"I later came to think of my mother as a self-sufficient survival machine. In her operating manual, it said in capital letters: To avoid serious injury, never get close."

So writes Tab Hunter in his new memoir, "Tab Hunter Confidential." The actor, who was a sexy rage in the '50s, tended to live a good deal of his life influenced by his mother's unspoken credo. He worked, worked, worked, but relationships were secondary. (He supported his mother always, until her passing four years ago. He was dutiful through her mental breakdown, emotional distance and finally a closeness very late in her life.)

Hunter's book has been pre-sold on his "coming out" and his two-year affair with the late Tony Perkins, during their joint early stardom. But it is no lurid kiss-and-tell, though he drops the names of a couple of other famous flings — Rudolf Nureyev, for one. (Well, who wouldn't have flown with the magnificent Rudy? And there's a sexy photo included of the two of them in small swimsuits, on the Riviera.)

Written with the help of Eddie Muller, this book neither shocks nor titillates. It is a fairly discreet, straightforward account of the rise and fall, plateau, then the rise again of a beautiful product of Hollywood's dying days in the studio contract system. Anybody interested in knowing what contract actors were required to do back when showbiz fantasy was still sputtering, will find much of this a fascinating chronicle. Nice nostalgia bits on working with legends such as Linda Darnell, Lana Turner, Rita Hayworth and Gary Cooper.

Hunter gives himself no airs, but is justifiably proud of the few excellent performances he was allowed — "Battle Cry," "Damn Yankees," some early live TV dramas — and his surprise singing career in the midst of his teen-idol days. The actor's recording of "Young Love" was such a hit that his studio, Warner Bros., was inspired to launch a record division! So Madonna, Prince and other legends more or less owe their careers to Tab Hunter.

Tab (real name Arthur Gelien) suffered a lot in his time — staying closeted, but still tormented by rags such as Confidential, a brother lost in Vietnam, a career stymied by Hollywood tunnel vision and typecasting, an obsession to work wherever work could be found. He was seldom idle, even after he and the movies had washed their hands of one another. (Endless stage work, including an infamous Broadway flop with Tallulah Bankhead.) Hunter is candid, without being graphic, sentimental or bitter. He led a rich, full life even after his starring vogue had passed — he can joke that he and Troy Donahue "essentially were the same person in the minds of many." Interestingly, he more or less accepted the false role he was required to play — straight screen sex-throb. There was no other choice. Not that there's much more choice today. No major male movie star dares to "come out." Tab became a champion horseman, lived la dolce vita in Europe, and survived to be rediscovered by John Waters (and a new generation) for "Polyester."

Hunter doesn't plead for any sympathy, but as his story goes on, as relationships falter, as time takes its inexorable toll on even the most dazzling, you wish for a happy ending. And so when one gets to the acknowledgements, at the very end, and he thanks "Allan Glaser, my partner for life . . . " it's the lump in the throat fade-out that movies used to bring. All the more gratifying that it is a real-life moment. One that Tab Hunter wanted, needed and eventually found.