Cam Christou: Barebacking, Pandora’s Box and La Vie En Rose
From The Sword: “Since filming his first scene with Deviant Otter earlier this year, Cam Christou has become the hot new kid in town, quickly moving on to Tim Tales, NakedSword, and Lucas Entertainment. Raging Stallion, a studio he thought he’d have to slowly work his way up to over the course of years, perhaps, called within three months. A gifted bottom, Christou’s taken the enormous cocks of Boomer Banks and Adam Ramzi, among others, and was gang-banged on stage at New York’s Black Party as part of Naked Sword’s The Pack. I called the up-and-cummer as he sped through the streets of South Beach on the way to brunch with friends. We talked about his tumultuous upbringing, his time in Afghanistan, and his take on barebacking for Michael Lucas.
Adam: So, did you grow up in Miami?
No. I was born in Greece and grew up in Bosnia, then we moved to America in 1998. I’ve been all over in the States. My mom moved down here about six years ago. So I’m down here once a month and I usually stay with her.
That’s a pretty unusual upbringing. What was that like for you growing up over there, and how did you end up coming here?
It was pretty crazy. My two families are huge. I was raised Greek Orthodox and Muslim, so my childhood, from what I remember was pretty nuts. Then when the conflict started in former Yugoslavia, we left in 1993 and moved to Germany where we lived for a couple of years and then we moved here. The majority of my childhood was spent on the road, moving from place to place.
How did your being gay play into all the chaos and big life-or-death concerns that your family was dealing with?
I think I was too young to realize what was going on. I was five when we left Bosnia. As far as my sexuality, I remember being four years old and like being infatuated with my male cousin. I think I even knew at that point. I was much more drawn to him. And I was more drawn to my mom than my dad, but when it came to looking at other boys, I used to pee next to my neighbor out in the woods when we lived in Germany. I was eight or nine and my neighbor and I started taking our pants off in front of each other in the closet and touching each other. I definitely knew from way early that I was in touch with my sexuality and that I liked boys.
Was there shame that came with it or were you pretty okay with that?
I don’t think it was a result of anything. My father was very strict. There were instances where he would take me to the museum, and I would point out the naked statues, female and male, and I would get punished for it. But I think that there was an aspect of my sexuality that was repressed by my dad, which caused me to rebel in my younger years. I lost my virginity when I was 15 and I finished high school, my parents divorced, and started college all in the same year. It was definitely like a big in-your-face moment for me. At that point I came out to my mom. I knew I was gay and I went off merrily to college. Growing up, just the fact that sex was not talked about, it brought out my sexual side more and more.
The first time was with a guy, then? No playing with girls or testing it out?
No. It was this guy I went to high school with. We didn’t like each other or anything. His parents were good friends with my parents. He was a tennis player and I ran track. We were in my room and I don’t know. Somehow the conversation turned to making out. And he was like, “Have you ever made out with anyone?” And I said “No.” And he said he wanted to teach me. So we started making out and pretty soon he was inside me. He was a pretty big guy too, so losing your virginity to someone like that was pretty crazy. It just unlocked Pandora’s box.”
In Search of Lost Boys
In the Telegraph, Jonathan Beckman writes: “One usually has a choice of Sherpas when attempting to scale the great peaks of foreign literature in English, but for the reader wishing to tackle Proust your guide must be C K Scott Moncrieff. His friend Joseph Conrad called his skill as a translator “a supreme faculty akin to genius”, and there are some who believe his headily perfumed translation of À la recherche du temps perdu conjures Belle Époque France more vividly even than the original. Translators, we instinctively assume, have a self-effacing nature, but Charles Scott Moncrieff lived – as the subtitle of this biography confirms – a richly coloured life.
He was born into a well-to-do Scottish family in 1889 and educated at Winchester, where he decided to become a poet. His early efforts were the conventional products of a public school education, earnestly shifting between quivering homoeroticism and godly self-mortification. Less conventionally Scott Moncrieff received, while still a schoolboy, an entree into the gay literary coterie that centred on Robbie Ross, Wilde’s lover and keeper of the flame after his martyrdom. His invitation into the circle reassured him of his own homosexuality and led to a lifelong friendship with Wilde’s son, Vyvyan Holland.
He read law and English at Edinburgh, published poems in the right magazines, and cultivated a brittle wit to deflect enquiries into his hidden emotional life that probably only confirmed its general contours. The First World War came as a thrilling opportunity. He had enjoyed serving in the cadets at school and university, and the Army provided a congenial homosocial milieu. He conducted himself with reckless gallantry. One soldier who served under him wrote that his “behaviour in the face of death helped us to keep our reason”.
The war provided a boost to Scott Moncrieff’s literary career. His jaunty poetry – “We’re feasting on chocolate, game pie, currant bun,/To a faint German-band obbligato of gun” – set itself against the cynicism of more lauded contemporaries. And it brought with it spiritual awakening. At Rouen Cathedral in July 1915, he realised he was “at home”: he stalwartly maintained his Roman Catholic faith for the rest of his days and seamlessly reconciled it with an energetic sex life.”