[Breeder] Gay Sex in the '70s

[TheBreeder]

To see Breeder's original blog post click here

Not too long ago, while trying to grump over their rate changes and the seemingly schizophrenic decisions of its CEO, I streamed a documentary from Netflix entitled Gay Sex in the '70s. Interesting title—but to be honest, it was one of those documentaries that any gay guy who’d actually had sex in the seventies could have written himself. Start with Stonewall, mix in ample tales about hedonistic fucking in dark places, sprinkle with references to Studio 54, then gently and sadly deflate with oral histories from tired-looking older gentlemen that all end with sentences like, But you know what? Five years later, everyone at that orgy was dead.

One of the things the film reminded me of, however, was how central and even vital cruising was during my teen years. Most of what I learned about cruising—that silent art form in which two men communicate their desire for each other through non-verbal cues—came from a book I found on the shelves of the uni library at the university where my parents both taught. Deep in the Library of Congress classification’s HQ section, it was, in a remote corner of the third floor. I would check out the subsection on homosexuality through the gaps from the next aisle, then make a selection and dash around the corner to grab it and escape to a study carrel before anyone could see me.

What I chose more often than any other title was a yellow hardback volume. It was the Bible of my horny teen years. I can’t recall the name or author, and trust me, for years I’ve Googled around to find it without success. But simply put, it was a step-by-step guide for the modern gay guy of the nineteen-seventies to cruise for sex.

It told one exactly how to recognize a fellow cruiser by eye contact alone, and made suggestions for pausing in the street to gaze at a garden or a window display, in order to ascertain if the other guy looked over his shoulder for another peek. It detailed the ritual of courtship that took place in cruisy public restrooms. I already knew much of that from exploration, but the rest I soaked up, learning in an academic and theoretical sense exactly what went on in such exotic spots never glimpsed in small-town Richmond, like a gay bathhouse, or an adult bookstore.

All that information helped me. It really did. It taught me the significance of a man locking eyes with me for a few fractions of a second longer than normal, and of especially what it probably meant when his glances became a pattern that meant more than Hey, that guy has a smudge on his face. I learned to pick up on subtle cues that only a minority of us recognize—a man’s lingering glance that trailed from my eyes down to my crotch back in those days communicated attraction more compellingly than any instant message online now. Throw in the slightest tilt of the head to the side, so that the man was looking at a slight angle behind me, and I knew it was my ass he was after. If his hand oh-so-casually dropped to his belt and hung there, his fingertips touching the bulge in his pants, I knew he wanted to draw attention there; if he attempted the riskier brush against his cock with the palm of his hand, or the seemingly-routine package adjustment, I could guess that we would be finding somewhere quiet to fuck within moments.

Simply by observation, I became so attuned to certain behaviors that I could tell from across a crowded room when a man was checking me out. I knew (probably better than they did) which teachers at school wanted me, which of my parents’ colleagues were gay, and even who was checking me out from their cars. And in a broader sense, I became intensely aware of who was looking at whom, straight or gay. What boys the girls wanted, because of their stares. What faces men liked to rest their eyes upon, when they thought they were unobserved and could take in the sight of something pretty. By close observation of who they glanced at, for how long, and how many times, I could tell who any one of my parents’ students might be into, or what secret longings for others the adults around me had.

That yellow book, and the cruising it inspired, were a crash course in human behavior. It made me a people-watcher, and someone who made inspired and informed guesses at the motivations percolating behind guarded gestures and furtive glances. By teaching me to observe, that education made me an artist.

Within about three years after it hit the shelves, that book had become battered, its spine broken and illegible from the hundreds of people like me who read it over and over again. By the time I went to college in 1981, it, like so many of the people in the Netflix documentary, had become another casualty of the seventies. Or as the card catalogue said, volume missing.

I wish I remembered its title.

More...

[pigskintop]

It sounds like a great book. I love the 70's. I'm going to look for the book. If you find it, let us know.

[evilqueerpig]

I came out as QUEER in 1977.....back then, cruising was an art form.....the internet has made things easier, but the personal touch is all but gone

[Bear4Breeding]

I was a bit to young to be crusing in the seventies (sorry guys, not trying ot be mean or anything). My life began post HIV/Aids. My crusing skills have never been that great, wish I had that book when I was a teen, definitely wouldn't have hurt. But I did alright back then, at least till I got busted in the park by teh rangers undercover, I was so nieve back then. But I had my share of fun back then.

TheBreeder, definitely let us know if you find the book or remember its name, I'd love to read it and check it out see what I may have been missing all these years.

[NastyRigPig]

I miss park sex, public bathroom sex, sketchy alley sex...you get the picture. I could have more sex in one hour at a park pre-internet than I get with 5 sex sites running.

[TheBreeder]

Pigskintop--one of my readers informed me (and I'm pretty sure he's right) that the book is John Alan Lee's "Getting Sex."

Evil--Yeah, cruising did make everything less impersonal. One could tell a lot about another man by picking up on his physical cues. You don't always get that on an online site.

Nasty--I still do park and restroom sex. It's not like its heyday, but you can still find it. Often the online cruising is nothing but diminishing returns.

[Hotload84]

Pigskintop--one of my readers informed me (and I'm pretty sure he's right) that the book is John Alan Lee's "Getting Sex."

Glad your reader was able to provide a title and author, TheBreeder. I just ordered a first edition published in '78. Should be interesting to compare the writer's suggestions and my experiences.

[totalasspig]

Sex in the 70's was excellent - no one would ever think of a Condom - I was a free for all, bareback until your cock ran dry or your asshole feel out - back in the 70's yea we had the Gono and Syph, but a few shots in the good old ass and that was it. In Fact Everhard, St. Marks and Club Baths actually had doctors come to the clubs and treat you right there in the bathhouse - very little reporting, if any, went on in those days..And Yes, Those were the Days!!!

[pigskintop]

Thanks TheBreeder. I've just added it to my list of wants. It'll be good to read it. There was an article I read @ sex in SF in the 70's, how it was, cruising, baths, std's, guys meeting @ STD clinics, and other fun action. Those were the days. I was too young, but I can dream. Haha.

When i went to Amsterdam a few years ago with the backrooms and parties, I got to fist 5 men, got sucked on by @ 20, and unloaded in 2 hot holes. I can't wait to get back. I like GH's and cruising a lot too.

[TheBreeder]

Hotload, I'd really be interested in your opinion when you're done.

[Hotload84]

Hotload, I'd really be interested in your opinion when you're done.

Looking forward to it, TheBreeder. I'll be sure to shoot you a message.

[RawPigDad]

Class of 1965; condoms were for keeping your girlfriend from getting pregnant. I learned how to have sex from friends and pickups. We had small sex parties, and you sucked and fucked any guy you liked. When I finally was old enough to go to the adult theater, I saw my first gay movie, and they fucked raw, of course, but the top pulled out and sprayed his cum on the bottom. No one I had ever fucked with did that. I wondered why they would do that and miss the best part of the fuck. I asked my friends and they said that was the "money shot", proof that he was blowing his wad. I still thought it was a waste and still do. I really like the most recent bareback porn where they plant the load and then you see it when they pull out.

[TheBreeder]

I'm with you on that one, RawPigDad. The money shot is definitely a waste.

[totalasspig]

One of best sex things of the 70's was when I was 14 being snuck into Studio 54 through the back door and me and my older bud where up the balcony and I dropped my pants and he whipped out his dick and was fucking me raw with others watching (gay, str8 or bi) no one seemed to care. We made it to the basement where I got naked and he was fucking me again and Steve Rubell (one of the owners of Studio 54) realized my ass look "very young" but my face did not. Once I was dressed, we were escorted out of the club and when I refused to leave out of the front door, Steve literally kicked my ass so hard I was launched out the door and onto the sidewalk. Later that night at Everhard, one of the bouncers was there, saw me, and followed me and my bud (he was 28) back to our room, where the bouncer beat my ass with a belt for "sneaking into Studio 54" until it was nice and bruised and then dumped his loads into my hole. Ahh..the 70's...Those were the days...we thought they would never end..