suitably impressed and hinted that he should return, alone. This he did, fully dressed but obviously ready for action. They had a couple of drinks, kissed and went upstairs. Christopher fucked him and then blew him. Satisfaction seemed mutual. When they next met, however, something was wrong from the start. Streeter sat there without giving the go-ahead signal, so Christopher, not wanting to make a pass and be rebuffed, invited him to come out to a
restaurant––only to find, when they arrived, that he had brought too little money with him. They had to go Dutch. Streeter showed that he thought this was a cheapskate trick. Christopher couldn’t blame him, but resented his thinking so, nevertheless. They didn’t see each other again.
Christopher met Bertrand Cambus through a Texan queen [. . .]
who liked to be called by his initials D.J.[*] After their first meeting, D.J. acted as go-between, telling Christopher that Bertrand found
[* Not his real initials.]
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him very attractive and had particularly admired his legs. Christopher was flattered and delighted––for Bertrand was a dark handsome charming boy, athletically built and quite unlike Christopher’s image of a wispy French faggot. (He was on a business trip to the States, representing one of the French automobile firms.) Christopher told D.J. to assure Bertrand that his lust was reciprocated. With the result that Bertrand and Christopher had supper and spent the night of September 3 together. Bertrand then had to return to France, whence he wrote Christopher a politely affectionate note, saying,
“Happy times won’t let themselves be forgotten.” Speed Lamkin later told Christopher that he and Bertrand had been having an affair during Bertrand’s stay in Los Angeles, and that it was he who had encouraged Bertrand to go to bed with Christopher.
Donald Pell was so pretty that Christopher was dazzled into
thinking him sexy. Actually, he wasn’t quite Christopher’s type.
They went to bed together without either of them really wanting to. Donald was busy pretending to himself that he wasn’t queer, but only, as he put it, “trade.” This pretense (which he later gave up) forced him to do his best to ignore the sexual aspects of his relationships. So he was apt to say things which made you stare at him incredulously. For example––one day, Donald and Christopher were eating a meal in Christopher’s kitchen and Donald, who hoped to become a professional actor, was telling Christopher about the director of a play he had been in. This director had kept dropping into Donald’s dressing room and giving him advice about his part.
“But,” said Donald, “I don’t think it was my acting he was interested in––” and he gave Christopher a playful nudge in the ribs, “if you get what I mean, Chris.” Donald wasn’t trying to be funny. He was perfectly, squarely serious. No one who heard him could have
suspected that Donald and Christopher had been having sex with each other, only half an hour before.
On August 27, Don Coombs telephoned to ask if he might bring
two friends down with him, when he came to supper with
Christopher, that evening. Christopher agreed, ungraciously. He had been expecting to have Coombs to himself, in bed, and he didn’t want to sit up talking to strangers. However, when the three of them arrived, Christopher was placated, because both of the friends were attractive. One was called Fred;[*] I don’t remember anything else about him. The other was a Jewish composer and teacher of music named Barry Taxman; very good-looking, slightly queeny, in his middle twenties.
[* Not his real name.]
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As soon as they had arrived, Coombs took Christopher aside and asked if Fred and Barry might spend the night together in the back bedroom. Ordinarily, this would have annoyed Christopher, who hated being pressured into hospitality which he hadn’t been prepared for. But, under the circumstances, he was amused, because he saw through Coombs’s plan. Fred was obviously an ex-lover whom
Coombs was planning to win back in one or both of two ways––
(A) by making Fred jealous of Christopher, and/or (B) by making Barry take a fancy to Christopher and walk out on Fred.
Christopher would have liked the plan better if it had included getting him into bed with Fred, whom he fancied most, but that wasn’t to be hoped for; Fred ignored him. So he concentrated on making Fred jealous. When Christopher woke with Coombs in the front bedroom next morning, they united in an energetic fuck––
both of them grunting and moaning with pleasure but neither
admitting to the other that this was mostly noisy playacting meant to be heard by the couple in the back bedroom.
Before long, Barry came out, without Fred. Coombs, now
contentedly fucked, pretended to be asleep. Barry suggested to Christopher that they should go down and take a prebreakfast
swim. Christopher agreed. On the way to the beach, Barry said,
“Last night I kept wishing you were in bed with me, instead of Fred.” Christopher was surprised, and also pleased, for Barry looked unexpectedly masculine, as well as handsomer, in trunks.
They agreed to meet again, alone, at the earliest opportunity.
So Coombs’s Plan B had succeeded. And also, as it later turned out, his Plan A. When Christopher and Barry got back to the house, they found Fred and Coombs deep in intimate conversation––no
doubt assuring each other that they didn’t, respectively, give a damn about Barry and Christopher.
Barry and Christopher finally got together on September 4. (The delay was due to Christopher’s wooing of Bertrand Cambus.) When Barry arrived, all dressed up in his somewhat faggy best,1 they were 1 When Barry had a date with Christopher––or any other sex partner, presumably––he would bathe, shave, shampoo his hair and dress with extreme care. Christopher used to kid him about this, saying, “Five minutes after you arrive, you strip all those clothes off and toss them on the floor, and then we roll around till we’re slippery with sweat and stinking like pigs, and then you, having carefully brushed your teeth and washed out your mouth with antiseptic, lick my ass and get shit on your tongue, and then I fuck you till my cock’s smeared with shit which afterwards gets rubbed off on your belly––so why take all this trouble with your toilet?” [Taxman states that this passage is of doubtful authenticity and is extremely offensive and distasteful to him.]
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both awkwardly conscious that this was a sex rendezvous. There seemed nothing else to talk about, and the atmosphere of embarrassment thickened, until Christopher said, “Look, why should we wait?
Let’s get into bed for a little while. Then we can have supper, knowing that everything’s okay and there’s going to be more sex later and so we needn’t be tense about it.” Barry agreed.
As they undressed, Barry told Christopher that he could get a hard-on but that he was unable to come; he hadn’t had an orgasm in a long while. Christopher answered that Barry was to relax and not worry. Privately, he felt confident that he could get Barry over his inhibition. Christopher knew from experience that boys who told you this were often subconsciously challenging you to arouse them.
This challenge excited Christopher, and he did his best to bring Barry to a climax. But he couldn’t. Aside from this, their lovemaking was a success. Barry wanted Christopher to fuck him and he was very exciting to fuck, he really loved it.
(A few months after this, Barry fell in love with someone.
Immediately, he was able to have orgasms again, not only with his lover but with anyone he found physically attractive. He was so delighted that he went around having sex with all his former