When I was about 13, I went on a summer camp with the school to a farm at Sambrook, god knows where in Shropshire, and on the first night under canvas, the older boy in our tent, a lad called "Flog" Ferrington, a horny 15-16 year-old, displayed his erection and invited me or my classmate Dougie to grab it. Dougie didn't. I did. A big rubbery thing it was, and "Flog "showed me how to work it". Which I did.
Listen, I was just as curious about Boyle's Law and the Treaty of Utrecht and the manipulation of the "ut + subjunctive" construction in Latin. What's an adolescent cock, moreoreless?
So I did, and he did, and that was - and has been since - my total gay experience.
What was the effect on me? Well, first off, I wanted to replicate Flog Ferrington's amazing ability to make like Vesuvius. That took me at least another year.
What can I tell you? One swallow doesn't make a summer. Maybe not the best metaphor!
One day, my grandson, Harry, god bless him, came into the sitting room and announced that "Sophie and Kiki" - his 7-8 year old sisters - were "sniffing each other's nanas". Big deal.
Gay? I am with Woody Allen on this: I can only just stand rejection from a woman, but I am not prepared to be rejected by a member of my own sex.
Seriously, folks, aren't we making too much of this shit?