A Factional Memoir of the Gay Life of habu
Flying High, Diving Deep provides a three-decade memoir of the gay portion of a male bisexual's awakening to, nearly unfettered enjoyment of, and sometimes bittersweet reflections on the active gay lifestyle on the international scene in the latter third of the twentieth century. The author was a male model and film actor who turned to international intelligence service during the Vietnam War era, a career that started off in the stratosphere as an SR71 photo-reconnaissance jet pilot and moved on to more earth-hugging intelligence and diplomatic service in Asia and the Middle East.
Although coming late in his late twenties to the gay scene, the author's sexual encounters and experience blossomed quickly in the exotic, sexually free, risk taking, and pre-AIDS environment of Bangkok, Thailand. Flying High, Diving Deep covers the high points of the author's sexual experiences in twenty-five short stories that are chronologically laid out. These stories take the reader from the author's male-male initiation in Bangkok in the mid 70s through sexual encounters during stints in Japan and the Middle East to the concluding years of the last decade of the twentieth century as he thought his gay life activity was waning, only to be joyfully reawakened.
The author provides a no-holds-barred, insightful, never shirking from bittersweet remembrances series of snapshots that move from the free, sensual, “anything goes” international gay scene through the realities of the horror of AIDS to appreciation for the deep, lasting relationships that arise from the world of men loving men.
This is the expanded relaunch of the eXcessica anthology, Flying High.
REVIEW:
“This well-written memoir of illicit bliss will arouse and titillate you. It is rather like reading just the sexy bits of a historical novel. You can read this book as erotica (it’s hot!) or you can read it as history (it’s thought provoking, to say the least). The poignancy of the young man in the beginning of the book contrasts with the power of the older man at the end, and leaves the reader both thoughtful and enlightened.” —Carole, Rainbow Reviews
REVIEW:
“This well-written memoir of illicit bliss will arouse and titillate you. It is rather like reading just the sexy bits of a historical novel. You can read this book as erotica (it’s hot!) or you can read it as history (it’s thought provoking, to say the least). The poignancy of the young man in the beginning of the book contrasts with the power of the older man at the end, and leaves the reader both thoughtful and enlightened.” —Carole, Rainbow Reviews
I took him back to my room at the New Japan, which was one of those then-new idea hotels where the rooms were very small and all of the furniture was one molded continuous unit of bed, dresser, night stand, and attached lounge chair. The decor was a flamboyant red, white, and gold, and the bed stood out so prominently that there was no question what the main focal point was.
“Can you undress for me?” Ian asked meekly after he had sat down in the only chair. “I’ve only gotten furtive looks at you in the shower when we were playing tennis. But I want to see you.”
I complied, and when I had stripped I stood there for him.
“Wow,” was all he could say at first.
I said nothing. It was not the least immodest or unrealistic for me to know that we were worlds apart in surface sex appeal, and I didn’t want him to have second thoughts and to flee the room.
But then, after a few moments, he continued on his own. “Can I touch you? Can I see what it’s like to take you in my mouth.”
I came over and stood in front of him as he sat in the chair unit, very close, and I held his head in my hands patiently, tenderly as he clumsily kissed and tongued and sucked my cock. It was the worst blow job I’d ever had. It was the best, most loving blow job I’d ever had. I barely could contain my tears at what Ian was giving me—and what it was costing him to do so.
Before I could climax, I gently reached down and pulled him up and slowly took his clothes off. When he was naked, I turned and laid him down on the bed. He was extremely self-conscious and kept trying to cover his manhood with his hands and shrink his body into invisibility.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I know I’m not what you’re used to . . .”
“Shush,” I whispered in a stroking voice. “You are beautiful to me. And you are all mine. Don’t cover yourself from me. Open to me. Spread your legs to me. Welcome me and let me possess you fully. Give yourself to me.”
Showing how much he wanted this and his trust in me, he moved his hands to above his head on the bed, stretching his slightly paunchy torso out, and spread his legs for me.
