My Crossing of the Rubicon

I have always known I am gay and can even remember befriending a classmate in grade 2 specifically because I admired his cute bum. (That young kid I met in 1963 remains my very good friend.) But, like most gay kids, I somehow knew that aspect of myself was something I needed to hide. I grew up in the 1960s and 1970s when no information or resources were available. In fact, here in Canada, homosexuality was decriminalized only in 1971, when I was in grade 10. I lived in Ottawa, a public-service city where everyone seemed to know everybody. Under those circumstances, my life was quite lonely, though I had a lot of friends.

Always a huskily built kid and of Irish-Scottish lineage, I had matured early and developed moderate body hair by the age of 15, and at 17 first grew the beard I have maintained ever since. When I graduated high-school I weighed about 180 pounds. That weight probably did not look too obvious on my 6-foot frame, and I knew how to dress to flatter my form (of course). By the time I was 21 I weighed in at 220, though, and friends began to advise me to lose some of that baggage. I took their advice seriously. Though I had worked summers since I was 16 as a landscaping labourer, I had quite the hearty appetite, and love my beer than as now. In April 1978, at 21 I had the same physically demanding job, but also went on a strict diet of “rabbit food” and started getting into jogging and cycling (I would later go on to run marathons). By my 22nd birthday early that July, I was down to about
165 pounds and went on to drop another 15 pounds by the middle of August. For the first time in my life, I felt good about my body and overall appearance.

For a couple of summers, I had often been part of groups of 4 to 8 of us, mostly high-school friends, who would picnic and swim on summer weekend at a little beach beside a small mountain lake just outside the city, in the Gatineau Hills of Quebec. Most of those outings were arranged by my friend Katie and her fiancée Cam. Katie and Cam were married in June 1977 but continued to arrange the lakeside picnics. At the wedding I met a married couple who were good friends of Katie through work: Frank and his wife Donna. They became a part of my social circle afterward and joined our group at the beach a couple of times. My crush on Frank began almost instantly. He was only a few months older than me, very fun-loving, had great dance moves, was a bit of a guitar-crooner, and was a great conversationalist. He was handsome, with dark brown eyes, defined cheekbones, tanned complexion, and permed hair that cascaded to his shoulders like Jim Morrison’s. The look was completed by a small, pencil-thin mustache. Very rakish! He stood about 5-foot-7-inches and probably weighed a very slim 125 pounds or so. Though slight, his well-developed body with wide shoulders and waspish waistline that emphasized his nicely rounded buttocks revealed his past as a high-school gymnast. He had little body hair, except for a little tuft over his solar plexus, and his whole body took on a deep tan in summer, revealing of his being half French-Canadian (the other half Irish-Canadian). I was quite envious of Donna, who was a bit smaller than him and pretty in an unostentatious way. They made a lovely couple.

Sunday, September 17, 1978, would be my last visit to the lake, as I did some extensive travelling the following summer, and left Ottawa forever in 1981. It was a gorgeous, warm day, but only Katie, Cam, Frank, Donna, and I went that time. Luckily, Cam drove a large sedan into which we had all squeezed. Shortly after we arrived at the beach it came up in conversation that I had been having my jogs nearly every day and that day would be my first exception in weeks. Frank said that he had also been jogging a lot and suggested he and I go for a bit of a jaunt before swimming and eating, and to “earn” our beer. He seemed quite anxious, so how could I refuse? Besides, he was wearing only a t-shirt and Speedos besides his runners, and I was having trouble keeping my eyes off him.

On the opposite side of the road from the beach, we knew was the entrance to path that led into the woods (though none of us had ever gone that way). The path not being very wide, I let Frank take the lead. We ran at a fair clip up a slight incline, and I delighted in watching Frank’s tight wee bum in his Speedos and the muscles of his slim, tanned, hairless legs while his arms pumped the rhythm and his curly hair jumped and bounced along. The path was relatively easy going at first, with only a few exposed roots and empty potholes to jump or otherwise avoid. Then the incline increased, together with our panting and, after around 20 minutes, we happened on a small, sunny clearing with some large boulders. Frank suggested we stop and take a breather. We each emptied our bladders against opposite sides of the clearing, my own stream strong from a semi-tumescence that had developed. After shaking the drips, I pulled up the waistband of my running shorts (also bathing suit) and sat on a nearby rock, casually crossing my hands to hide, not very successfully, the still growing erection poking from the liner of my shorts as I watched Frank finish his pee and flex his ass muscles. He said, “That’s better!” as he tucked his cock back into his Speedos and turned to face me from about six feet away.

Frank doffed his T-shirt in the sun, then ran his hands over the glistening sweat that highlighted the contours of his tanned, taught chest and tummy and a small amount of hair between his erect nipples, and nicely defined shoulders and clavicles. Just above the waist of his trunks, not quite pulled up, was a nice tan-line and above that his cute little outie from which his treasure trail appeared to drip, leading down to the outline of his semi-erection pointing at 10 o’clock and the bulge of his testicles in their
spandex prison. As he ran his fingers though his hair and shook the sweaty curls while revealing the tufts of hair of his underarms, I quickly pulled off my T-shirt as well. We both smiled and assessed each others’ nearly naked bodies. Frank said, with a somewhat flirty look, his brown eyes glinting and rakish little mustache twitching, “Jimbo, I gotta say you look really great after your weight loss… 70 pounds? I mean, you were always a good-looking, big guy, but now… wow!” I felt my face redden as I returned the compliment, longing to embrace and kiss him. Then he said, “It is nice to spend some time, just the two of us… there are always so many other people around.” I responded, “It would be great to do this often!” Then he said, “C’mon, let’s get going!”

On we ran at a quick pace, the path becoming steeper and a bit more uneven, with exposed roots and rocks. I continued to admire Frank from behind, now wearing only Speedos and running shoes. The muscles and sinews in his V-shaped back looked so alluring as they flexed and danced, and his narrow waist pivoted gracefully above his little round ass cheeks. I occasionally gave
my crotch a bit of a rub, my erection becoming increasingly urgent. Finally, after we had run another 10 or 15 minutes, the path opened into a sun-dappled glade, consisting largely of mossy, rock outcrops atop a bit of a ridge. I sat down on a large rock, panting as Frank stood about a yard in front of me, his defined chest and abs flexing with his breathing. My mind was all over the place, not sure where the situation would lead. Feeling a little light-headed and detached from the moment, I blurted out something like, “You are so lucky to be married… having sex all the time… Donna is so lucky to have you…” I had never said
anything that direct about sex to anyone. He chuckled a bit and told me I would be surprised. Then he asked me about my own sex life and whether I had a girlfriend. I told him directly that I was a total virgin, to which he responded, “What do you do then?” I said, “I guess I jack off… a lot”. He chuckled a bit more and told me he had noticed my erection when we first stopped. I am sure my face was by then beet red, and I could feel a sexual flush going down my chest. Then came the words from both of us that have always been so fresh and clear in my memory: He sat down beside me and said, “Have you ever heard of mutual masturbation?” (I had never heard the expression, but quickly surmised its meaning.) There was a pregnant pause before I responded, “Do you want to?” He smiled and said in his always-direct manner, “Sure, why not? I guess we should get naked,” and led me over to a comfy-looking, mossy area a few yards away. I knew I had crossed the Rubicon and that my life had forever changed.

I was still feeling oddly detached from the situation as we stood facing each other. As I nervously dropped my shorts and stepped out of them, I was mesmerized as Frank’s cock sproinged from his Speedos, as I had never seen another man with an erection before. His uncut cock was just a bit shorter than my cut one, but equally thick, and I thought I had never seen anything more beautiful than his naked body. Frank suggested we lie down on the moss and get comfortable. I lay down to his right, but not touching him, as we both started jacking off. Frank seemed very cool, as though this type of event were an everyday occurrence for him. I tried to contain my emotions and match his nonchalance but, as I watched him, I began to stroke more quickly, and to
moan as I rubbed my own body. Frank put his hand over mine and asked me to slow down. That was difficult, until he leant over me and took my cock in his mouth while running his hands over my torso. As he sucked me my hips began to move involuntarily, and I said, “Oh Frankie, fuck that feels so good!” He continued for a couple of minutes, then turned his body around again to resume jacking. I then leant over him and began giving my first blowjob, while continuing to jerk myself, and it felt incredibly surreal. Frank got really into it, moaning and trusting his crotch into my mouth, then saying, “You’re right, Jimbo, it does feel good!” I knew from his tone, however, that he was very accustomed to blowjobs!

I rolled onto my back again and we both continued furiously jacking. After a short while, I felt on the verge of orgasm, and recall that I stood up with my back to Frank, perhaps 6 feet away, as though I were suddenly bashful. Then, just as I reached the intensity of my point of no return, I pivoted to face Frank as several jets spurted forth onto the ground beside him, my hips bucking as I cried out, “Oh fuck fuck fuck!” Very shortly after, Frank began to moan and turned on his side so he would not cum all over himself. I again lay down and we smiled at each other with no words. Frank then realized we had been gone from the beach for close to 90 minutes and said, “We’d better get back!”

We resumed our jog, now finding going downhill a bit more challenging. About halfway back I turned an ankle on some uneven ground, and the injury caused intense pain for a short time. Frank put his arm around my waist as I walked off the pain, but our going was slow. When we arrived back, I exaggerated my limp a bit to ad credibility to our alibi for having been gone so long. Cam said, “We were about to go looking for you!” Frank and I were very glad they hadn’t! The beer and swimming were great that afternoon, then we packed up and headed back to the city at around 5:00 pm. It was weird in the car with Cam driving, Katie also in front, and Donna between me and Frank in the back! My feeling of guilt was mixed with exhilaration at the secret I would
forever share with Frank.

Over that fall I met up twice with Frank at his place, but things were difficult: I had to travel by City bus and he lived quite a
distance from me; he and Katie worked at the same office, making it hard for him to play hooky; and my university course work was very demanding that term. Arranging trysts was a challenge in those days before email and texting! At a pre-Christmas house party hosted by mutual friends, Frank ushered me into the bedroom where everyone had deposited their coats on the bed and told me things were over. He said he liked having fun with me, but that fun was all it was for him and realized I was wanted things to be more serious (I cannot recall his exact words). Then he told me his wife was pregnant, meaning he would have no time for me. I, having had a few drinks, began to sob, and he left me alone. I am not sure whether I ever saw Frank again after that party but heard that his son was born the following May or June.

I guess, looking back, my first experience was quite sweet and tender, and I have always been grateful to Frank. I am quite sure he engineered that fateful encounter. Regrettably, I have no photos of him, except one: from his obituary I came across when doing a search for him online, hoping to reconnect. He passed away in 2016, a few months past his 60th birthday, apparently of natural causes. His face was more rounded, with a small grey goatee, and tanned complexion from a tropical holiday. His smile and brown eyes still shine out to me. Thanks Frank. As they say in French, “Jamais je ne t’oublierai…”