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The following stories claim to be the autobiography of Nicky, a boy model in the 1960s. The reader will have to decide whether they are fiction or autobiography. In some places, Nicky wrote about real people and real places, almost all of whom (by 2021) are either dead or in hiding. He narrates events and actions which were illegal then and are illegal now, and if you do not wish to read about sex between men and boys, you should stop now–especially if your place of residence has laws against reading such material. None of this material is intended to encourage anyone to break any laws anywhere. You have been warned.

If you enjoy this, you may contact the author at ail The full series of Nicky”s life has already been written, and will continue to be posted.

Will you join your fellow authors and readers to support Nifty? To contribute discreetly to the continuing operations of the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive website using a credit card or other methods of donation, go to Nifty.

Nicky writes:


18. Epilogue they always topped me and they were both good at it. Their role was eye-candy and cock-teases; they spent a lot of time watching Austrian and Slovakian TV (we could receive Slovakian TV since the border was so close) and exercising, including running. They also had papers sufficient that they went with us to Italy and Majorca in the Spring where we visited well-known gay destinations.

I make this year sound like it was mostly sex–that is the subject of this memoir–but mostly it was about art history and I applied to a very well-regarded program in an American university and was award a full ride with stipend.

That Spring also marked a moment of decision for me. I realized that I no longer water to live in “the gay ghetto.” I had done enough sex, and I wanted to go on and do other things with my life. That was my journey, and otherwise the world”s tastes were changing. Gay life and sexual activities were veering towards ostentatious sex, exaggerated clone-like bodies, and drug-assisted extravagance in a way that turned me off.

For those leading the “gay lib” clone life, that kind of life was a liberation from the rejection they had experienced previously. For me (on the other hand), it was an extension and declension from what I had known. I”m not judging, just reporting that I felt out of synch with the times.

My interest in sexuality as a defining characteristic of my life was waning. I don”t mean to sound snooty; I simply wanted to move on, and I did. I moved into a life of such “normality” as most upper-middle class Americans would understand it, that my young life would seem impossible to those who know me now. Those who do know me now often would hardly guess my background, and I”m not about to enlighten them if they don”t wish to hear it. I have worked through a lot of the material I have written with a therapist. It took me a while to move him beyond the “you were a victimized boy” angle. I wasn”t a victim, and I am not interested in being identified as an abuse survivor. The word “abuse” doesn”t really apply to who I was or what I did. I have no doubt that others were in fact abused, but also no doubt that I was not.

Whether directly or vicariously, I have lived through what I consider four major eras of gay life in America: the first was the closeted, underground life of men and boys (in which there was a lot of tolerance for underage liaisons); the second were the wild years of gay indulgence leading up to the third, the horrible and tragic AIDS/HIV years until about 1996, a period in which so many friends and acquaintances died (including those who had been boys with me). The fourth era was the “don”t ask, don”t tell” era in which gay men sought normality: family, suburbia, acceptance, and the last (fifth) is the era now, the era after the full legal acceptance of gay marriage, and growth of the transgender and non-binary movement, and the feeling in much of the country (not everywhere! to be sure) that being gay is just another facet of life.

My point is: the rules in one of those eras made no sense in the next, or later eras. The rules that governed my early life with men and other boys now seem impossible. That tolerance for pubescent and adolescent sexuality, and inter-generational sexuality, is now unthinkable and criminalized even more severely. Despite everything, repression has continued, but simply changed shape. The ideology that no one under the age of 18 can make a valid choice about sexual activity is as much a fiction as the fiction that there simply are no “homosexuals,” that was the ruling ideology until the early 1970s. I know better than even to try to challenge the reigning ideology.

I wouldn”t take anything I did back. I wish more photographs had been published. (I wish my mother had not lost many of our photographs when she suffered a house fire several years before her death.) I wish teenagers and men had the effective freedoms that I experienced, but not the social rejection and expulsion men then faced if discovered.

Someday, pubescent and adolescent sexuality and sexual expression will be tolerated far more than now. For the time being, boys who are gay have to wait, and waiting seems cruel to me. Woe betide anyone who challenges current orthodoxy. I challenge it (secretly, here, for fear of legal consequences); if you read this, I suggest that you preserve of a copy of my text if you choose, because sooner or later this account will probably disappear. I don”t dare attach my name to this memoir, because of the troll storms I would face. Pax vobiscum.

Now responses to a few questions I have received from readers, paraphrased or condensed:

Did escort ankara I really have spontaneous ejaculations when I was twelve years old, after my first summer at Camp Flying Cloud?

Spontaneous ejaculation is really a thing –you can google it. It can have a variety of causes, include spinal cord injury, drug interaction or withdrawal, panic attacks or anxiety disorders, or “penile hypersensitivity.” The last two might be closer to my experience as a boy just past puberty (sexual maturity, by which I mean the ability to ejaculate, since I unquestionably had intense dry orgasms or dry cums before that).

I doubt that I was suffering an anxiety attack as usually understood, although I had plenty of adolescent anxieties (who didn”t or doesn”t?). My cock was unquestionably very sensitive and just about anything, or nothing at all, could trigger my frequent erections. My erections in the summer of 1965, when I was getting such a sexual workout with Jeff and Rick, became much longer-lasting and much harder, more like the pencil-like hardness I experienced before I could wet cum.

When I experienced a spontaneous cum, not only would my cock go rigidly hard, but I would start to zone out –dissociate from my surroundings. For this reason, I don”t remember their processes very well. Sometimes no doubt I touched my cock, but my cum was not summoned by masturbation in the ordinary sense. (I did that plenty as well!). I remember briefly blurred vision and a kind of ringing in my ears. It felt like an external power was taking over my body and making me cum. I was helpless to resist and I might cum with some force and quantity (shoot lots of cum far), or it might just dribble a little. I experienced something like an awakening or coming-to with a mess on my abdomen, seat, or wherever I was. Often I was perspiring or breathing heavily. I remember having a headache after a spontaneous cum. My cock was still rigidly hard and very sensitive. After they were happening for maybe a month (at home in Grosse Pointe, after camp), I learned that I could come around a little easier if I masturbated right there and cummed again, which acted as a kind of “reset.” Then I cleaned myself up.

If I had been in a different culture, this might have been understood as some kind of spirit possession. Maybe I was a shaman and didn”t know it. The research doctor who saw me in Ann Arbor was very sympathetic and understood right away that I always found clothing chaffing and was much more at ease with him when I was nude. As I wrote, he observed my spontaneous cums at last three times, all in his office or study. I did masturbate for him more normally every time I saw him; he liked watching me. I don”t recall whether he got hard, and he never touched me directly sexually although he held or felt or pressed my erection several times to test how hard I really was. He always examined my balls very carefully.

It was a real thing and it largely passed by the time I turned fourteen, although I had a few more spontaneous cums after that. I remember having another spontaneous cum just when an important mathematics exam was starting, and I shot in my pants, and had to do the exam with at the mess inside my clothes. I remember that I was wearing a very dark color which didn”t show any stains. I don”t recall that anyone noticed.

What did I mean when I wrote (in chapter 14) “That was a year [at Deerfield] when I really learned the connection between the erotic and the intellectual”?

I wrote this in the context of reading Plato–we (Nigel, Geary, a couple of other boys, and I) read Phaedrus, Symposium, and Phaedo. In several passages, those dialogues discuss love between men and boys, the erates (loving man) and the eromenos (the desired boy). Plato thought that such a relationship was a model or paradigm for approaching truth through dialogue and mutual apprehension of the greater good, true, and beautiful. Desire to know and desire to love are suffused in these dialogues so intimately that discussing one without the other really distorts the meaning of the texts. The majority of Plato”s readers over many centuries have done just that.

Quite literally, a man fucking a boy inserts his cock into the boy”s hole and his soul into the boy”s soul. The moment of orgasm and the moment of ultimate apprehension of transcendent truth are very similar in Plato–both go beyond words to a realm of perfection beyond this world. Similarly, a boy sucking a man and swallowing his cum is a figure for an inquirer asking and receiving insight from an older guide or mentor.

No wonder that reading these dialogues together –we could literally read a passage aloud, and then discuss what it meant–while nude (Nigel was semi-nude, and we could all see when he went hard) was an erotic experience. It was quite expect that when we boys (students) got hard we might fondle ourselves or each other in the course of intellectual exchange. More than once, Geary or another boy fucked me right after such a discussion (always in my bed, never in front of Nigel).

The modern complete disassociation or bifurcation of the physical from the intellectual, the understanding from the passions, is quite un-Platonic and reflects other, later developments, as well as Augustine”s mis-appropriation of the Platonic traditions. (The Neo-Platonists such as Plotinus didn”t help.) The homo-eroticism at the heart of Greek literature and philosophy has been either covertly adopted or openly scorned for some centuries. I think only in the past hundred years has it become permissible again to discuss it, and even now many are uncomfortable with the frank presentation of love between adult men and adolescent or pubescent boys that Plato envisions as a central example of philosophy.

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You wrote that a man who likes boys can tell if a boy has been sexualized. Can you describe how they know that?

For me, this is not an exact, explicit kind of knowledge so much as a feeling or an insight that men who love boys develop as they navigate among boys, whether socially or simply by proximity (at a shopping mall, for example). I think I can identify a sexualized boy pretty well now, but I am careful not to signal to him that I am all that interested, because I don”t want anything to get started.

The majority of boys ages 8-16 are not “sexualized” in the sense that they really understand that they can be sexual objects as well as sexual subjects. I believe that the “no homo!” anxiety that many boys articulate is based on their secret fears that they could, in fact, be sexual objects–and that they might really like that. Most boys age 8-16 cannot or could not know a boy-loving man if they tripped over his foot, nor even distinguish a gay man from any other unless the man is in some way stereotypically gay. (And maybe that stereotypical man is not in fact gay! A mis-apprehension that happens a lot.). A lot of boys, nevertheless, want to be wanted, want to find a place in an adult”s affections.

Can you describe how boy-loving men can divine whether a boy has been sexualized?

I believe the process is analogous with a man”s development of gaydar, that sense that another man might be or is gay. (Whether or not that other man ever acknowledges his identity to himself or anyone else.). Gaydar is famously faulty –my own is pretty bad, for example; but I know gay men whose gaydar is really sharp. (I envy them, truth be told.).

Gaydar in part depends upon the realization that “I”m gay and there are a lot of others who are also gay, maybe more than I initially realized.” A heightened sensitivity suggests more possibilities, which in turn heighten a man”s sensitivity to a (potentially) gay man. It”s a circular growth, self-reinforcing, which means that a gay man can get it wrong, but can also get it right a significant number of times.

A “sexualized” boy means a boy (fourteen or younger) who has been awakened to sex by other males, especially a male over the age of (say) eighteen. This boy, as he learns how his body feels, responds, desires, opens to a man, learns a whole new emotional vocabulary of desire, pleasure, and sexual expression. It”s a kind of “spring awakening” for a boy, and once awake he can never go back. The boy may or may not actually have been penetrated –fucking is not the criterion, so much as sexual interaction leading to a wet or dry cum, with an older male the boy regards as a man. The boy”s pleasure is paramount, and if a man has handled the boy correctly, the boy will experience pleasure beyond anything he has known before. He has new desires for new feelings, especially the desire to be used (taken) for a man”s pleasure. This is especially true when he has felt pain (such as the first fuck) that leads to a man”s pleasure, and gives the man his pain as a token of his love.

In that pain and pleasure lies a boy”s awakening to his own desirability as well as his desires. When a boy-loving man looks at such a boy, a boy might well respond non-verbally in a way that indicates to the man that the boy is open to him, at least in principle. Among other things, the boy”s penis may perk up or even go fully erect. This might or might not be noticeable. Sometimes in response a man will go erect as well, and the boy and the man exchange an awareness of each other even if neither has spoken a word or exchange a touch. The right glance can be enough.

A sexualized boy exudes a kind of “knowingness” that other boys simply don”t possess and don”t even suspect exists. The right man can pick up on this. Circumstances will or will not allow either of them, or both of them, to act on this knowledge. But they have recognized each other –I know what you are, and you know what I am; I know what you want, and you know what I want. They have acknowledged each other in a manner that is rarely erroneous. I know that my own boy-dar is far more reliable than my gay-dar.

An example: When I was twelve or thirteen, I was having a meal in something like a Denny”s restaurant with my mother when we were driving somewhere. No tablecloths. The way I was sitting, a man sitting at a table across an aisle was facing me, his wife”s back to me. He looked at me, looked away, and looked at me again. I knew he was casing or very subtly cruising me. I knew that he could see under our table, and I was wearing fairly loose short shorts of the time. Without my mother detecting it (out of her vision–she was reading a newspaper or something), I began to touch my legs and my shorts when the man looked back at me. I looked him in the eye, and touched my bulge, and he looked away.

When he was looking away, I very gently eased my half-hard cock out of my bulge so that I knew he could see it, and I made myself hard. A moment later he looked back, sees me stroking my hard cock, and this time subtly adjusts how he”s sitting and the fold of his trousers. My mother excused herself to use the restroom, and while she was getting up I was sure to cover my cock with a cloth napkin. While she was away, I stroked myself a little more, he looked at me a couple of times, continued to converse with his wife, and touched his pants under his table. He opened his legs so his bulge was more visible. I put my cock back into my shorts.

After my mother returned to our table, the man got up from his table to use the restroom, giving me a purposeful look at a glance at where he was going. I understood, and eskişehir escort I excused myself to use the restroom as well. Of course he was in there–it was a single urinal and sink. He had left the door unlocked purposefully, and was hardly surprised when I entered. He was standing as though he were peeing, but in fact had his hard cock out and was stroking it. When I entered he turned around, locked the door, and pushed me down to his cock. I licked it, and said, “Hi, I”m (Nicky)” He said nothing, but motioned that I should suck his cock, which I did for several minutes. Then he knelt down, pulled down my shorts, and took my whole cock into his mouth and sucked hard for a couple of moment until I let myself cum in his mouth. He swallowed, kissed my face, zipped up his pants, and left. I re-arranged myself and went back to our table, just as the man and his wife were leaving. I did not look at him, but as he walked away he looked me in the eye and I nodded. My mother did not pick up on any of this.

Right at the beginning of our exchange of glances, the man could tell that I knew that he wanted me. In turn, I played him, and he played right along. It took two.

Another example: When I was fourteen or fifteen, my uncle and I were flying New York to London, an overnight plane. In a row of four seats, my uncle sat in the window seat, I sat next to him, there was an empty seat, and a handsome man younger than my uncle sat in the outside (aisle) seat. As he was folding his jacket and sitting down, he looked at me, then looked back for a few seconds as I looked him in the eye and curved my back a bit. I knew he noticed me, knew me. The plane departed into the darkness above the ocean.

In those days, the arm-rests between the inside seats could be folded up. My uncle was really tired, so we folded them, he curled up under a blanket in the two seats closest to the window, and I sat next to him on my right, and next to the man on my left, and I had folded up the arm-rest between us. Within minutes my uncle was soundly asleep. The cabin was dark, and I put a blanket over me and closed by eyes. The man on my left closed his eyes as though going to sleep.

A moment later, I felt the hand of the man on my left touch my leg. I was wearing dress shorts, showing enough leg but not as much as short shorts. I let him touch me, then moved slightly towards him, touching the side of his leg with mine.. I felt his fingers on my leg again, and under the blanket I quietly unsnapped and unzipped the fly of my shorts. His hand crept up the inside of my thigh; I was hard by this time of course. Very carefully I lifted my butt up from the seat and slid my shorts to my ankles, kicked off my shoes, and freed my feet from my shorts. I pretended I was a sleep when a stewardess walked past, and the man”s hand gently grasped my penis. Very carefully in the dark I unbuttoned my shirt and slipped it off, so I was nude under the blanket. The man quietly loosened his felt, unbuttoned his pants, with a pillow over his lap. As he grasped my hard cock again, I grasped his hard cock –not huge, but big enough. He very quietly leaned over me, pulled my blanket over his head, and began to suck my cock for just a little while, then sat up.

Somewhere he found another blanket and pulled it over him. He took a little tube of Vaseline from his pocket and lubed up his cock. Very quietly he motioned for me to sit on his lap, and I did with my back to him. I felt him lube my hole, and then very quietly I sat down on his cock, all still covered by the blanket. His right hand was around my waist, gently stroking my cock. I pretended to be asleep on his lap when a stewardess walked past again, paying us no notice in the dark cabin. I felt his cock further and further inside me, and figured that it must have been longer than I thought. We very gently rocked forward and back for a while and I felt him really harden, as though he were close, and that made me very close to cumming. A few more movements and I felt him arch his back and he breathed hard in my ear, and whispered, “take it, kid,” and he shot deep into my hole; I felt his warm cum inside me. That”s all it took and I shot on the blanket; he had only very gently fondled my cock.

We sat like this for a while, as he gently kissed the back of my neck and my shoulders, and then I eased off him, a felt his cum start to slide down inside me. I found my shorts and pulled them up so his cum would not leak over the seat, put my shirt back on, and made as though I were going to sleep. Of course I couldn”t just go to sleep that fast, although I did doze.

A while later, the blanket still over me, I felt his hand on my thigh again, but this time my shorts were already open to him. With just a glimmer of light in the cabin, he leaned over my lap, my blanket over his head, and sucked me much more intensely until I shot again in his mouth. He sat up slowly and quietly, then turned and opened my mouth to kiss me deeply and snowballed much of my cum into my mouth. He re-arranged his shirt, got up to use the restroom, and by the time he came back, I was fully dressed under the blanket and feigning sleeping. A little while later my uncle woke up, gradually the cabin light came up, the stewardesses distributed some sort of breakfast, and the plane landed in London.

The man paid no further attention to me, but we ended up in the entry line a few persons in back of him. We cleared the line, went to baggage claim, and there I saw him greet and hug a boy about my age, evidently his son, and his wife. As he was hugging his son, he shot me a glance, which I returned, and that was all I saw of him.

How did this man know I was sexualized? I”m not sure. By the way I carried myself, my body? But he knew clearly, and he knew I wanted him. Somehow, game knows game. I think a boy who has been sexualized can interpret a glance from a man who wants him, and then play into it. I used to love to tease men this way, in situations where there was no chance that they could even touch me once. Sometimes I was such a bitch. I look back on that fondly now.

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