were in the mens underwear department. Awful convenient I thought.
We just chatted about stuff and in casual mention I commented about the new mens underwear that were making a scene. This was around 1978-9 and mens bikini and thong underwear had recently made their appearance. Men were buying them up like crazy. Their popularity was astounding, but you wouldn't catch one guy admitting he bought a pair—men were still supposed to wear tighty-whities or boxers.
Chad didn't feel embarrassed talking about the thongs at all. We started joking about them as a matter of fact. We were Vanna Whites troducing the latest in mens fashion wear, highlighting the finer aspects of each. We had a great time joking and cutting up.
Chad was different. We could talk to each other honestly and when it came to sexual matters he didn't shy away from discussing the topic like straight guys did. He would talk about himself which was exciting because I didn't know what other guys did in their prvate lives or what they thought. I was always an outsider for some reason and never had any close friends. Chad changed all of that. We saw each other a lot after that day.
I didn't know what was so different about him, but we clicked and I liked it. I developed a crush on him but didn't understand my feelings. There were all of these little clues about me that should have told me the reason I was different was because I was gay, but I was too naive and the clues weren't close enough together in time for me to connect the dots. I just wasn't ready I guess.
I eventually left the mall and became a police officer for Stanford University in 1982. During that time we lost contact with one another and weren't to see each other for a couple more years.
Saturday, February 19, 2005
Parking Lot
Circa 1980—San Mateo, California
I knew since I was a small kid that I wanted to be a policeman when I grew up. I involved myself in every thing from Explorer scouts to Community Service Officer until I was old enough to become one. I took one job as an armed security officer for a shopping center in San Mateo, CA. Our responsibilities were varied and one of my favorite was patrolling the many parking lots that bordered the mall. It was my favorite because you never knew what you were going to find.
On one rainy-misty winter day I took the patrol car out and one of the other officers with me. It was about 1 PM and nothing was going on, especially since it was an open-air mall and the weather impacted business directly. We didn't expect to find anything.
We cruised around for about 30 minutes before checking the second level of the north side parking lot. As we climbed the ramp and started looking for people and cars, we saw a white Ford Mustang parked along the north wall. It was the only car on the entire second level. Nothing unusual about that. People left their cars in unusual places at unusual times for a variety of crazy reasons. It would have been more suspicious if it had been backed in, but it wasn't.
Anyway, I drove by it just to look things over when we noticed it was occupied. The windows were slightly steamed up and there were two people inside. I pulled up behind the car so it couldn't leave, just in case this might have been an abduction in the worst case scenario. My partner and I walked up to the car and found two guys with their pants and underwear down around their ankles and yanking their units. The passenger had just climaxed just as I tapped on the window. The driver was trying hard to bust his nut, but I think I screwed up his concentration. They were startled, embarrassed and scared as hell. I thought it was hot!
We made sure everything was cool, no drugs involved, no force or coercion. My partner was disgusted and in a hurry to get the hell out of there. He was clearly uncomfortable. Me, well I was extremely intrigued. Even while the guys were pulling up their shorts I was too busy staring at cock to notice much else. They were normal looking, handsome guys around my age. They didn't look like fags.
I wanted to talk with them and maybe get to know them somehow because I wanted some of that—some of them. I couldn't though, less I give myself away to my red-neck, homophobic partner. But wait, I was a straight guy who was just curious. What's wrong with that? He would understand, right?
NOT!
My partner kept nagging at me return to the car, but I couldn't right away because he'd see my woody if I did. He wanted out of there and he wanted to be gone now. I was disappointed. Maybe if I had patrolled alone I could have met these two hunks on my own, conduct a little "investigation" and figure out I was a homo by about 8 years earlier than I did.
I could imagine the conversation I would have had with these guys...
I imagine that's how it would have gone. I would have pursued my intrusion into their privacy and sex making until I was satisfied, until I was doing what they were doing.
Unfortunately I had to leave them be. A few minutes later they drove away.
For the next two months at the same time of day, I checked the very same parking lot and all others hoping once again to find a white Ford Mustang parked along a wall with steamed windows.
I knew since I was a small kid that I wanted to be a policeman when I grew up. I involved myself in every thing from Explorer scouts to Community Service Officer until I was old enough to become one. I took one job as an armed security officer for a shopping center in San Mateo, CA. Our responsibilities were varied and one of my favorite was patrolling the many parking lots that bordered the mall. It was my favorite because you never knew what you were going to find.
On one rainy-misty winter day I took the patrol car out and one of the other officers with me. It was about 1 PM and nothing was going on, especially since it was an open-air mall and the weather impacted business directly. We didn't expect to find anything.
We cruised around for about 30 minutes before checking the second level of the north side parking lot. As we climbed the ramp and started looking for people and cars, we saw a white Ford Mustang parked along the north wall. It was the only car on the entire second level. Nothing unusual about that. People left their cars in unusual places at unusual times for a variety of crazy reasons. It would have been more suspicious if it had been backed in, but it wasn't.
Anyway, I drove by it just to look things over when we noticed it was occupied. The windows were slightly steamed up and there were two people inside. I pulled up behind the car so it couldn't leave, just in case this might have been an abduction in the worst case scenario. My partner and I walked up to the car and found two guys with their pants and underwear down around their ankles and yanking their units. The passenger had just climaxed just as I tapped on the window. The driver was trying hard to bust his nut, but I think I screwed up his concentration. They were startled, embarrassed and scared as hell. I thought it was hot!
We made sure everything was cool, no drugs involved, no force or coercion. My partner was disgusted and in a hurry to get the hell out of there. He was clearly uncomfortable. Me, well I was extremely intrigued. Even while the guys were pulling up their shorts I was too busy staring at cock to notice much else. They were normal looking, handsome guys around my age. They didn't look like fags.
I wanted to talk with them and maybe get to know them somehow because I wanted some of that—some of them. I couldn't though, less I give myself away to my red-neck, homophobic partner. But wait, I was a straight guy who was just curious. What's wrong with that? He would understand, right?
NOT!
My partner kept nagging at me return to the car, but I couldn't right away because he'd see my woody if I did. He wanted out of there and he wanted to be gone now. I was disappointed. Maybe if I had patrolled alone I could have met these two hunks on my own, conduct a little "investigation" and figure out I was a homo by about 8 years earlier than I did.
I could imagine the conversation I would have had with these guys...
Tap, tap, tap on the window
"Sir may I see some identification," I would ask of the driver. "Nice cock. Can I see that too?"I asked the same of the passenger, but added, "Oh, don't worry about that cum on your ID. Its all good. By the way, how big is that beast of yours anyway? Ten inches?"
"Why don't you come see for yourself."
I would reply cautiously not knowing what I'd be getting myself into, "Maybe
later...on my break about an hour from now?" praying he'd say OK.
I would press on, "So, how did you two hook up? How did you find each other?" I wanted to know so I could find others.
I imagine that's how it would have gone. I would have pursued my intrusion into their privacy and sex making until I was satisfied, until I was doing what they were doing.
Unfortunately I had to leave them be. A few minutes later they drove away.
For the next two months at the same time of day, I checked the very same parking lot and all others hoping once again to find a white Ford Mustang parked along a wall with steamed windows.
Friday, February 18, 2005
First Sex
Circa 1980—Redwood City, California
I was home visiting the family. Bed space was at a premium and I had to share a bed with my step brother. He had grown into a sharp looking guy with sharp features, broad shoulders, and washboard abs.
We hadn't seen each other for some time and we lay in bed catching up. After a while I saw that he was getting restless and then he asked me how many women I had slept with. Not wanting to sound like a wuss, I made up a number. He asked me more questions about strategy and the mechanics of sex, etc. A lot of talk about fucking got him wound up as well as me. I told him he could whack off if he wanted to. In quick reply he said I could fuck him if I wanted to. I was a virgin up to this point so what the hell. I fucked him.
The guilt and remorse was incredible. I was one of them. A butt fucker! Fudge packer! A pervert.
You know what...I got over it
I was home visiting the family. Bed space was at a premium and I had to share a bed with my step brother. He had grown into a sharp looking guy with sharp features, broad shoulders, and washboard abs.
We hadn't seen each other for some time and we lay in bed catching up. After a while I saw that he was getting restless and then he asked me how many women I had slept with. Not wanting to sound like a wuss, I made up a number. He asked me more questions about strategy and the mechanics of sex, etc. A lot of talk about fucking got him wound up as well as me. I told him he could whack off if he wanted to. In quick reply he said I could fuck him if I wanted to. I was a virgin up to this point so what the hell. I fucked him.
The guilt and remorse was incredible. I was one of them. A butt fucker! Fudge packer! A pervert.
You know what...I got over it
I'm Not Gay
Circa 1980—Redwood City, California
All the exposure I had to homosexuals up to the parade of 1976 painted an image of freakish behavior and appearance—effeminate men, men who wanted to be women; men who acted like women; dressed like women; sexual predators and the list could go on and on. They were exotic and nothing like me. I was polite, well mannered, masculine...even butch. I got dirty and played sports. I had and used weapons, hunted and fished, drank and cussed like a sailor and voted Republican. No likeness at all.
In my early 20's I began having a sexual awakening of sorts. I fantasized about guys my age, and strangely enough, I fantasized about being raped by them, but I couldn't equate my fantasies with being queer. I just thought I was a straight guy who liked to fool around with other guys. Didn't all guys think that way? Ok, so the rape thing was a little out there, but guys couldn't really possibly like having sex with something that smelled like fish(this I knew from first hand experience) could they? No way!
Sex with guys was better. We knew our bodies better than women and knew how to touch the right areas. We were firm and muscular, and our sex was aggressive just as we like it. I saw nothing effeminate about sex between men; nothing gay or submissive. There were no women involved, no sissies, just men. It was the ultimate guy thing; male to male—wrestling taken to an advanced level.
For me this all made sense. The problem was...I wasn't meeting any guys who thought like me.
All the exposure I had to homosexuals up to the parade of 1976 painted an image of freakish behavior and appearance—effeminate men, men who wanted to be women; men who acted like women; dressed like women; sexual predators and the list could go on and on. They were exotic and nothing like me. I was polite, well mannered, masculine...even butch. I got dirty and played sports. I had and used weapons, hunted and fished, drank and cussed like a sailor and voted Republican. No likeness at all.
In my early 20's I began having a sexual awakening of sorts. I fantasized about guys my age, and strangely enough, I fantasized about being raped by them, but I couldn't equate my fantasies with being queer. I just thought I was a straight guy who liked to fool around with other guys. Didn't all guys think that way? Ok, so the rape thing was a little out there, but guys couldn't really possibly like having sex with something that smelled like fish(this I knew from first hand experience) could they? No way!
Sex with guys was better. We knew our bodies better than women and knew how to touch the right areas. We were firm and muscular, and our sex was aggressive just as we like it. I saw nothing effeminate about sex between men; nothing gay or submissive. There were no women involved, no sissies, just men. It was the ultimate guy thing; male to male—wrestling taken to an advanced level.
For me this all made sense. The problem was...I wasn't meeting any guys who thought like me.
The Parade
Bicentennial Parade—Redwood City, California
It was July 4th 1976. I was a junior in high school. I didn't know what a gay person was, but I sure new what a fag was...and everybody hated them from what I could tell. But it was a period when people were more interested in letting people live and let live. The Viet Nam war was finally over and the country wanted to look for and live a life more peaceful. The 70's was a time where people just wanted to be free of the recent past...free of everything.
That July was the country's bicentennial and Redwood City's annual parade that year would be the biggest yet. I had a great view along the route and watched for what seemed like hours and then there they were...the San Francisco Gay and Lesbian Marching Band. They were all decked out in bright red, white and blue sequin uniforms; boys twirling batons and girls toting tubas. They were good and they looked like they were having a great time time.
I felt some apprehension with their boldness...actually marching in public, letting everybody know they were fudge packers and rug lickers. Gawd they had nerve, but I wasn't disgusted. I expected someone to throw something or at least cat-calls, but something happened to my surprise. The crowds cheered them on like crazy, more so than any other band. I could tell everybody respected and admired their courage to be who they were and to be honest about it. I heard such things too among people later on as they walked down the sidewalks to their celebratory BBQ waiting for them at home. Redwood City was a conservative town soth of San Francisco and to experience this was comforting for some reason.
What did I think...I wasn't gay, but the lead baton twirler was hot!
It was July 4th 1976. I was a junior in high school. I didn't know what a gay person was, but I sure new what a fag was...and everybody hated them from what I could tell. But it was a period when people were more interested in letting people live and let live. The Viet Nam war was finally over and the country wanted to look for and live a life more peaceful. The 70's was a time where people just wanted to be free of the recent past...free of everything.
That July was the country's bicentennial and Redwood City's annual parade that year would be the biggest yet. I had a great view along the route and watched for what seemed like hours and then there they were...the San Francisco Gay and Lesbian Marching Band. They were all decked out in bright red, white and blue sequin uniforms; boys twirling batons and girls toting tubas. They were good and they looked like they were having a great time time.
I felt some apprehension with their boldness...actually marching in public, letting everybody know they were fudge packers and rug lickers. Gawd they had nerve, but I wasn't disgusted. I expected someone to throw something or at least cat-calls, but something happened to my surprise. The crowds cheered them on like crazy, more so than any other band. I could tell everybody respected and admired their courage to be who they were and to be honest about it. I heard such things too among people later on as they walked down the sidewalks to their celebratory BBQ waiting for them at home. Redwood City was a conservative town soth of San Francisco and to experience this was comforting for some reason.
What did I think...I wasn't gay, but the lead baton twirler was hot!
Introdction
ifag is about me, life as a homo, my friends and shit that happens. I've been a cop, a soldier, truck driver, business owner, a writer and more. Over the past 26 years I have compiled enough stories and experiences to make for some interesting reading, which my friends have encouraged me to share.
Action, adventure, love, romance, its all here or will be as soon as I put pen to paper. Life goes on day be day too, so I want to share with you what a day in the life of an everage homo is like.
Oh, don't expect refined writing here. I don't have the time to do much editing, so pardon the typos and grammar.
Regards,
Andy
Copyright (c) 2005
Action, adventure, love, romance, its all here or will be as soon as I put pen to paper. Life goes on day be day too, so I want to share with you what a day in the life of an everage homo is like.
Oh, don't expect refined writing here. I don't have the time to do much editing, so pardon the typos and grammar.
Regards,
Andy
Copyright (c) 2005
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