1. Emotional-commitment sex with a boyfriend.
2. Recreational sex by "sharing" the boyfriend with other close friends.
The AIDS crisis first became noticeable in gay communities in the summer of 1981. I moved to West Hollywood in the summer of 1985, just four years later, but sharing had developed remarkably fast, with a complex series of procedures and protocols.
Sometime after the second date, but not too long after (typically after about two weeks), you chose a friend to share (have a three-way), and report back to the group on his size, stamina, and favored sexual positions. If they approved of the match, then he would become "one of the family," open to sharing with the others. If not, you might find yourself off the guest list for parties.
Of course, if he had a different circle of friends, he chose one of his to "share" with you.
To fail to make the invitation within a reasonable period of time was an unforgivable snub.
It was equally unforgivable to refuse.
The guy you chose to share could not be in a relationship, and he could not be someone new, someone you hadn't been with before.
However, he had to be someone your new boyfriend had not been with before.
In a small community where social circles overlapped, these rules made the choice could be very complicated.
My social circle consists of A, B, C, D, and E.
When my new boyfriend was dating A, he shared B. Both out.
I've never been with C before. Out.
D is currently in a relationship. Out.
That leaves E.
No wonder it was unforgivable to refuse.
Which leads to the point of the story:
Huh? Why me? I didn't even think of Heinz as a friend. He was there by default when I hung out with Raul, and he came to a couple of my parties. I didn't know who was in his social circle, so how was I supposed to report back to them?
Heinz explained. "Arnie and I have known each other for years. We shared friends and lovers lots of times -- but since his lover died last month, we only now started seeing each other as boyfriends."
"There must be someone else. What about Raul?"
"Raul dated him. Just once -- I don't know why they didn't go any farther."
Ok, so I the only guy who had been with Heinz but not with Arnie? "Scraping the bottom of the barrel?" I asked.
"Not at all. I remembered when you and I made love -- it was fantastic."
Not too fantastic. Heinz wasn't at all my type physically: tall, thin, elderly, pale, with a thick white moustache and a small cock. Besides, he was a neat freak who didn't let you eat in the living room and got mad when you walked across the carpet in stocking feet. And his annoying song "Come away wiz me tu Molly-bu, tu Molly-bu, to Molly-bu..." kept going through my head. I went down on him to its beat!
But...refusing was inconceivable. "I would be honored to do it," I said with a sigh. "I'll just need a list of your friends to call. And I get to pick the music."
We agreed to meet for dinner at the Greenery on Tuesday night. But first I called Raul to pump him for information.
"He's a nice guy, a little dazed. Too many drugs in his wild hippie past, I guess."
"He's black, in his 40s, a bit of a belly, and hung...but..." He paused.
"I should let you find that out yourself."
Curioser and curioser!
Arnie and Heinz turned out to have a sort of Mutt and Jeff thing going on: tall/short, thin/chubby, pale/dark, talkative/reticent. I couldn't get his coming out story, or any tales of celebrity hookups, or even where he was from: "Oh, I've been around."
He did talk about some of his ailments: no HIV, but Crohn's disease (whatever that was), some sort of back problem, diabetes, and something that lowered his blood pressure so much that he fainted sometimes.
When he wasn't talking about his diseases, Arnie was being a slob to contrast to Heinz's neat freak. He picked up his chicken with his hands, spilled polenta all over his t-shirt, had broccoli in his teeth for the rest of the evening, and reached over to take a forkful of my pie without asking.
If this had been a date with me, I would have walked out. But it was my duty to share. Besides, maybe Arnie was hung.
Next we went back to Heinz' house to watch a movie on VHS (watching a movie at home was still an unusual experience). We sat on either side, Heinz with his arm around Arnie's shoulders, and me holding his knee. But when I moved my hand farther in, toward his crotch, Arnie moved it away.
Um...we're sharing tonight, remember?
I decided to kiss him, broccoli or not.
Gross -- his breath smelled of garlic! And he didn't have anything with garlic for dinner.
Finally it was time to go upstairs to the bedroom. While Heinz and Arnie kissed, I unzipped Heinz and went down on him. I tried to unzip Arnie, too, but he pushed my hand away.
Curioser and curioser.
I stood and pulled up Arnie's t-shirt so I could kiss his chest.
"Be careful of the colostomy bag," he murmured.
Ok, this was really killing the mood.
I knelt again and went down on Heinz for awhile, pushed his cock against Arnie's crotch, and tried again. This time he let me pull down his pants and shorts. A huge, thick cock sprang out, soft, uncut.
And no matter what I did, it stayed soft.
"Nothing's going to happen down there," Arnie said. "I haven't been hard since 1981. My ___" (I don't remember what disease he named).
Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.
I let Arnie go down on me while Heinz topped him. It would have been impolite not to.
And I gave a glowing review to Heinz' friends.
Let them find out for themselves.