Being queer on a college campus in 1975 was definitely not stress free. For Bob, a Midwesterner in a prestigious Northeastern university, his sexual orientation proved to be a mixed blessing, both demoralizing and liberating. Lacking self-confidence−he considered his body too scrawny and generally unattractive−the third-year student had given up any hope of finding love, or at least a semblance of romance.
Stuck with four obnoxious suitemates who as exhibitionists, lounged around the common living room in underwear, jock straps, or less, bragging about imagined exploits with coeds−not rattled if they threw wood, usually flaunting it as a badge of their virility, Bob’s only respite was his fifth suitemate, Andy, a French-Canadian student Bob shared a room with, who maintained the same level of decorum as Bob. However, their platonic relationship held little hope for romance.
Emotional and sexual frustration, glory holes, orgies, and a basement dungeon−Bob encounters all in his search for love.
Cocky as hell from my successful sexual interactions with my suitemates, I decided to strut my stuff at one of the university town’s gay bars−one both trendy and infamous as a pick-up joint. There I met Kane, a native of a nearby large city. Due to freewheeling ways with his wealthy father’s money−often expended on drugs−Kane, in his late twenties, was popular, a style setter with a large coterie of sycophants. I approached Kane fully expecting him to fall under the influence of my charisma, and ultimately my sexual prowess. “Can I buy you a drink?” Was my unoriginal opening gambit.
“I could buy this bar. I certainly can buy my own drinks. Guys, this college punk wants to buy me a drink,” Kane announced to those around him, who immediately snickered at my naiveté. Humiliated, I walked away. A few feet from them I stopped, Kane was talking and I overheard him tell his admirers, “I need to teach that arrogant Midwestern scum a lesson.” The comment provoked more laughter among his group.
Morose, I stood in a dark corner to finish a cocktail after which I planned to flee back to the safe university environs. You could imagine my surprise when Kane approached me and offered an apology for his rude behavior. “To demonstrate my seriousness, how about I buy you a drink?”
Three drinks later Kane and I were snuggled in a booth, his arm around my shoulders, discussing the ins and outs of gay life in town. At last call, he suggests “we go someplace more private.” By “private,” he didn’t mean without his ass lickers, one of whom owned a small house in a suburb only thirty minutes from the bar. I agreed and accepted his offer of a ride since I didn’t have a car and had taken a cab to the club.
Arriving at the house, we descended to a basement with a well-equipped dungeon. “We like to engage in some harmless bondage and discipline Kane explained. Tonight, you’ll be my assistant in some tame BDSM fun with my pups. Just follow my lead.”