Thirty years ago I frequented Glassbar Island, a special secluded resort some ten minutes south of Eugene--a secluded nudist beach that was a favorite spot for gay men.

Having failed my last doctoral exam, in music, and securing eight weeks of full-time summer work at the university's audio-visual plant, I spent healthy shares of my time traveling there (when I wasn't drifting about).

Increasingly that summer, I was making my end goal, before the season was over, sexual consummation with another male. Settling on middle-aged, paunchy men with extra chest and belly hair, I determined to explore the many choices I'd meet at Glassbar Island the next couple of weeks. I found irresistible the notion of losing my virginity a second time.

It was about the middle of that summer that I would meet my “teacher.” He was shorter than me (in height, that is), probably twenty years older than me. A short, plump man whose well-trimmed satyr's beard and classical frame were something truly to admire. Protruding buttocks and tummy were in opposing symmetries to one another.

He seemed almost like a statue; a figurine; a collectible with a beauty of its own. With a bubble-butt that had all sorts of things swimming through my mind....a first time that could be overwith as soon as it started...down, boy, down!

Fifteen minutes or so of trepidation and I would slowly trek over to him, several dozen yards from where I was standing. We stood together for a long time, both surveying the lake down below. He kept making infrequent glances up and down to my body and then nodding. Just that. I walked away, back to the entry way where I left my clothes.

On my next visit, I took a short walk, stopping to notice the very same guy peering out at the river. I very casually walked up next to him; over the next ten minutes, he glanced down and grinned slyly down at the object of his interest.

About a week later I made a third trip and there he was again, peering out nonchalantly at the river. Having finally the guts to explore my desire to learn once and for all (and having brought along a condom), I once again stood to his right. After three minutes I moved my left arm, in a staggering, stuttering motion. I very slowly placed my hand on his left hip, lightly stroking up and down. About a minute later I found that little dink hidden in all those pubes had grown to an imposing seven inches…immediately making me feel inferior inside.

Noting his readiness, I made the obvious verbal next step. “So……….whaddaya like to do?” Turning his head towards me with a sheepish/wolfish grin, he plainly answered, “Receiving.”. Which reassured me....I wasn't yet willing to take it up the butt. Aware of his woody out in the open for public display, we slowly hiked to the nearest and most inconspicuous love nest, with only a couple of unclad passers-by (themselves likely in search of same). We stopped at a large fir.

Privacy finally achieved, we stood staring at each other for a long time. Nothing changed my nether regions. He held out my penis and rubbed the head. Nothing. Then my balls. Not a stir. He squeezed my shoulders, stopped, then said authoritatively, “I know just whatcha need—a good back massage!”

Man-o-man, he read my mind. I turned around, he went to work. I’ve had tight muscles since my late twenties and been through extensive physical therapy, and only twice on a whim did I invest twenty bucks for a professional job. A good 45-minute massage is the one thing that makes me leak pre-cum….even from a male masseuse, which had always embarrassed me. But not now. Moans quickly issued from me and he faced me again, nodding at my bona fide boner.

As my very first (hetero) awakening hadn’t occurred until my late twenties, I did what I could since then to make up for lost time, and with females who by this time had plenty experience; thus, my constant requirement for condom usage. And this guy obviously had countless conquests racked up. So I adhered to practice.

It popped into my mind then that we would only be doing it in the dirt, but then I noticed at the tree’s center a rolled-up sleeping bag with ample room to begin with, which he then unzipped all the way round. Boom! Instant mattress. Turned out he always kept it around and hidden in that very same spot for these meetings.

I really had my heart set on mounting him, doggy-style; I longed to fixate my eyes on that bubble-butt. But he wanted it face to face….he said he simply had to see the fur on my belly as I was doing him. He asked if I had the lube. I answered, “Lube?” He said, “Yeah, what you loosen me up with.” I had to prod him (whoops!) for more info. I finally said I was losing my virginity to him, homosexually speaking. He raised his eyebrows, then grinned and chuckled…sort of delightedly. He said no worry, he always has it on hand. He then sat on his back, spread his legs and buttcheeks apart and told me to apply it. Now I was alarmed; another grisly chore. I was frozen. He shook his head, growled in frustration, put some on his forefinger and applied it himself. “Weren’t you ever given an enema by your mother?” More unfamiliar territory.

I hesitated interminably, taking in the forest’s unique scent….then that of his ass, which immediately hit my nostrils, and I almost wanted to puke….I entered, then after one thrust, I stopped short and asked him, “All the way to the prostate?” He affirmed it. I continued thrusting and felt little except awkwardness--one long, eternal minute of poking. But after that, a marvelously seductive aroma broke through. I didn’t know it, of course, but it was his bush, reeking of manly arousal. My experience in female scent is practically nil, especially as one of my two partners always stank of stale cigarette smoke. But this was the crux of my awakening. I was in an intoxicated trance, and my hips soon established a regular, pounding rhythm as contented grunts issued from his throat and his cock repeatedly slapped against my beergut. It seemed interminable, but my hips naturally increased their tempo.

His hard-on having lasted forever by now, he gave out with pleasured moans, his spooge squirting onto his chest hair. I’ve since enjoyed watching another guy cum, but here my own sensory overload now had me so occupied, sliding and thrusting….until I sniffed his jizz. That, mixed in with the scents of the woods and both our bushes and (by now) even his anus, triggered my own climax accompanied by a roar that had to have been audible to someone out there. I’ll never know.

Half a dozen more vocalizations, each one softer than the last, and I reached a state of calm I’d never felt before. My muscular tension drained, I buried my head in whatever was convenient—in this case, his cum-drenched chest hair which stained my nose and forehead—for what seemed like forever. I pulled out and rolled off him.

We both laid there, flat on our backs, heads propped up against the treetrunk, eyes to the deep blue sky. Each of us in our own little world, not a single word said. I finally spoke. “Wow………..that was amazing.” A long gap of silence before his terse, deliberate response. “You sure were.”

He then told me he hadn’t been humped like that in about two years. More silence. More savoring of the feeling. He asked, “Can we fuck again?”

I had shut my eyes for a little break from the discomfort of the sky’s glare. “That’d be great…….just not now.”

I got up only as my muscles signaled they were ready. Having savored the long calm, and as I took my time dressing, we cleaned up, exchanged names (this, AFTER our tryst!) and departed. Then I drove home, my lingering luster preventing me from driving too fast. (Lotsa pissed motorists out there. )

Getting home I was about to re-strip for a very long shower, but wanting to relax a little more, I dimmed the lights and set down on the john lid, looking at the plastic bag where I disposed of the condom. Staring at the bag about five minutes, I unknotted it and slowly took in a deep whiff. Mmmm. It doesn’t get any more real than this.

Recovering from that afternoon’s sensory glut, it slowly shed for me some new light on the whole sex experience. Somehow there was no intelligible difference between this event and penetrating a woman’s vulva. I found myself no less of a man than I was in my now bygone hetero days; in fact, I felt even more like a man. Two bodies. Tussling and grappling. In primordial pleasure. All ingrained religious guilt vanished. I could finally stand tall as a total sexual being.

I momentarily found myself contemplating the wide world of mansex--including my own anus being penetrated. But that was a couple years down the road, and my imminent move to Seattle.

I would never meet Rodney again. But he occupies a special place in my small pantheon of male partners. In fact, he, as well as Dan from the first chapter, were important: THEY WERE ALL TEACHERS.