UNCLE DONALD (needs nephew)

Even one good nephew would be fine. It just feels right to have a nephew or two around. It isn't that I haven't had my share. I've always had younger guys as friends. My interest stems from several points. There is deep down inside me an instinctive desire to teach and to help people in need. When I was young and trying to deal with my gayness, there was no support, no honest information, no reason for pride. Somehow I survived the ordeal, and decided that I would try to make it easier for others to go through the pain of coming out. Also, I've come to realize that keeping in touch with youth keeps me in touch with the real world, and helps keep me young. I'm sure you've already guessed that an important part of my interest is that I am sexually attracted to youth. That is true. I see youth as beauty and it turns me on. I like a smooth, defined look and see the gymnast and swimmer bodies as the physical ideal. Make him blond and I'm in heaven! This is my ideal, but I'm a realist and the "attractive" range is broad. One important thing is a sparkle in the eye, an indication of an inquisitive mind and a fertile imagination.

When I moved to San Francisco in 1970, I found the City had a generous proportion of handsome young guys; not that handsome is so important, but it's a pleasant bonus. I spent many an evening chasing after some of them and they usually ran like hell. Eventually it became obvious that my technique needed some modification. I found that they showed interest in me when I was having a good time with friends and not on the prowl.

This guy is pretty close to my concept of IDEAL Young Slender Smooth Handsome YUM!

Back in 1970, my first year here in San Francisco, I lived on the corner of Haight and Masonic in the Haight Ashbury. In those days I fell in love several times a day. I've grown out of that painful condition but I still fall in lust regularly. A guy I had picked up hitch-hiking had been staying with me for about a week. Yeah, he was about 20, blond, and handsome as could be. I of course fell in love with him even though it should have been obvious to me that he was straight and I was asking for trouble. I was enjoying him so much, I didn't realize that he was only having sex with me in order to have a place to stay. So one day I came home to find that he had split for good. He took some money, not much, but I was devestated. I couldn't believe at the time that he could be so cruel. He wasn't. I was naive and my emotions clouded my judgement.

Each successive encounter provided a new opportunity to learn from a new set of challenges. Each offered understanding and growth as a reward for the pain. Yet, too many times I forgot to collect the reward! I endured way too many of these conflicts before the obvious finally became obvious. I was putting my energy into trying to alter the tide and make it flow in my preferred direction. Swimming upstream takes more effort than swimming downstream. It is more stressful and is less likely to be successful. That concept should not challenge the human intellect. It is common sense, but it was one hell of a revelation to me. My blindness was hurting my friends as well as me.

Frankie, my lover during most of the '70's, was the first one to start calling me Uncle Donald. He and I had gone back east at christmas to celebrate the arrival of mom and dad's first grandchild, my nephew Tim. Instantly, everyone in the family was promoted one rung on the family ladder. Mom became Grandma. My sister Marilyn became Mommy, and I was Uncle Donald. That was fine, but when we got back home, Frankie continued to call me Uncle Donald. I hated it, so he made it his mission to keep the title alive. We had a large family of friends and they quickly picked up Frankie's nickname for me. It went through a variety of variations, "Hunky Donald" and "Hunkle Donald", even "UD", but it stuck. There was nothing I could do. The more I protested, the more they thought it was precious. I realized I was swimming upstream, so I gave in. I cried "Uncle"!

Frankie moved to Tucson in 1981, and the plague soon devastated our San Francisco family to the extent that only a couple of friends remembered why I was called "Uncle". But there were (and still are) plenty people around who knew me as Uncle Donald. After Frankie left, I was seen more and more often in the company of younger guys. It was obvious to everyone who knew me, why I had the nickname. It isn't a bad title. It implies that I have a special rapport with the young, a respect for their opinions and their right to be treated as equals.It concerns me that the gay community does little to support young gays, many of whom have been discarded by their families, many who are desperate for some kindness, warmth, nurturing. But that's a topic for another story so I won't get into it here other than to say that it stems partly from mainstream society's erroneous stereotypical opinion that gays are child molesters. The fear of being labelled a deviant prevents many in the community from reaching out to the young. After all, my generation lived in fear, a very real fear, of having their lives destroyed by being charged with such crimes.

But I digress!.

OK. I was trying to recruit a good nephew or two; Lure one into my den of iniquity where I could trick him into accepting my warmth, respect, and hospitality. And then when he's content, his defenses down, I might give him a hug and tell him I love him. I have the same trouble with puppies. I just can't resist giving them reason to wag their tails. I know happiness can leave permanent marks on the minds of the young and impressionable, but what about the effect on me? It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It all stems from that rotten kid in the Haight who left me because I drove him away!