Once Upon A Christmas

Well you guys have gone and done it now. You have rekindled a fire that I thought had gone out for good. I don't know how to thank you for giving me back the belief that there is a Spirit of Christmas that is alive, well and vibrant. It lives in all of you that have commented and emailed me, giving of the love and compassion that I thought had disappeared from my life. In order for this story to make more sense, I ask that perhaps you go and read my post of November 11 "there is so much to talk about today" wherein I told the story of my discharge from the Navy. This is the story of the months immediately following that horrible time in my life. Let me take you back to September of 1975.....

It was a clear an sunny day in San Diego Bay on the island of Coronado at the North Island Naval Air Station on the 10th. We were in our dress whites in a formation in front of the Admiral's office. I was at the time a 2nd Class Petty Officer (E5) and the Admiral called me to the front of the formation. He awarded me the Viet Nam Unit Citation I had earned aboard the USS America and a Good Conduct Medal for outstanding evaluations in my 5 plus years of service to my country. It was a bittersweet moment as I knew that my time was drawing to a close. Not by my choice, but ending it was. Five days later, I was discharged for being gay. The Navy psychiatrist had proclaimed to me that yes I was a homosexual and my parents had made me this way. I was told I could no longer wear my uniform, I had to give back $1200 dollars in bonuses and I was not getting transportation home. I could not very well have gone home anyway as how could I tell my parents that I had the official US government stamp of disapproval and they were the root cause of it. I was fairly devastated financially and mentally I was totally fucked up. I lost my car, my sailor buddies would not come near and my roommate, who was God's gift to women refused to talk to me. He did not have a problem with me sucking his dick or fucking his ass, he just did not want the Navy to find out.

I moved to a small apartment 6 blocks from Queen's Circle in Balboa Park in the gayest looking little pink stucco building on First Street. I was totally alone, knowing no one who was not a sailor, with no income and no money in the bank. Not having the option of returning home, I filed for unemployment, applied to a computer school and got the GI Bill to pay for most of it and a student loan to cover the rest. I started school in early in October.

For those of you unfamiliar with Balboa Park, Queen's Circle is a large circular sidewalk across the canyon from the zoo surrounded by woods and trails that were quite cruisy at the time. It was where I learned the joys and dangers of sex in public, sex enhancing drugs, poppers, and the meaning of friendship. The men that gathered there took me into their lives and taught me what it meant to be openly gay in a straight world. We would sit around in the afternoon after class and smoke some pot and ogle the highschool boys as they did thei r cross country taining on the trails that ran nearby. When it got dark I was initiated into the proper cruising techniques on the trails and in the bushes. How to spot a cop and how to suck a mean dick. I remember the first time that I used poppers. You have to remember that poppers back then were the real thing, amyl nitrate pure and strong. I cruised up this hunky little hispanic boy with the biggest name I had ever heard, but he went simply by Davida. He took me in the woods and laid me on a blanket and introduced me to miss amyl and mister nitrate. He then proceeded to suck my brain out through the end of my dick. After what seemed like hours, I came and came and came. Davida used to tell me I came in quarts (LOL). I guess there is something to young dumb and full of cum after all! I was very vocal and they probably heard me scream my release all the way up in weho!.

For the first time in my life, I knew someone, lots of them, that was just like me. I learned not to be afraid of what I wanted and who I wanted it with. There was a core group of about 20 of us who hung around together and hung out at my apartment as it was the closest to the park and the bars. We became family to each other. We did not have a lot of money, but we had a lot of love.

We decided to have a family Christmas at my place for anyone that did not have a place to go for the holiday. Parents back then regularly ostracized their children for being gay, so there were lots of lonely guys around. My new roommate, a handsome Panamanian named Tony came up with the spare change can that we kept by the door. Whenever any one came over, all the spare change went in the can for Christmas. We made a list of all who were coming for sure, then we starting gathering supplies, food, etc. Tony and a couple of his friends made gifts for everyone, so that no one who came on Christmas day would be forgotten. Everyone had something under the tree. As the holidays approached , it just seemed to come together. People donated food, time, the tree. Everyone caught the Spirit. I started baking a week before Christmas. My apartment building had an inside hallway, so we brought up all the picnic tables from the court yard and decorated the hallway like a banquet hall.

I started the major cooking three days in advance in about 3 different apartments. We had a turkey, a duck two chickens, a ham, every side item you could imagine and all the desserts you could eat. About 60 people showed up, no one went hungry, everyone got a gift, life for the family that we had created was wonderful for the three days the party lasted. Did I mention there was more booze and drugs than you could possibly partake of in a normal lifetime, and we put them all to good use.

As I sat surrounded by adopted family, I felt more love than I had in my life. I was accepted, not rejected, I was loved, not hated, and I did not need to hide inside my head in fear of myself or anyone else. It was perhaps the last truly happy Christmas that I had. I had returned to Texas the next year after I finished my school and things were never the same again. No matter how hard I tried to keep it from happening, my heart grew cold, my spirit dragged at holiday time and Christmas came to mean guilt not joy, fear not love, shattered dreams not sugar plums and fairy dust.

When I returned home the following June, I was staying at my folks while looking for employment and a place to live. I had taken the bus from San Diego to Fort Worth, a very long trip indeed. On the bus ride, somewher in Arizona this little cowboy got on the bus who was headed to Abilene. He was shorter than me, about 5'5" but had a studly little body that just turned me on in so many ways. We got to talking and as night began to fall we mad our way to the back of the bus. One thing led to another and we had amazing if quite sex on the back seat. This boy was short in stature but that was the only place he was short. Where do these little guys get the big ole dicks anyway? It was definitely more than a mouthful and quite tasty. When he came, his eyes rolled back in his head and he stuffed a fist in his mouth so he would not scream, I continued servicing him until he pulled me off because he just could not stand the pleasure pain any longer.

I tell you that to tell you this. I wrote a letter to my friend Davida describing my adventures on the bus in graphic detail, leaving nothing to the imagination. I had yet to mail the letter, so it was in my briefcase, which was closed up. One day when I was out on a job hunt, my mother went to snooping in my room and looking in my brief case. She found the letter and showed it to my dad. When I got home that day, my mother met me in the front hall, hysterically in tears, screaming at me that this was not the way I was born, this is not who I was, how could you do this to me, what did I do to deserve this? My dad's only comment was how could I write it down in a letter. Unknown to me, my dad knew I was gay many years before I even knew what sex was much less gay sex. Any how, that was the last time my mother and I "discussed" my being gay. She did not talk to me for two years after that, and to this day has never set foot in any residence that I have had. Christmas became a time of guilt and angst and turmoil. I lost the Christmas Spirit, and I did not think I would ever get it back or even want to. Until now.

You guys have given me hope for the future, acceptance of the present, salve for the past and love without reservation. I am without words to express what this means to me. This is what I had hoped to achieve when I started Nichevo. I had to reach out to the world for I had too long lived within myself, not allowing anyone to get really close for fear of pain and rejection. I could not go on living solely in my head. Your emails and comments have broken the chains around my heart and taken it out of the lock box. You have driven the spirit of Ebeneezer from my sole and replaced it with the sunshine of your love. I wish that everyone could feel the love emanating from you, my dear readers. It has been many a year, many a path traveled, and too much water under the bridge since I have felt loved for who I am in spite of what I am. It is a glorious, liberating feeling of which I no word to express my thanks other than to continue doing what I am doing and sharing my soul with you through these pages. I am glad you came, I am glad you came back, and I am ever so fucking glad that you want me to keep on keeping on. I love you guys and promise that I will do my damndest to bring you the best that I have to offer in the way of content and photography. You deserve no less, you deserve the best.

So from my little house to yours, here is wishing you the happiest of holiday, the merriest of Christmas, my heart felt thanks, and all the love I have to give. Thank you for being my friends, keep coming back, it will be worth the trip. Until next time as always, Enjoy!