three pairs of lovers with space

I CAME TO AUSTRALIA BY ANTHONY BACON

 

This third and last chapter of Anthony Bacon’s hitherto unpublished memoir, A Life with Entrances and Exits, describes his life as a boy-lover on emigrating to Australia in the early 1980s, initially to Sydney. All the photographs here were taken by him and are of boys who actually involved themselves in Greek love then, the two of hustlers of 12 and 13 being the real boys in his account.

Return to Chapter Two

 

Chapter Three.  I Came to Australia

My extended commission in the R.A.F. came to an end in the early 80s, and through a friend who’d flown Twin Pioneers with me in Borneo, I bought a steamer ticket with my paltry service gratuity to go and live in Australia.  After six weeks of chasing boys around a ship, I arrived in Sydney. The weather was wonderful and so were the boys.  

Were Australian boys different from those I’d left behind in the Old Country?  Not even slightly, I was relieved to discover! They were the same deeply curious, sensuous creatures, and had the same enormous capacity for love.  The same wonderful sense of humour, as well. Though popular culture in both sex-repressive nations saw kids generally as silly nothings — neuters, almost — they were of course, none of those things.   

Impish Grin

Said friend and I flew STOL aircraft resupplying every kind of survey and exploration camp known to humankind.  Often, while he was in the bush, I was on leave in Sydney.  The tower-block we lived in overlooked the North Shore and there were sun-browned boys literally everywhere.  Usually barefoot, they must have had soles like shoe-leather.  They also mostly ran around in raggedy Speedos all day and half the night. Boys I met on the lovely beaches and in the local public pools often knocked on my door, but only when they knew my flat-mate was in the bush!  They knew me as keenly as I knew them — just as boys in Europe, the Middle and Far Easts had — and the effect of a smiling man who actually cared what they thought, who laughed a lot and was generous and gentle and patient… Dah-di-dah…

It’s not rocket science.  Kids are incredibly sensitive and even these tough-as-leather Aussie boy would respond to gently ruffled hair and tickled ribs?  The ‘rules’ of play-fighting were the same and I found that many of them had already had their prongs tugged.  Squirming laughter; erections and then sex as far as the boy wanted to go, would often follow.  Or sometimes, with a promise of more later…

Back in the early 80s, boys in Australia were still often allowed to roam free in their own time, and you met them everywhere.  On the beach and in public parks, by rivers and near boatsheds, at shopping-centres or simply riding their bikes in the street.  Like their British cousins, they were largely ignored by their parents.  Though well-fed and well-clothed and though sparkling with good health; they knew that they were secondary in the hermetic world of their mothers and fathers. 

Hermetic?  Yes, back then, kids lived in one world and their parents in another.  Conversations about the really important things in life very rarely happened.  Few boys asked: “Dad, why does my willy get stiff?”.

Perhaps some had fathers who could simply explain the phenomenon in a sensible manner, but most did not, and here it has to be recorded that Australian adults tended to be even more uptight about sexual realities than British parents.  So, for the deeply curious boy, information was thin on the ground…  

Are you still watching?

So, how did they find out about sex and what went where?  Older boys, mainly: “Come on, I’ll show you how to do it…”. Then there was the concept of attractiveness.  A boy half-way good looking would know it from an early age.  Loving aunts and grandmothers pinching their cheeks: “Oh, what a lovely boy!”. Then, later on, men pinching their nether-cheeks…

The truth is that most adults in Australia at that time worked hard and played hard.  The playing part of life included a lot of cold beer and their whole culture reflected the relative lack of importance of their children in the scheme of things. The old adage held: a good boy was neither seen nor heard?

Along comes an adult who smiles and talks gently and listens to what the boy has to say… Wow, what is this?  Does this man really care what I think?  He laughs at my jokes!

OK, after a while, he wants to go behind the bushes… So that’s OK because the boy has been doing this with his friends for some time, and anyway the boy is deeply curious about men

Or maybe this isn’t his first time?  The need for more pocket-money, or simply the thrill of doing something that would cause his sainted mother to have heart-failure is an important part of the attraction? 

Some boys were serious hustlers.  Others couldn’t even spell the word… Two such were a pair of blond surfie-boys I met in a shopping centre as I wondered with my camera.  The older was about 13, the younger 12.  The 13 tried to beckon me over, but I had a feeling of danger nearby and I smilingly retired.  Later, showing a contact-print of the boys to a like-minded friend, he laughed and said that he knew them both!

They apparently always acted as a pair and while the elder would suck off a fire-hose, it was paradoxically the younger boy who would ‘take it up the bum’ — in their own words.

More boys were hustlers in a laid-back, casual way.  A boy called Byron would stretch and grin wickedly and say: “Nah, not unless you pay!”  Giggling and testing me and in effect asking me: “…how much do you want it?”.  And then often forgetting to collect the money afterwards.  The money obviously wasn’t the point.  The truth is that some of those boys were sexy little beasts who hadn’t yet found an interest in girls!

Hustlers of 13 and 12 beckoning over a promising man ...

My own theory is that most of the boys I met had sex with friends or strangers simply for the thrill of the forbidden.  And, of course, for the pursuit of that radical physical-sensation, the orgasm.  The fact that very young boys — in the right circumstances — can be orgasmic was never lost on me.  So, it was outright pleasure?  Or, being the first boy in his class who could wet-come properly?  Yet these boys entered ‘the game’, often before wetness was even physically possible, and that also was not lost on me.

Yes, I suppose there were raggedy kids in Sydney who lived under bridges, but I never did meet any of these.  They tended to be older.

No, my greatest love was for the young and clean, twelve-to-fourteens, mainly.  Slender, smooth-skinned and compact, with enormous eyes and almost always with a complexion untroubled by spots, their arms and legs were covered with a silky golden down, rather than hair…

Yes, and they laughed a lot… Nearly all of them were thrilled to be a part of what they saw as real life.  Treated like equals — but with gentleness and patience — and yes, it was really good to receive money or gifts, or both. That new Swiss Army knife was bonzer… 

And being introduced to new ways of ‘doing it’!  ‘It’, being sex generally.  Often, a boy would happily allow himself to be sucked off, or would offer to suck off the man, but would clearly stipulate ‘no bum-sex’. 

Me, I was as happy as Larry just to be in their company.  So, it is with delight that I can report that many boys having been skilfully sucked over-the-rainbow, would then often gracefully bend over and give me my quid pro quo…. ‘Come-uppance’ seems like too much of a bad pun!

The key to this, with such slender young people was of course, mental rather than physical.  If the boy was happy with doing ‘the big poke’, then it was possible.  If he wasn’t inwardly happy, it simply would not be an option?

I have to say that I could swallow my disappointment in the latter case because I knew that often, a proper fuck could very well happen at a later date…

And yes, I did meet such sweet boys many times more than once.  For me, it had always been the sheer outrageousness of the act of penetrating a boy’s tender bottom that made the act even more exciting than any physical sensation involved. I suppose that I reverted to an element of playful boyishness in my own psyche in those incredible moments?

Another shot of the same two boy lolitas

And here it is opportune to mention that these boys were not forced into prostitution by economic necessity.  For them, the extra pocket money was good to have, but overall, the main driving-force was that sex was wicked fun. You should hear prurient giggles from behind the bushes now…  Oh, those far off days!

There were also the boys that I called the naturals.  Boyish boys with nothing effeminate about them, they just loved having it up the bum!  Finn my sweet Scotty had been one of those.  He loved, he said, watching the effect he had on me as he tightened up and ground his teeth, ’blobbing’ on his own belly as we rutted face-to-face.

So finally, what is it that allows some boys to allow this radical invasion of their bodies?  This ‘act against nature’ — as so many legal people refer to it?  The truth is that I simply don’t know.  I never experienced it myself and I never felt that I wanted to be ‘done’ — as we would said when I was young. 

Natural sensuality and deep curiosity seem to be the prime inspirations; together with the thousands of nerve-endings at that incredibly sensitive spot, perhaps?  Hearing about others doing it and wanting to know what it was like?  As well as love and giving — of wanting to give another gentle, generous person pleasure?

The question was partly answered when first I saw images from the social-media site: Omegle.  This was years ago and there were astonishing pictures of very young people of both sexes, using hair-brush handles, dildoes, even pop-bottles on their bottoms.  Other pictures showed similar-age kids fucking.  And I mean, doing it properly.  Ages varied from mid-teens down to the most amazingly slender, small, prepubescent kids. 

One starkly beautiful image remains etched in my memory.  A blond, slender boy of about thirteen has the larger part of a very large black dildo planted deep inside himself.  His huge blue eyes are wide and his four and a half inch prong is as rigid as a school coat-peg.  It is curved up — as is so often the case with the very young — and his foreskin is fully back and though the quality of the image was poor, it was possible to see the fluid from his Cowper’s glands gathering urgently at his pee-hole… That kid was ready to explode!

I can only expound the theory that stimulation of the prostate gland with the dildo might have had an heightening effect upon this boy’s obvious excitement — but what do I know?

He, and the other girls and boys on that media site should finally put to bed the madly stupid notion that kids are ciphers: devoid of curiosity, sensuality, or even the capacity for love!

What they were doing was preparing themselves for the lists of love in later life!

Across the mighty Atlantic from where I was born, it seems that pederasty also flourished.  Read Edmund White’s A Boy’s Own Story.  The autobiographical author starts off as the older boy in a loving dyad; then ends up as the younger loved-one with grown men, later.  Some of the early pages of the story stand as classic-tales in the — if I may pun madly — the passages of boy-love.

 

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