BijouBlog

Hi Folks - Will here again for another installment of my life with all of its ups and downs. As for the title of this episode, I had a bit of a secret when I first started in the porn biz. Funny thing - to me - this little secret was glaringly "in your face!" And, no one brought attention to it - except me.

Here's how it goes. You see, I was born with not one but two inguinal hernias. One exhibited itself early in my child hood. It has the appearance of oversized balls - testicles if you will. I went through some pretty excruciating treatments from the age of five to seven. These were constant catheterizations to remove fluid build ups. That might have "single-handedly" contributed my dislike of unusual instruments/appendages in the context of sex. Like I mentioned in my last blog, my dislike of wilder sex practices is strictly my own - I do not throw shade on whatever might turn someone else on.

OK. At the age of seven and my pediatrician tells my parents there are no more stop gap procedures - I need a hernia repair. I was pleased to receive excellent care at the hospital where half of my siblings were born in Glen Ridge, N.J. Things were different back in 1958! I remained in the hospital for a week or so... not rushed out the next day! Not only was the length of stay different in that era but so was the surgical technique. The incision used in the repair was pretty radical. I still refer to it as my "Frankenstein Scar." I am glad that I had it at that young age. It was barely visible by the the time I was ready for "Mr. DeMille" and all of the other cameramen!

The second of these inguinal situations started to act up at the end of my teens. What I did to counteract the protrusion was to simply push myself back together. In this situation, the inguinal canal is partially open, allowing the intestine to come down and make things look "bigger." Sure, the boys all liked my super balls - but, I sure as hell didn't!

What was most amazing (to me) and that I mentioned earlier, is that no one ever mentioned or brought attention to my situation. On several sets, I would take fairly frequent pee breaks so I could go and "adjust things" before a big sex scene. I was lucky in the fact that "my boys" would stay in place seemingly just long enough for the sex scene. This was true with a rather popular movie I shot with the Legendary Bruno on Fire Island in the summer of 1976. He never let on that there was anything wrong. That was a good thing... I certainly didn't want to fuck up that opportunity! However, there were a few print layouts where "my boys" did not cooperate! Still - no bad press or complaints. I wondered if this might have been appealing to a wilder side of my audience! Anyway, I had Lemons and I was happily making Lemonade! LOL

By 1977, the situation needed some attention. By this time I was living in San Francisco and totally entrenched in the porn biz. The "adjustments" that I was able to make in the past no longer worked. Luckily, I found a delightful gay doctor (and someone that was familiar with my "work") who stepped in and ordered a second hernia repair. This was performed in the fall of 1977 at Ralph K. Davies Hospital on upper Castro Street just up the hill from from the "Crossroads of the Gay World." On my first visit I showed my doctor my "Frankenstein Scar" from the first repair. He let me know that much progress had been made over the years and that he would leave only what he called a "bathing suit scar." When all was said, done (and healed) there was just a small incision below the Speedo line! BTW, I had the most infamous post-op "party" in my hospital room. My partner Tom and all of my friends and fuck-buddies showed up including the owner of Dreamland, Michael, who I have mentioned in prior blogs. For the occasion, I had Tom snap plenty of pics of the festivities which I put in a scrapbook called "Two's Better than Three!" This title was a play on words. Prior to my operation it looked like I had three "boys" rather than two! Of course, me being on the vanilla side of things, I only wanted the normal two!

So, it was two months or so before I was back to working out and playing to the lens again. It was a helluva lot easier not being distracted with the worry of "showing or not showing!" I went on for nearly another decade without that worry. Truth be told, I think the quality of my "performances" improved... I sure seemed to please Richard Locke!

Bio of Will Seagers:

Will Seagers (also credited as Matt Harper), within his multifaceted careers and participation in numerous gay communities across the country in the '70s and '80s and beyond, worked as a print model, film performer, and DJ, just to name a few. He made iconic appearances in releases from Falcon, Hand in Hand, Joe Gage, Target (Bullet), J. Brian, Steve Scott, and more, including in lead roles in major classics like Gage's L.A. Tool & Die (1979) and Scott's Wanted (1980). He brought strong screen presence and exceptional acting to his roles and was scene partners with many fellow legends of classic porn.

George Ferren, a close friend of Will's frequently mentioned in his blogs, was a major figure in the San Francisco music scene in the '70s/'80s. His current music is available for your pleasure on Soundcloud: BY GEORGE

 

I was born into a world where baby boys were routinely circumcised, whether they were Jewish or not. Hygienic purposes. (These were also the days when nurses wore caps, which were later deemed to be unhygienic. Go figure.)

These were also the days when women at least in middle class white America were knocked out in order to give birth. Babies were kept in rooms behind windows, often in incubators even if they weren’t under five pounds, held up for viewing like specimens by nurses in crisp white caps. (I am remembering the episode of the birth of Little Ricky on I Love Lucy, which corresponded to Lucille Ball scheduling a caesarian section for the birth of her son, Desi Arnaz, Jr.)

It's like anything that resembled the nitty gritty raw materials of sex and blood and birth and death was hidden, sterilized as much as possible. Dirt was disorder. Sex was dirty unless it produced babies, but giving birth to those babies was a disordered process that required forceps and scalpels and anesthesia to control it, get it out of the realm of actual living.

And of course any type of sex other than what took place behind closed doors in a missionary position for procreative purposes was generally deemed dirty and disordered. Thus LGBTQ persons themselves were deemed by the general population as irredeemably dirty, unless they could cleanse themselves and rejoin the pristine world of Father Knows Best, itself but an idealized fantasy.

Mary Douglas in her seminal book Purity and Danger explored this primal desire to contain dirt and disorder, like the way we still keep our basic bodily functions of urination and defecation in a toilet which is supposed to be sparkling clean and in a room that is also supposed to be sparkling clean. The toilet itself is an image that contains in itself this fraught tension which informs our attitudes toward sexuality and even to parts of the body that one uses to express that sexuality.

Thus, that foreskin had to be brutally cut off, to cleanse, make pure, the member of an appendage would make its appearance and its role sexual act even more exciting, promising deep, dark, rich scents and that pungent but also enticing smegma.

It revealed the mystery in order to contain it. When I experienced sexually a man who was uncut for the first time (in the bathroom, and in the shower, ironically), which could imply he was somehow more complete, even “holy” which word can also mean complete, I experienced mystery. And in that mystery, glory, and by glory, I am thinking of not a vague disembodied entity or feeling in the clouds, but physical reality itself charged with an energy that creates and propels the orgasm but also encompasses it.

His phallus contained on it a boundary, and it’s through crossing boundaries one grows, changes, lives, dies. I could experience at that time a fullness and as I said above, a mystery that transcended the rigid binaries which result from treating sexual, in fact, all human experience as something we have to dissect with scalpels and pull apart with forceps.

I’m not advocating for an end to circumcision, as it is a boundary-crossing, consensual ritual of initiation for males in many cultures, but, significantly, also a source of horrific pain and suffering for so many, especially women and girls who are circumcised in order to completely suppress their sexual desire, eliminate it like it is indeed something dirty and thus disordered. They in essence are forced into becoming objects only defined by what the culture deems as purity, but at the same time depriving them of living as full, complete persons.

Yes, there’s dangerous realities we do need to contain, as a virus plagues the world and we must first try and control it, then eradicate it, by amplifying up to the nth degree our bathroom rituals of cleansing and purifying. But our complicated, messy, exciting and ultimately glorious sexuality can and should become for humans both dangerous and pure, exploding the tension in that binary if only for a moment. A holy moment.