Two Seven Five: Threads 9

My friend down in the Land of the Long White Cloud has always noted off-handedly that for girls at her posh high school, adventures and encounters with Maori or Islander boys had a certain transgressive value. She's always had a taste for Maori boys and developed crushes on Maori models--- e.g., Grace Hobson, Daniela Hayes, Michaela Steenkamp...or her stories about the dog walker for her Golden Lab or the forklift operator. Golden-dark skin and light eyes leave her wet and breathless.  I asked her about that once:


--Amongst your high school friends, was fucking Maori boys/men thought to be just ordinary sex, or was it forbidden?

Definitely not forbidden, but slightly more than just ordinary sex. You were much more likely to get a knowing smile from HVHS girls than a look of disapproval.

She told me once, too, about an older Maori boy and her first experience with sodomitical practices:

I was 15, both of us drunk as fuck, we'd been at a party together, then went back to his house. he lived in a sleep-out at the back of the garden. we'd fucked a few times before this night, but never in the ass....he was big, and he just went for it, tiny bit of spit for lube...i screamed...he almost stopped, and i screamed at him to keep fucking going!...i was crying and screaming and moaning and loving it...he spit in his hand, then rubbed his dick with it... Tama-te-rangi, I still remember his full name...he was gorgeous!

That's a hot image, and a very powerful one. I like it that fifteen years later, she still remembered his name. I'd like to know the back story here--- how she met him, how old she was when they met, how they first had sex, exactly how old he was (I've always thought he was in his mid-twenties), how often they had sex, how he talked her into her first adventure in sodomy, how long the affair lasted. All the details. And of course I wondered about what her other early experiences with sodomitical practices and anal adventures were like. She was very fond of that particular sort of sex in her mid and late twenties, and I'd love to hear her full memoirs of such things. Details matter. Details always matter.

And what would she say to Tama-te-rangi if she ran into him now? Would the attraction still be there? Would they reminisce? Fall into bed for a No Strings afternoon? Would she care if he was married (she's always had a thing for married men)? I'd like to know all those things in detail.

I do like putting these memories and stories down here. I want them archived, want them to be something I can read later, something made into history as much as just stories. I do worry, though, that one day I'll run out of stories from my New Zealand friend. I have a few still collected from girls here in the States, small bits of ethnography or micro-history that I can preserve.

I suppose I should note that it's difficult for me to tell any stories of my own. There's something socially unacceptable about anyone male recounting his own adventures. It sounds like bragging, or, worse, just sounds creepy and disturbing.  And, alas, I think of my own stories of adventures and encounters and inevitably compare them to the stories girls have told me over the years. I'll never think that any stories I'd have to tell could compare to the stories my NZ friend has to tell. My own stories, I fear, could never excite a girl the way her stories would excite me.

I'll archive as many stories as I can find in my emails, letters, chat logs, notebooks. I want these things kept down the years. I only wish I had more of my own to offer.