My history

Written for Cody, of the kink site kidracerx.com in May 2008.  Cody is a guy fully into kink and maintaining fidelity to his Catholic background whose approach to things impressed me.

Well here goes with a presentation of my history or my journey.

Early.
I was born in in the UK in 1943.  My dad was a trucker and mechanic.  Already that’s an important detail, because I have always, from coming to human consciousness been unable to keep my eyes off guys in filthy work gear and got hard wearing anything like it myself.  My Dad wore filthy overalls, thick with grease, and never had them washed, so I wonder if there is an inherited gene somewhere.  I just have a little inkling, with little to base it on, that my Dad might have had a homosexual orientation, though I doubt he ever acted out.  He was a convert to the Catholic faith around 1950.  My mother was the born Catholic.
So I grew up in the forties and fifties in a milieu that either did not know that homosexuality existed or that did not want to know and suppressed all mention of it.  I was, in fact, about twenty before I really knew clearly that homosexuality existed.  That may sound strange  but we are talking 1963, the year in which the film Brokeback Mountain is set.
First Fetish
You ask when my fetish first came active.  Now my prime fetish is jeans, and particularly filthy jeans, mud, grease, cowshit.  The essence of it was there with the dawning of human consciousness, quite frankly.  In those days in England jeans were unknown, guys worked in bib overalls or coveralls, often with big buckled belts.  Now I can recall at about the age of three, my mom dressing me in a tiny pair of brown bib overalls, smooth heavy cotton, very like denim.  Let me say, at this point, another thing that was with me from the dawning of human consciousness was masturbation.  I was humping the bed night after night, and during my afternoon nap as an infant, and having primitive orgasms without emission.  Now about those little brown bib overalls I can distinctly remember humping off in them.

Jeans
I was about 8 years old when jeans first made their appearance in the UK.  A playmate down the street, who was at the protestant school, turned out in a pair of “royal blue” ones.  And something in me clicked straight away.  The schools I was at frowned on the wearing of jeans.  But guys were wearing tight black ones with bright coloured orange or green stitching.  All I could do was lust after owning a pair, because I didn’t dare ask my mom to buy a pair.  I was 14 before that moment came, got the money to buy the cheapest variety at the market, a tight black pair, with green stitching.  Of course I couldn’t wait to get them on, and knew what was going to happen.  Got rock hard.  About a week later my Dad, hearing I got a pair of jeans, said to me one evening: “What about this pair of jeans then?  Put them on, let’s see you in them.”  So I did and had a hell of a job trying to hide my bulge from him, which, of course, he clearly saw.”  Then, when the house was empty and I was all by myself, I got those jeans on and jacked off in them.  But, since shooting my first load when humping the bed at about 12 years old, I had already had a few goes at putting on my Dad’s grease-heavy overalls and looking at myself in the mirror till I got so excited that I just had to lie on the floor and hump in those grease-stiff, diesel smelling overalls till I shot my load.  I also recall putting on old overalls that were lying around and lying on the coal pile and humping off!  That was where my fetish was at in my teens.

Masturbating Catholic
When doing catechism at school I did wonder whether my activities at night were what was meant by “the irregular motions of the flesh” but dismissed the idea!  Until about the age 14, having discovered from my mates that cum was about making babies, I just thought that this activity might be that, had not even heard the term “masturbation”.  So I thought I would try confessing it!  What a disaster!  The priest asked me how many times.  I said about 30, on the basis that it was about a month since my last confession and I had done it most nights once, but sometimes four times a night.  Guess I didn’t want to exaggerate!  The priest’s voice went up 5 octaves, “30 times!”  “Don’t you know, my child, that one mortal sin is enough to condemn us to Hell for all eternity!”  Well, I hadn’t really thought it was a sin at all, much less a mortal sin.  So, I decided I hadn’t confessed the thing right and the priest had gotten the wrong idea, and carried on.  Not that I could stop it anyway!

Dirt
I went to the seminary aged 15 where a confessor was always available in the early mornings before Mass, so we could get it off our consciences and still go to communion.   Did 5 years in the seminary, from 1957 to 1962 but from the third, knew I wanted to be a monk and was in touch with the monastery.  I can recall before that time and during it, whenever I was in my home town, which was a heavy industry, steelworks town, whenever I got on the bus at shift-change time, going upstairs where all the guys went, cause you couldn’t smoke downstairs, and picking out the guy in the filthiest gear to sit next to, and my pulse went up a notch and cock did a bound if his filthy pants were jeans.  In fashion at the time were tight pin-striped jeans, which, when filthy, looked so damned sexy!  I remember at this period going to a strip show at a local country fare.  But my attention was riveted on the butt of the guy in front of me who was wearing a pair of pin-striped jeans, rather than on the rather robust naked female dancing on the stage.  At this period too I had a summer job on a farm and got off getting filthy in my old pants (not jeans), but had a hell of a session one day slipping into a real filthy pair of jeans belonging to a young full-timer on the farm, that he had left lying in the barn.  Getting up to nineteen, I was, of course, seeking some explanation for all this within my own mind.  I was under the impression that I was the only one like it in the world, and I kind of bracketed it my “masculinity” thing.  Which is right enough even now, what I am interested in is guys being guys and the more masculine the better.  But at the time the “homosexual” category just was not available to me.
Sexual Identity
At nearly 20 in 1962, I entered religious life.  We had guys working on the farm, one of whose jeans I couldn’t keep my eyes off.  I got hard wearing filthy army style coveralls for work myself.  Masturbation carried on, the theory being that at night you were not capable of mortal sin, but I had a scrupulous conscience tortured with splitting hairs about whether I was awake or not.  It is only in about the last ten years that I came to accept that masturbation was no sin at all, probably, and in the last couple of years that it is just a damned good thing for integrating our masculinity.
Once or twice I tried talking to my priest advisors, novice master etc., about the way I felt about guys in filthy working gear and jeans, they obviously hadn’t a clue what I was talking about.  I suppose I was in my late twenties, and finally professed, when I learned about the possibility of gay orientation.  I first got hold of the idea of a sliding scale.  We were all both and some, possibly at some moments only, were more orientated to the same-sex than the other.  So I still thought I was hetero with a possible higher bias towards homosexual.  I still thought of myself in those terms even after, at about 40, having had an all out love affair.  A bit like Ennis and Jack in Brokeback, “I was no queer”.
I was ordained priest and  went to Paris 1973 to 1975 to do higher studies.  I took the opportunity to visit a few porn cinemas, hetero, where I identified with the guy, without kind of noticing that attraction to the female was really quite absent from my life and I was just ogling all the guys in jeans on the boulevards and around the university.

Coming out – mainly to myself
Back in England, groups of homosexuals, members of Quest, used to come to us for retreat, as well as Rabbi Lionel blue, with his attractive jeans clad gay rabbinic students.  I began to lean to the idea that I was more gay than hetero, and, eventually, made a definite decision that I was going to be gay.  My advisors tried hard to persuade me that I wasn’t gay at all.  But I had decided that I liked the idea of being gay and was damn well going to be gay.  Then my life really fell into place.  I came out to the Quest group.  This did not mean I came out, because it functioned like Alcoholics Anonymous.  It was in their meeting that I recall saying: “What’s wrong with homosexuality anyway?”  This I think was my moment of basic insight that in subsequent years I kind of fought shy of, trying to conform my thinking to the official teaching of the Church.  This final acceptance of myself as gay was in 1985 or 1986.  By this time I had been a religious for 24 years.  So, no, I don’t think my entry into the religious life was a mask to hide self-discovery.  It was the response to one huge attraction to that way of life.  The fact is I had no idea that I was homosexual.


Developing gay
I was in Rome for five years.  It was at this period that I cruised a little around the parks and had some homosexual experience.  I had a few experiences in gay pubs when I could.  I worked as a printer and got a tremendous kick out getting my jeans black with grease and printers’ ink, so that the thighs shone.  Plus, in the summer, in the early morning I used to go out in combat pants and roll around in muddy patches in the middle of the fields.  Loved it!
Now I go bikeriding in the woods, roll around in the mud, wade in the swamps and carefully preserve the filthy jeans, further adorned with cum spots.

The Advent of the Internet
A big turn-around came with the internet and the discovery that there were other guys out there like me.  I was looking around cowboy websites, searching under gay cowboys, perhaps, when I came across a picture stamped “guysintojeans.com”.  God, I thought that’s where I need to be.  One of the first things that I found when I joined up was of a guy in jeans wallowing in mud.  He turned out to be a cop in Ohio, and we were in quite close touch for a couple of years.  He never seems to be online now.  The first thing I wrote to him was how I knew what it all was, had done it all, but thought I was the only one in the world and just odd.  It is a comment I have heard many times over from members joining guysintojeans, that for years they thought they were the only one in the world.  Via guysintojeans I discovered grungeguys.com and have been member of both sites for about 6 years.

The chat room in guysintojeans never took off, but there is one where most of the guys go, creaminyourjeans.com.  There I had an extraordinarily coincidental meeting, about three years ago – a guy who was into filthy jeans just like me.  From England, but he turned out to be partnered with my best friend from seminary days.  Neither of us could kind of believe it!  Since then I have a veneration for the creaminyourjeans chat room as kind of blessed by God!  I went to see them on a couple of trips to Europe since.  My friend did what I had always wanted to have someone do, took a series of pics of my jeans.  It is such a bind taking self-pics with a time exposure!