My First Time. With a Dude.
Do you remember the first person you laid you eyes on, that you knew you wanted to be with? Do you remember when that person was of the same sex as you? Do you remember thinking that you were straight? Do you remember thinking that you wanted to try it out, just to make sure, because you had so many, many people over the years telling you that you had to be gay, so you figured why not give it a shot and see if maybe they were right – especially since you have had an appreciation for the same sex in their contrast of beauty and demeanor? No? Me neither.
Okay, that's a lie.
Now, take all of that, and wrap it around the fact that I got to have those feelings twice, and I still have yet to experience the third in the world that I live in.
For as long as I can remember, my peers have always wondered if I was Straight or Gay, because you have to be one or the other, right? Up until recently, I had never been with a guy. But, while my first “First Time” was a pretty legit first, does it count? While my second first wasn't as much, it was also a bit more.
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My first “First Time” totally plays out like a porn movie. Coincidentally it was on a porn set.
Late one night, one of the other models and I were hanging out in the hot tub, enjoying the warm March weather in Northern California. We had been discussing our favorite subject, sex, and had gotten on the topic of whether or not we'd ever been with a guy. I was out shooting Gay Porn after all. I had admitted that I hadn't, and that I wasn't sure that I was comfortable with doing so. Fortunately, my friend had the counter-attack sales pitch to remind me that, “A hole is a hole, and a mouth is a mouth, so why does it matter who's attached to it. Also, to be honest, a guy knows what a guy likes.”
Now, added to the fact that all week long we were shooting sex in various corners of the house, and I was rapidly gaining more trust and companionship with everyone at the house as well, I had let myself loose a little. Palpable sexual tensions running rampant only fed into my own realization that regardless of who I was, on film I could be anything and anyone I wanted, and it gave me even more excuses to get off more that week. So, why not play a little more, right?
When Mr. Hottub needed a new scene partner for his sex scene, I figured I'd give it a shot. I'd never done anything like it before, and I sure as hell knew that it was the safest opportunity to experiment with all of the testing and everything that was provided for us to keep it as safe as possible. I won't lie that I was hornier than hell, and the opportunity to cum again, with an added bonus of more money was all the encouragement I needed. Mr. Hottub and I had great chemistry too, so that only helped.
Though, do I really get to count that as my first-First Time? Had I been playing a superhero in a movie, I can't say that I'm really from a distant planet and that the effects of the Earth's atmosphere give me the powers necessary. It's still just a character I portray.
My other first-First Time was a little more intimate, though not as extensive.
I was on layover in the Vegas airport, en route from NYC. The weekend had been a bit of a whirlwind, so I know that I had definitely been zoning. I think I was especially happy that I was back to not wearing any underwear, especially a jock strap at the moment. When I started to come back to the reality before me, I found myself blankly staring at a pretty good looking guy directly across from me. I tried to avert my eyes, and assure that I was not the guy staring at the rugged, yet fashionable guy before me.
He was listening to his iPod, but was definitely staring back in my direction. I don't know if the expressions on our faces read, “Why are you looking at me?” or “For the love of God, where am I, and how much longer until I can veg on my own couch?” Either way, they were easily confusable expressions to say the least.
I won't deny that I was a bit mesmerized by his piercing green eyes. Contrasted with his obvious beard, about two days past the 5 o'clock shadow look, and his messy-styled hair. He had a look that I kind of envied. His fashion style was suitable for his rugged, yet fashionable and comfortable lifestyle too: jeans, brown leather boots that were casual, paired off with a button up shirt, rolled at the sleeves, top three buttons un-done, to reveal an undershirt and the leather strap necklace that he matched it all with.Yes, it was a bit much for the airport, and that should have been my tip off, but at the same time, I didn't know where he was coming from, as we both had clearly were on layover, and not particularly just casually traveling.
A couple nights later I was at a club in West Hollywood with a girl that I had ironically picked up at the baggage claim upon my arrival from that Vegas layover. As I was ordering our drinks, my stylish guy from Vegas had tapped me on the shoulder and asked, “I know this sounds creepy, but did I see you in the Vegas Airport the other day?” Not going to lie, extra bonus points for being creepy and sweet all at the same time.
I was still very new to the WeHo/L.A. scene, and didn't really know how to read the people quite yet, or to assume certain things. Vegas and I casually talked and ended up exchanging numbers. I had actually done this, thinking that it would be great to have a wingman in the L.A. area, for the bar scene, or even the outdoors.
Over the next couple weeks, we managed to bump into each other seemingly at every bar and club we were at. Finally at Avalon, for Tigerheat at a free Lady Gaga concert, we hung out and talked quite a bit. We ended up at the top of the bleachers sitting and talking. This is also when I had the revelation that he was gay. Yes, up until this point, my small town upbringing had shown true to form and I realized I had no “Gaydar” to save my life.
I laughed quite a bit at the fact that in all reality we'd had paralleled conversations to all of those that I'd had with girls I'd flirted with before. I had simply cast Vegas off because he was a guy, and while I could appreciate and envy his style, beauty and appeal, I didn't want him for anything more than platonic, initially. Although, I found similar feelings towards Vegas, as I had with girls that I'd had great chemistry with. I started to question whether or not I was misplacing romantic feelings with friendly feelings. I had started to question whether or not, because my talking with Vegas had eluded to him admitting he had a crush on me since he saw me across the aisle from him in the airport, and that he too thought I was gay.
I had always enjoyed the touch of a woman, and while I had a great time on set with a guy, I'd never really “been with” a guy. I had always gotten along with people, and I found so many people attractive, regardless of gender. Hell, the fantasy of two girls actually did nothing for me, and the two-girls–plus-me threesome fantasy was actually a bit intimidating. I actually started to question if maybe I was gay, since I really had no counter argument for my own straightness, short of all my fantasies and erotic stimulations came from a vaginal base. If that makes sense.
So, when Vegas ended up leaning in for and made his move, kissing me, I did not run like a bat out of hell, bee-lining for the nearest exit so I could leave all that is scary behind in a wake of confusion and despair. No, instead, I figured, “Fuck it, a kiss is a kiss, and it's how you've gauged if you were compatible with anyone before.”
With this, I make this admittance, with conviction and certainty: I love men. Just not like that.
Image: Federico Stevanin.
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