The following stories claim to be the autobiography of Nicky, a boy model in the 1960s. The reader will have to decide whether they are fiction or autobiography. In some places, Nicky wrote about real people and real places, almost all of whom (by 2021) are either dead or in hiding. He narrates events and actions which were illegal then and are illegal now, and if you do not wish to read about sex between men and boys, you should stop now–especially if your place of residence has laws against reading such material. None of this material is intended to encourage anyone to break any laws anywhere. You have been warned.
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15. My Life As a Tiger
These three final chapters concern my life during my time as an undergraduate in Princeton, 1971-1975. I write about living and fucking in Princeton; my participation in certain scientific experiments in that area; and my life and service on a unique boat that was supported by those who supported in me Princeton. These three chapters are threaded together in some ways. Putting them into one chapter would be far to long to read comfortably.
Nigel (from Deerfield) and Ted coached my application to Princeton, and I am sure spoke to several “behind the scenes” to warrant my admission. I had the academic chops to study there; and then there were my extracurricular activities. Parker used his considerable influence, and I was admitted in course to the Class of 1975.
I arrived in Princeton both excited to be there, and apprehensive about how well I would perform academically. Given Nigel and Parker, I was sure that something sexual would find me soon enough. The other boys there seemed to come from really wealthy backgrounds: I felt a little poor in comparison, and developed significant imposter syndrome. I knew I would find my place somehow.
Nigel or Parker (or both) had already submitted my name to those who were conducting what remained of the infamous Ivy League Posture Project at Princeton. See The Great Ivy League Nude Posture Photo Scandal in The New York Times, 1994.
I doubt that either of Parker or Nigel (or Ted) had any clue about the strange ideological origins of this project. The hypothesis was that an individual”s phenotype (physical body type) and posture could predict a great deal about personal, academic, social, and financial success. Each boy”s body could be matched with a “somatype” that could predict later success or failure. This idea had a background in discredited eugenics associated with Francis Galton and Nazi ideologues. Basically it claimed that those who were successful (read: Ivy-league students and graduates) would establish the criteria for success and power, and they all shared a somatype correlated with racial and physical characteristics. At Princeton, the project had a shorter run than at Yale. By 1971 it had been politely forced off-campus, but continued to be funded by mysterious donors for other reasons, so the University allowed it to function in office space nearby.
The project sent invitations to other male members of my class, but they were not required to respond yes or no. The letters came from an off-campus address, and probably most just threw them away. I and boys like me, however, received special invitations with a follow-up call. Nigel had told me that they would call, and strongly recommend that I should do this. I followed his advice, because the always knew more than he let on.
In the Fall of 1971, the project carried on in the upper stories of an old house on Dickinson Street, just around the corner from where I lived (Lockhart). I had an appointment for a late Friday afternoon; it was a warm, humid September day. Since I knew some of what I was getting into, I wore loose shorts, no underwear, a t-shirt, sandals. The place was not air-conditioned, and already I was perspiring, but not drenched.
I climbed up to the third floor and was greeted by a pleasant, middle-aged nurse who introduced herself as Liva, and who spoke with a pleasant accent (Estonian, I found out). She was medium-tall, thin, and very down to earth and put me at ease right away. She pointed me to open lockers down the center hallway, and told me to strip completely and return to her intake desk. She seemed to know more about me than just my name. She simply expected that I would do as I was toldand I complied. I had been nude in front of so many women that I had no expectation of modesty. She (clothed, of course) glanced at my body, but focused on her work, confirmed some information, and ushered me into a room where two older men were working, with a photographic studio set up.
One of them, an assistant, told me to stand in front of a beige photographic backdrop, and he of them adjusted my position and posture. He attached a some metallic markers with a light adhesive to my back and shoulders, and I was told precisely how to stand on the footprints on the floor with my arms just so, and side bars were adjusted to my my height.
This all seemed familiar: men, cameras, nudity. Predictably I went totally hard and did not bother to try to hide it or even feel embarrassed. I was not embarrassed: I liked to show off. Both men noticed, and they adjusted my posture and the camera angle so that in several shots my penis would be visible or even prominent, but concealed in others. The man in charge said right out, “Well, you were well trained as a boy. We like boys like you, and Doc is going to want to see you right away.” The assistant removed the pins, and lightly brushed my penis and nipples to make sure I was totally hard.
He escorted me back to thee hallway and up the stairs, past the nurse who did not look up, as though she had seen college boys with total erections so many times that it bored her –no doubt, she had. In the late afternoon light a warm breeze had come up, the windows were open, and the air felt great on my skin. Doc was in his spacious office; the assistant introduced me to him, left immediately, and locked the door behind him.
The doctor was an older man, in his 70s, but very clear and vigorous. He said how glad he was to meet me, that already I exceeded his expectations. After he shook my hand, he looked me in the eye while he took my penis in his hand, and gently squeezed it. He seemed to be satisfied with my erection. He motioned me to sit on a high stool in the center of the office, in front of his desk, and told me to keep my legs apart, so that my cock and balls were center stage and totally exposed. He sorted through a couple of papers on his desk and found one with the information about me.
Doc “said, everything I”ve heard is certainly true.” I asked, what had he heard? He briefly mentioned Ted, Parker Rossman, Nigel, Frank Shelden, and that I had “worked for” Billy Byars, Jr., “who all say: you”re a reliable, well-trained, submissive, obedient boy and you really like all kinds of sex. I”m very impressed that you have complied with all our orders.” He motioned, “Go ahead a stroke yourself. I know that you need to and are used to doing it.” Touching my cock, as always, helped to relieve some of my nervousness. My sense of exhibitionism returned quickly. I was dripping a lot already.
Doc asked me more questions about my sexual history, which I revealed without concealing any of it. He seemed to know all about Camp Flying Cloud. He took notes as we talked. He said that I was assigned to meet the next week with a group of University men, alumni who could help me a lot in my life at Princeton and beyond. “This is a special invitation that we only give to the right boys, and you should plan escort ankara to accept it.” He gave me no choice, (with mildly implied threat) –obviously he knew how to handle me. He told me to return to him on Monday, and he would tell me more about what I would be doing with his project. He mentioned that all this information was confidential; I should nothing about it to anyone.
Then he said, “I want to test your ejaculation in person,” and told me to stroke for him, and he produced a wide-mouth shallow jar to catch my shot. I was happy to do exactly as he said, and he seemed to be very happy with the amount I produced. Then he dismissed me from his office, and gave me a card with a time for our Monday afternoon appointment, and the address and a time I would meet the group on Monday night. It was easy to stay quiet about this; I really did not know anyone that I would tell about it. Ted was then in Europe, so I could not call him. The thought of whatever this project was produced numerous erections that weekend, but I followed his instructions to the letter and did not cum at all, saving it up for Monday.
On Sunday, I found a note wedged into the door of my room, simply reminding me of the time, address, and that I would find instructions when I arrived there, and to wear inconspicuous clothing.
I returned to Doc”s office on Monday afternoon; Liva greeted me. “You are was required to be nude every time you have an appointment.” After I stripped, she showed me into a large bathroom, almost the size of a small bedroom. I noticed the large shower with two shower heads and no curtains, and a wheeled hospital pole with a familiar red enema bag on it. Two large windows were open towards Dickinson; thin curtains billowed on the morning breeze.
Live told me to sit on a large raised bench with a back, built against the wall, my back against it. At her order I raised my arms in back of my head, and she put cuffs on my wrists, fastened them, and locked them onto rings so that my arms were forced up, immobile; she spread my legs and cuffed my ankles. So I was totally exposed to her, vulnerable, and restrained. After the summer in Cohasset, I was used to this, but it seemed different and much more exciting..
Live was friendly but quiet and without explanation began to run hot water in the sink and washed my crotch, pubic hair, and arm pits. “You don”t have much hair, little boy,” she said — I had never had much hair, and had been shaved in Cohasset several weeks before, but she would not have known that. She lathered my pubes with shaving cream and produced a straight razor with which she deftly and efficiently shaved me close.
I was totally hard, of course. She adjusted my cock this way and that to get the closest shave. Having an old-fashioned straight razor that close to my erection was intimidating but she never nicked me. “It”s so much easier that you sit still, good boy,” she said. She stretched my testicles to get a close shave and then rinsed me off –my pink, hairless skin made my erection seem larger. I had hardly any treasure trail, and almost no chest hair, just a few hairs around my nipples: she shaved these quickly and then just as quickly lathered and shaved my pits.
Without any warning Liva pulled two levers and the bench moved to raised my legs folded at the knees, drawing my pelvis forward to expose my perineum and anus. “No hair–just like a girl,” she said, both patronizing and flattering me.
Live fished around a bag hung on a peg by the window and brought out a black plastic dildo that curved it a little, with a slight knob at the end. She lubed it with baby oil and inserted it up my anus, all without comment. “Ja, your hole is warm, so this is easy” she said. “We have bigger inserts for you when you”re ready.” I just about came when she inserted it, but managed to hold it back.
Liva unsnapped my wrists and ankles, removed the cuffs, and said, “you do your own enemas, right?” I nodded and she said, “take a look,” pointing to a full-length mirror on the back of the door. I looked like a little boy, hairless but with a big-boy erection, and felt the plug in me push my cock forward. I felt and looked like I was thirteen again. Then she led me to Doc”s office upstairs.
When I entered Doc”s office I was surprised to find the assistant (Eddie) with a video camera and videotape recorder. My interview with Doc was to be recorded. Since this was all associated with my real name, I became a little nervous, but when Doc began to speak he calmed me down. The assistant remained silent the entire time.
He told me that the Group I was invited to join was both social and scientific. Several big pharmaceutical labs in he area needed to test ideas unofficially, and used the boys in the Group, sometimes all of them, and sometimes several. Some of the tests could take two or three days and when necessary they would put us up in their labs. The Group was also social, a way for younger and older men to meet (and have sex, I assumed), and a way for the older men to mentor the younger at Princeton and beyond.
Doc asked me a lot of health and medical questions, tested my blood pressure and pulse, and told me that he wanted another cum sample. This time he instructed me to keep my arms upright and hands behind my head, like an inspection, and the assistant would make me cum. Eddie was an expert, and I had no reason to hold back any further. With just a few strokes, I shot into another jar, which was carefully labelled and whisked away to be tested.
Doc told me to go home, be sure to shower, clean my anus completely, and re-insert the plug. I was to report promptly to the address on the card. I was both apprehensive and intrigued.
The address led me to a low house on Battle road, beyond the Seminary and the Graduate College, near the Institute of Advanced Study, a neighborhood I had never been to before. The house was hidden behind a hedge and a gate, laid back from the street, . I walked out from my college since I did not realize how far it would turn out to be, but it was a cool, breezy, clear evening with low humidity, so I was not uncomfortable.
I arrived at the house precisely on time, followed just a moment later by a lean, moderately muscular boy, nice shoulders, light brown hair, bedroom eyes, taller than I, who arrived in a taxi. I remembered that his name was (is) Logan. We had already met briefly at a mixer for non-varsity swimmers. We paused just inside the gate to talk a little, before going in together to whatever this would be. He too wore a knit shirt and khaki shorts and had a card just like mine. He too, had just had his posture photographed. (I did ask if his cum sample had been taken.) He was clearly a preppie, Groton to be precise. He was a pole vaulter and ideally built for it. As instructed, we went to a side door, found it unlocked, and entered to find more instructions on another card.
The instructions told us to to strip completely, wash in the adjacent shower, dry thoroughly, and wait in the next room. The open triple shower had plenty of towels. The adjoining room was very sparsely furnished with a high bench in the middle. When we stripped, we discovered that we had both been shaved and plugged the same way.
There were no curtains on the windows, and we might have felt exposed, but no lights were on. It was becoming dark outside. We both stayed despite the situation that was becoming very strange. I stayed partly because Logan”s body was pretty hot, and I wanted to see what happened next. I didn”t tell him that, but when he hesitated, I said, “if you”re in, I”m in.” He promised the same. Just when we each said that, an older man appeared, in a knit Princeton shirt and shorts. Though probably sixty, he seemed to in decent shape. “Follow me.”
The man, who turned out to be a sort of host or maitre”d, ushered us into long den with only one light at the far end. Six men waiting for us, one of whom was Doc. They were seated and dressed, whiskey or wine glasses in hand, and motioned us each to sit on a stool in front, esenyurt escort facing them, totally exposed. I felt my cock twitch and willed it not to go hard, at least immediately. I felt their gaze on my penis. Logan must have felt the same, but his flaccid penis was bigger than mine was half-hard.
Doc spoke to us. He said: We had been chosen to be candidates for the Group, recommended by members or trustworthy friends. This Group consisted of Princeton students and alumni. As the new boys we would be expected to serve the older members any way they request, including sexually. We had already promised to be subjected to certain experiments. If we promised to obey the Group in all things, we would have access to finances and influence to help us both at Princeton and for the rest of our lives. If we did not wish to join, we were told to leave now, and to speak to no one about the Group. (The Group has a name which I am prohibited from revealing, so I will just call it “the Group.”)
After a pause showed that neither Logan nor I had the slightest inclination to leave, the leader continued. He said: This is how Princeton and other universities like it really worked: circles of men within circles of men, many unseen, who make arrangements for each other . All these members with reached into government, intelligence, corporations, courts, the arts, and academia, all entrenched powers. A significant number of members were (or are) in the diplomatic corps of several allied countries. These members feared exposure but also needed an entirely dependable network of well-placed colleagues who maintained equal silence about the existence of the roup.
We should be honored, he said, to have been chosen. We should always remember the requirements. Those were: sexual services, emotional support, and discretion. No money was necessary: everything was taken care of in the roup. All the “boys” would be available for scientific experimentation. It would leave no after-effects, but its results would never be published, because the experiments could not be authorized officially. Nevertheless, the results would guide future developments in health care. In addition, we would be expected to serve the alumni for two summers on a large yacht. For all this service, we would be very well compensated. Arrangements would be made for us to join the eating club of our choice at Princeton, and to join the Princeton Club of New York or another city. We would be required to remain healthy, serve obediently, maintain discretion, and be available when summoned.
For both Logan and me, acceptance was a foregone conclusion. By now I was rock hard, and enjoyed the realization that my erection was obvious to all. I glanced over at Logan. Like me, he gladly displayed his large, curving erection. I was dripping a lot already, he much less.
Doc told Logan and me to face each other, embrace, and kiss. We responded passionately, deep kisses with full tongues, entangled cock. Then each of the men shook our hands and gave us equal kisses. They pleasantly fondled our cocks and balls –and laughed about how wet I was. We were now their property in common. Then they asked us to leave their meeting.
The host reappeared instantly and guided us back to the room where our clothes were. Logan was so hot, I just could not let the moment pass, and pulled him over to the bench, sat in front of him, and took his whole cock into my mouth. He gasped: I don”t think he anticipated that I could suck cock so well. Very soon I swallowed his cum, and he held me cradled in his arms as he stroked me to a vigorous orgasm.
Logan is tone of my closest friends to this day. I still love to suck his cock, too, now decades later.
That evening all there was to initiation into the Group. The Group met at that house (which belonged to a member) once a month. I was occasionally summoned to meet with an alumnus member, usually a man older than fifty. Those guys liked to talk, and to fondle my cock, with a lot of kissing, rarely anything more. Ted, Parker, Nigel, and so many others had prepared me very well.
There were about twenty-five boys in the Group, all undergraduates. Several were prominent athletes or otherwise regarded highly for their abilities. Given Princeton”s make-up at the time, every boy but one was Caucasian. Each of us was reasonably handsome although we did not all look a like, and there were a few stand-out beauties. Some boys were sexually dominant, most were versatile, and a few like me were completely submissive. As time went on, I met several dear friends there. Logan fucked me quite a number of times while members watched. Once again, I became one of the go-to fuck boys.
The next year, Logan and I “bickered” (like “rush” elsewhere) Cloister, and were easily admitted. Most of the boys were Cloister, which allowed us to socialize inconspicuously, without letting on to others. Cloister Inn has long had a semi-submerged gay contingent. About four of five boys came into the Group every year, so that the entire alumni Group numbered several hundred, ages twenty-two to one hundred.
Digression to the present: This gets ahead of the story, but the outcome was important.
The Group still meets every year at reunion in the Spring and in the Fall at the club in New York City. (Before and I hope after the pandemic, of course.) Several times I have taken care of delicate business for a member who was in declining health. The AIDS years presented a challenge, both for the incoming boys, and for the alumni members. A number of them died, then of HIV, more recently of COVID-19. Many will show up for a member”s funeral or memorial service when possible. I have attended too many of those, alas.
The Group helped to secure my academic career, but I never simply cashed in on my connections. My achievements are real and publications have been well-received in my field. In true old Princetonian style, membership was never a substitute for real substance and achievement, but was a way of making sure that real achievement and substance was recognized. The circle helped me to secure a prestigious post-graduate year fellowship overseas, during which I was the research assistant and nude live-in American boy for an art historian doing a major project in Vienna. This helped me to fill out my abilities at German, French, and Italian, and to recognize the many charms of Czech and Slovakian boys (years before the dissolution of the East bloc, and well before Georges Duroy of Bel Ami). I met my generation of Austrian nobility, a surprising number of whom are gay.
While members have always had sex with each other, affection and support is really the heart of the Group. Many of these men are in fairly lonely positions of leadership, performance, or service, with few or or genuine emotional supports to turn to without the danger of exposing themselves to the vicissitudes of blackmail, ex-lovers in the media (essentially the same thing), dismissal or demotion from public positions, even in some cases legal peril. Discretion is must. For example, Malcolm Forbes was once a member, but was given the boot for his ostentatious conduct decades ago. Unlike those times when Logan and I (and three other boys) were inducted, now quite a number of members are “out.” The value of discretion, contacts everywhere, and comrades remains very high. I know that there are similar groups among other similar universities” alumni.
Back to then: So what were my duties when I was an undergraduate? Basically just serving as a pleasant companion, occasionally as “eye candy,” discretely attending some event as an escort (not just escorting as sex, but including that when desired). Sometimes a member asked for actual sex of some kind, with emotional support. Older members sometimes just wanted a boy to embrace, hold, fondle, and sleep with. I (alone or with other boys) was invited on board yachts; I saw palaces, clubs, residences, and retreats that few are allowed to see (in Venice, for example). I learned how to accomplish eskişehir escort a great deal just with the right conversation at the right time and the right place. During my student years, the Group determined a great deal of what I did outside of academic pursuits (which were, after all, my most important goals).
More often than sex with an alumnus, I had sex with another young member in his presence. Direct sexual services were not really the most important things (although were a criteria for membership to begin with). The sex was very enjoyable for everyone, one of the highlights of my college years.
Back to my freshman year:
After that Monday night, I wondered what I was getting myself into, but not for long. The next day an upper class swimmer recognized me in the Dillon shower room after swimming. (I continued to swim and run regularly, just not on the teams.) He told me that he was in the Group. He didn”t have to name it, but he sure had hot body. I noticed that his body was completely hairless, as my own, but said nothing. I started to go hard, and he noticed it, smiled, and looked around. He reached over to felt my cock. We both knew there was a time and a place, and that wasn”t it.
The student Group, he told me, met us on Wednesday at Cloister Inn, where I was not yet a member. (“Just walk in the door like you ought to be there, and go upstairs and keep going upstairs until you see the sign to the attic; go in the attic door and the room will be on the left.”) Wednesday night came and I thought about what to wear –just something nice and inconspicuous in one of the most famous eating clubs, and then I thought, “it probably won”t matter much anyway.”
I walked over to the club exactly on time, and met Logan at the door (to my relief) and two other boys that he knew were new to me, as well as to the the club. They were named Brad and Elliott.
We four went in and up the stairs together, and found the place exactly described. When we arrived on the attic level and entered the door on the left, we seemed to be in a paneled closet or cloak room. The door shut behind us, one of the panels opened, and our host, the swimmer who had recognized me in the Dillon shower, greeted us nude. We entered another small room with him, and he shut and locked the door in back of us. His name was Bunny. He said, “Strip your clothes, leave them on the hooks, and I”ll introduce you.” This was news to two of the boys, apparently, but I figured as much, and was so used to living nude in my previously life that behind nude always felt like a relief.
Bunny brought us into a dim room lit with candles, low eaves and ceiling, and a variety of old chairs and sofas. We four stood before the Group while he introduced us to the fourteen upper-class boys, all nude, seated around us. I felt like I was back in the Lyric or RMX houses. I went rock hard of course, to the appreciation of the Group (“gotta love the rock”). They invited us to sit down and answer some of their questions. I discovered that the other three new boys were also each sexually experienced boys our age and younger, teachers, coaches, and even family. I was the only one who said with hesitation or embarrassment that I was a totally bottom and liked a no-nonsense top. They were fascinated with my brief career in porn, and several later located photographs of me which circulated to the delight of all. (I didn”t go through the whole story, of course!)
When I revealed that I was a total bottom, and a dedicated cocksucker, two of the boys clapped, a small, almost elfin blond boy in a corner, and a tall, thin, very long-legged ginger whom I knew ran cross country. “So glad another will share our burden,” he said to laughter. This sexual talk caused not a few erections around the room. The ginger (Charlie) asked me straight out, “How lohg have you sucked cock? “Since I was seven, and I”m good at it,” I said. (Ooh-ooh around the room.) ( “I admit it: I”m a cock whore,” I said, and several said, yeah, welcome to the whores” club.
Then Bunny went over what our rules and roles would be that year. As freshmen, we would each have sex with any other club member when asked, and would do what we were asked. Our housing would be re-arranged in January so that we would be living with or close to other members. “The Dean orders it, and it will be done,” he said. We should each plan on working on “the boat” next summer (in September, who was thinking about next summer?), and the Group would plan our semester breaks except Thanksgiving and Christmas. We should expect that upper-class members of the Group will be watching over us “in any case of any problems” (he didn”t spell out what those could be). We would keep ourselves clean shaven everywhere, and about once a month Liva would shave each of us thoroughly. “Then there”s the big thing: collection.” (A few “oh yeahs.”)
“Collection” was a euphemism for providing clean semen for the nearby pharmaceutical laboratories. For some reason they needed human semen and it had to be clean; we were the chosen producers. Each us was numbered, he explained, and semen would be taken once a week in “the chair” in Doc”s office (where Liva had shaved me two days before). We would only have to sit back and be stroked by a lab assistant named Mort, who was apparently very good at stroking us (and would learn what each one really liked). It would be collected in a wide-mouth jar, carefully labeled, and whisked off to the labs immediately. Sometimes we would be invited to the labs as “producers” so the scientists and technicians could meet “the donors.” It seemed really strange, but they told us not to worry: it became routine, even enjoyable, and none of us really had a choice anyway. (More about this in the next chapter.)
So I joined the Group as one of the resident bottom boys, used by everyone. The only one who did not fuck me was Bruce, the small, elfin-like boy who was so happy I joined the Group, and who was one year ahead of me, so we shared three years. Most of the sex I had was with the other boys, usually one our own but occasionally as a kind of performance sex for older members off-campus.
In the early 1970s, the shaving requirement was the toughest. The fashion was long, flowing hair, the “natural look,” as well as muscular, all-American guy (David Keith Miller was the ideal). Shaved pubes, pits, and shorter, manageable hair cuts were quite out of fashion, and of course especially noticeable when I swam during the open swim hours for males, always nude. (We were given a choice to swim nude or with suits.) For showers I chose the back section of the Dillon showers, more obscure, less used, around the corner from the others, and favored by gays. For this reason it was easier to live with other boys from the Group, which I did from midway through my freshman year. We understood each others duties, and in a suite with a common bathroom it was easier to shave because the others had to shave as well. They always accepted my red enema bag, and we had a water pick attached to the shower so we could all stay clean.
For weekly life, then, usually I would plan to get fucked on Thursdays and Saturdays and would eat rather little then. My regular cum collection day was Tuesday. Older men would want to see me usually on Wednesdays or Fridays, mostly for companionship and light sex (sucking, but often not to orgasm). I swam several times a week, and concentrated on my studies the rest of the time.
Several Princeton faculty were members of the alumni Group, and often had one or another boy over to their house for light sex or general company. One of my major professors was a member, but we were always careful to keep our “work” world separate from our “play” world. After I graduated I learned that one of the Deans was a member, but would meet members of the Group only in New York, never in Princeton.
The older men would meet several of us monthly at the house on Battle Road. I was always there, and helped to greet the new boys in my later years. (We had a bottom join each of those years, so we were well supplied.)
The undergraduate boys on campus met in Cloister Inn about once a month for a general catch-up and light sex late at night. For sex, we used each other”s rooms, or rooms of sympathetic faculty members. I was part of a secret world within a secret world within the island of Princeton. I remember these as happy times.