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With apologies to Gilbert and Sullivan?Now that I in my 50s, it?s fascinating to find internet sites like Lush Stories to share recollections with the like-minded, as the old time personal ads liked to call it. One thing I never did do in over three decades of bisexuality is actually answer one of those ?hook up? ads. Never quite had the nerve. I balked once or twice, putting thoughts to paper, but couldn?t find the resolve to go through the hassle. Discreet letter boxes, coffee meets, to me it all too much like 'dating'. Past my teens, out of college and married, I preferred to hook up the old fashioned way ? unexpectedly connecting in hotel bars in strange cities on business. Opportunities that don?t knock very often, but did, enough to suit me. Once in my late-30s, I was at a conference in Raleigh, NC ? I am an information technology manager with a Canadian provincial government department ? and I connected with a like-minded married guy from, I think, Baton Rouge. Also in government IT. It was the tested and true 'last guys in the lounge' invitation to share a table. There?s that unspoken understanding, eye contact thing? which, when you recognize it, never fails. An invitation to a room (his, in this case) for a night cap. Always a good failsafe if it turns out your signals got crossed and it?s only a drink. That night it wasn?t. Friendly compatibility that extended through great oral sex. Twice. Anyway, over a drink in the intermission, he asked me a question I hadn?t heard since my college days, ?Tell me how you got started? All the details. I?d like to know.? So I told him, surprising myself at how easy it was to carry the conversation. For nearly two hours. It was a unique experience, opening up with a personal history in ? pardon the pun, the oral tradition. Perhaps now, in this forum, I can repeat it in writing. I am, in the great scheme, isvecbahis a typical bisexual man of the postwar ?Baby Boom? era. A product of the 1960s and 1970s?when an interest in sex with male partners was finally legal, when casual sex became an accepted objective, and before risk involved more than basic good judgement. Depending on whose research you accept, I am that one-in-75 of North American males whose bisexuality is a thrill-based addiction. An interest in sex with male partners for the purely physical rush. Like many get from extreme sports, an adrenaline thing. Not from the emotional side of the brain but a more primal part that connects pleasure to sensation, to experience, and seeks to repeat it. Not the more mature, reasoning part, the analytical part ? but the selfish and immature part that wants 'fun'. Some get hooked on skydiving the first time they try it. Or surfing. Rock-climbing. I got hooked when I was 17 and I gave my first blowjob, the summer before my high school senior year. And I?ve been hooked ever since. Typical too, giving head was my first sexual experience as a teenager. No surprise, I suppose. Gay sex had been turning me on ever since I was 16. It was mostly the result of an unexpected voyeuristic encounter ? summer camp, and observing unnoticed when I found three older teens masturbating together. Fact is, they nearly caught me. Doing chores in the camp?s lakeside boathouse one night, on my own, hanging sails to dry from the loft. They sneaked in, locking the door behind them. I was in the shadows taking advantage of the privacy with my uniform shorts to my ankles. Two 18 year-old junior counselors and my own cabin leader, a bit of a bully who was 17. All whispers and giggles. A tight circle, maybe 15 feet away ? my eyes popped when their shorts went down and erections popped up. I?d never seen another guy with a isveçbahis giriş hard on before, and there they were, putting on a performance. It startled me. Their size. Their lack of inhibitions. It was clear that this wasn?t their first time together. I could see it and hear it, the thrill they were giving and got taking turns showing off as they came. It boggled my mind. One thing I can tell you, once they sneaked away, I came harder than ever. That was something that stuck in my mind, and not just for the rest of the summer. I was an only child, raised by my single mom, who was a successful real estate agent in Ottawa, our national capital ? a very cosmopolitan but vibrant historical city. My mom was a strong-minded, independent woman who adopted me as a baby in her mid-30s. I was spoiled, we lived well and I had a very liberal, secular Jewish upbringing. Typical, I suppose, of only children in my circumstances, I was doted on and encouraged to excel academically. Growing up in the 60s, that translates to ?nerd?. As a result, I suppose, I was shy. Worked at my studies and showed promise in math. Joined the chess club. Carried a briefcase to school from junior high on, and a generation later, I would?ve spent unhappy years getting wedgies and stuffed in my locker. But back then, the early 70s, I was left to do my ?nerd? thing with rest of the socially disadvantaged. Plugging away happily, getting A?s, and not much attention from girls ? which, believe me, grew quickly appealing when was 16. Always have, still do, always will. A real focus of pubescent attention for a kid on his own with too much privacy, an imagination and time on my hands. Until, like I said, that summer at camp in Quebec?s Gatineau Hills. When guys crept into my fantasies. I said my first sexual experience was giving another guy head. July 1977. I was that shy oversexed teenage isveçbahis yeni giriş virgin and he was the first guy who gave the right signals. The first guy I?d met who was even more horny than me. His name was Eric. He was 17 too, the son of new neighbors in our downtown Ottawa condo highrise. His father was a diplomat and, with his mom, they?d just moved back to Canada after several years in the States. Washington and New York. He had one older sister, married and living in Manhattan. My mom sold them their place and we had them over for dinner as soon as they settled in. Being the only other available teen, I got ?volunteered? to show him a good time. I did that, all right. And it?s just a good thing the folks never really knew how. Eric was one of those A-list teens that I never hung out with. Tall, dark and athletic, a competitive swimmer who?d been nationally ranked. He?d gone to private prep schools and had travelled a lot. Good looking, outgoing and self-confident. I was this shy skinny blond kid with altar boy looks, academic, not very athletic. But we got along well from the start. Together all day, every day, touring around Ottawa. He attracted girls easily, but it didn?t take long and I saw even guys would get Eric?s attention. I lost sleep masturbating just thinking about him, more when I guessed I was reading him right. Wondering if something would happen between us and hoping it would. It did. Two weeks to the day after Eric arrived. He had invited me to join him for a 5:00 am swim in our building?s rooftop pool. It was a Saturday morning, our pool opened at 6:30, but by then he had his own key to keep up his practice routine. We were getting into our trunks in the men?s locker room when I caught myself staring. Hard not to, with me on the bench and him stripping off at a locker that?s right over mine. Quickly down to his t-shirt but taking his time. His cock nearly slapped me in the face. You see well-hung guys in the change room and showers, but I?d never seen anybody like him. Hanging thick and six inches at least to a circumcised plum at the tip.