I was about seven when I saw my first erotic picture. It was a reproduction of a painting of the blind Samson pushing the grinding wheel of a grist mill. The painting depicted the near-naked Samson from behind showing off his powerful legs and magnificent naked buttocks. Being a child I didn’t have a clear understanding of sex, but I knew I found this picture very exciting. The irony is that it was one of the illustrations in the bible given to me by the Ruggles Street Baptist Church in Boston. I can't say this photo had anything to do with my becoming gay as I recall I already had a major crush on my Sunday School teacher, Mr. Crook. The minister at the time, whose name I won’t mention, was a handsome man with a highly popular radio show. To all he was a model of Christian virtue, an upstanding example of god-fearing morality. Later when I was 22 (ten years after embracing atheism) I moved into a 25th floor apartment of a high-rise on Huntington Avenue. I personally was not shocked to see that this admired minister had an apartment on the same floor where he lived in erotic hypocrisy with this male lover, and where they both seemed to entertain quite a surprising number of nighttime male guests.
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