Tuesday, February 21, 2017

My Hookup with Superman

Milwaukee, January 2014

I love bath houses.  The maze of warm, dimly-lit corridors.  The nude swimming.  The nude exercising.  The camaraderie.  The warmth.  The sexual promise.  I used to be a regular at the River Club in Upstate new York, and whenever I'm in town, I visit the Works in Indianapolis and the Flex Club in Clevelad.

But at Christmas 2013, I flew to Indianapolis, so no Flex Club, and there wasn't time to go to the Works.  I was feeling deprived.  There were still two weeks left before classes started.  Why not take a short "sex vacation"?

The nearest bathhouse was in Milwaukee, and I hadn't been there since I was five years old, so...

Milwaukee has lots of attractions, but I would spend most of my time in the Midtowne Spa.  And inside the spa, since the only guys I meet normally are slim, androgynous twinks, my goal was to hook up with five guys like this: macho, hairy, scruffy, muscular. And Older!

Thursday, Jan 9th

I arrived in Milwaukee at 10:30 am, rented a car, and drove to the Kimpton Hotel, in the Third Ward south of downtown.  In spite of the silly name, it's an upscale boutique hotel with an art deco feel and lots of quirky touches, like....

Ok, you're more interested in hearing about the sex.

The Midtowne Spa was a two-story cream-colored building, dwarfed by the Cold Storage building next door.  No sign outside, just a street number.

Downstairs was all exposed brick with a blue motif: locker rooms, small gym, a sauna, a steam room, a room with bunk beds, and an outdoor patio (closed for the winter).  Upstairs were  some corridors with private rooms, a game room, and a tv room.  No glory holes or orgy room.

Not very crowded: on weekdays, bathhouses tend to be crowded at lunchtime and after work, and I hit it just after the lunch rush, on a day when it was -5 degrees outside.  But I did manage to get an invitation back to the room:

Older Guy #1: mid-40s, black, balding, hard biceps, with a thick Bratwurst+.  Kissing, cuddling, oral, conversation.

Older Guy #2: mid-50s, white, very tall, white hair, Mortadella.  I went down on him in the steam room.

I left at 3:00, retrieved my car, and visited the Grohmann Museum, the Beefcake Museum of Milwaukee, then had dinner and worked out in the hotel gym.  In the evening I went to This Is It, one of the nicer gay bars in the U.S., but didn't pick up anyone.

Friday, January 10th

A little warmer, in the 20s.  I visited the Art Museum and the Pabst Mansion, returning to the bath house at noon for the lunchtime crowd.  Still not very busy!  I hung around in the video room and the steam room, and hooked up with:

Older Guy #3: white, not very old -- maybe in his 30s -- but very tall, with a massive hairy chest and a thick, average-sized penis.  He stood while I went down on him in the steam room.

Plus I double-teamed two young Hispanic guys with smooth chests and Bratwursts.

At 2:00 pm I left.  I had a 12-hour pass with in-out privileges, so I went to Fortunately, I had a 12-hour pass with in-out privileges, so I went to Marquette University and wandered around the campus, had dinner, worked out in the hotel gym.

I returned at 9:00 pm for Fetish Night, wearing black shorts and a leather vest.

I expected a lot of muscle bears in chaps, but in fact there wasn't a lot of leather.  It was crowded with twinks in latex, a few police officers, "puppies," furries, weird Mardi Gras masks, and superheroes.

Including Superman: a guy in his mid-20s, shorter than me, with a long face and black wavy hair, wearing the complete costume, blue tights, buffed, basket, red "S" insignia, cape.  

He was very busy, kissing and fondling one twink while another was on his knees, going down on his gigantic, very hard Kielbasa.  But I've found that there's always room for one more.  I approached, knelt, and helped the twink on his knees go down on him -- there was more than enough room for both of us on that huge shaft and baseball-sized head.

Then I stood, felt his chest and biceps -- they were real - and pushed his free hand down onto my crotch.  He pulled my head into a three-way kiss, and the twink on his knees started going down on us both.

I kept kissing and fondling him until only the two of us were left.

"Well, Perry, I think it's about time to go back to my room," he said in a deep theatrical voice.

Perry White, the blustering, white-haired editor of the Daily Planet?  Ok....

I followed Superman to his room, tore him out of his cosplay costume, and finished going down on him, then pulled him into the interfemoral position.  Good kisser.

His name was actually Pasco (short for Pasquale).  He was 25 years old, originally from Italy, but he had been in the U.S. since he was five years old.

"I like lots of superhero cosplay -- at a science fiction convention last month, I was Zorn from the Fox tv show, -- but for a fetish party I thought I'd go with the basics.  So -- about ready to go back to my apartment?  I'd really like to hold Perry White in my arms tonight."

"Um...I just got here," I admitted.  "I was hoping to mingle a bit." And meet Older Guys!

"Sure, no problem. Maybe we could get together for brunch tomorrow?"

He dressed in his street clothes and left.  I wandered back into Fetish Night, didn't see any older guys, but kissed and fondled a muscular twink dressed as Cupid, and went down on:

Older Guy #4: mid-40s, balding, hairy chest, muscular, small penis, in a puppy costume.  Unfortunately, he made "yipping" sounds when he spurted, and then tried to lick my face.  Gross!

Saturday, January 11

Pasco and I met for brunch, and then he invited himself along on my trip to Racine, about half an hour away.  We looked for my old house, and Hansche Elementary School, and the beach on Lake Michigan where I "married" the boy next door in second grade.  It's not usually a good idea to reminisce about your childhood on a first date, but Pasko didn't seem to mind.

After lunch at a brew pub, we drove back to Milwaukee, where he showed me his childhood house and Saint Thomas More High School,  where he was on the wrestling team.

It was 4:00 pm when he dropped me off at my hotel.  "So, what are you up for tonight?" he asked.

I didn't want to admit that I was going back to the bath house to try to score some Older Guys!  "I have no plans.  What did you have in mind?"

He grinned.  "I want to be double-teamed by Perry White and Jimmy Olsen.  How about if my friend and I drop by about 9:00?"

Jimmy Olsen was the teenage office boy at the Daily Planet.  I could meet a dozen teenagers a night back home.  I was on a quest....

But I could hardly refuse.

I had dinner and worked out in the hotel gym, and at 9:00 sharp, Pasco knocked on my door.

I thought he was kidding, but no, he was wearing a Superman costume under his coat.  And with him, dressed as Jimmy Olsen in a green vest and bow tie, was:

Older Guy #5.

See also: The Milwaukee Beefcake Museum

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Troy Hooks Up with 5 Guys in 24 Hours

Upstate, March 2011

Troy, my boyfriend in Upstate New York, was a high school French teacher and soccer coach -- rather an anomaly in a town obsessed with baseball --  25 years old, tall, slim, athletic  very handsome, except for the big black earrings and a pink triangle tattoo.

He had never been farther west than Buffalo, so in the spring of 2011, I offered to fly us to West Hollywood and San Francisco.

"That sounds cool," he said, "But you know where I'd really like to go?  Texas.  Cowboys, sage brush, cattle ranches, oil barons, all that glitz and glamour.  You know what they say: 'they grow them big in Texas."

"But...after 210 miserable days in Hell-fer-Sartain -- um, I mean Houston -- I vowed to never set foot in the state again!"

"I know -- you've told me lots of horror stories about your year in Texas.  But that was in 1985, before I was even born.  I'm sure it's changed a lot since then. Being gay is even legal now."

It took several conversations, but finally I agreed: three nights in Austin, Texas, a liberal, bohemian college town nowhere near Hell-fer-Sartain, and then March 15-19 in West Hollywood.

When the plane landed at Austin International Airport on March 11th, and the blue sky of Texas enveloped me, I began to feel anxious, almost panicky.  What if we were trapped here?  What if we could never escape again?

"Relax!" Troy said, taking my hand.  Wary of homophobes, especially in redneck Texas, I jerked it away.

The highway into town had tall barriers on either side.  I couldn't see anything.

We stayed at a gay bed and breakfast on Lavaca Street, just south of the State Capitol, near the Mexi-Arte Museum, a gay bar called Rain, and a sushi restaurant.  Adequately Bohemian.  I could stand spending three nights here.

But then Troy had another surprise: "I want to drive out to Houston.  It's only 165 miles."

"What?  Why?"

"The Montrose is one of the oldest gay neighborhoods in the country.  And besides, I've heard so many stories about Hell-fer-Sartain that I want to see it for myself.  We'll drive up tomorrow, spend the night, and drive back the next day, ok?"

"No way, Jose!  You talked me into coming to Texas, but no way I'm going near that place!  I haven't been there in 25 glorious years, and I'm up for at least another 25 years without setting foot in Hell-fer-Sartain."

"Ok, ok!  But would you mind if I go myself, just for curiosity's sake?  I'll keep a complete log of what happened.  Oh -- and carte blanche for cruising?"

"Sure, whatever.  You won't find anybody in Hell-fer-Sartain, anyway.  Lord knows I tried."

So I spent all day Monday and Tuesday by myself in Austin.  Troy returned in time for dinner Tuesday night.  As promised, he kept a log:


11:00 am.  I arrive at Lone Star College, where Boomer taught bonehead English to rednecks.  I meet with Cammie, the head of the Gender-Sexuality Alliance, who prefers not to use gender pronouns.   "It's not a gay club," they tell me.  "Most of our members are transgender or genderqueer.  We have cisgender straight members, too. And a couple of gay guys."

12:00 pm.  Several members of the GSA -- two gay, two genderqueer, and one straight --  take me to lunch at the China Bear, near the campus.  They're going to be on a panel in a sociology class at 2:00, and ask me to go along.

2:00 pm.  The panel.  We sit on chairs in the front of a room with about 30 students -- not all rednecks (there's a Muslim girl in a hijab).  Each of us tells our "coming out" story (as gay, transgender, and genderqueer). Then the students ask questions, mostly about "what causes it?" and "how did your parents react?"  One asked me if I was attracted to buttholes the way straight guys are attracted to boobs.

3:00 pm.  The other gay gay on the panel, a biochemistry major named Mason, offers to take me on a tour of the area.  We try to find Boomer's old address, but the house is gone.  The streets are now paved, by the way, and have sidewalks.

5:00 pm.  Back to Mason's house.  I expect dinner, but instead he invites me to "share" with his partner Donovan, an older guy, balding but otherwise cute, firm hairy chest, big dick.  I go down on him while Mason is going down on me, and then he tops Mason.   Hot!

7:00 pm.  We shower (together) and then drive into Houston, where I check into my hotel and (finally!) go out to dinner at Baba Yegg, which disappointingly doesn't serve Russian food.  But there are lots of gay guys there, in groups and couples.

9:00 pm.  Time to hit the bars.  There are a dozen within walking distance of my hotel: South Beach, JR's, Blur, Ripcord.  Mostly dancing and drag queens, but there's one leather bar, the Eagle (naturally).

11:00 pm.  Mason and Donovan say goodbye and go back to the suburbs.  I  hit the Eagle, which is in full cruise mode.  Apparently bar life is still important in Texas.

12:00 am.  No luck at the Eagle, and I'm a little tired (and hungry), so I go to Boheme, an artsy wine bar with a pizza menu.  Naturally, I get cruised when my mouth is full of artisanal eggplant-kalimata olive pizza.

1:00 am.  Rolf is a little older than me, in his 30s, with too many scents and too much gel in his hair.  But otherwise he's hot, very muscular, bare hard chest, cut Kielbasa+, into "worship" (where you kiss and lick him all over the body).  I am glad to oblige! For sex, he's an oral bottom.  As Boomer knows, I'm mostly an oral bottom, too, but I don't mind getting a blow job every now and then, especially if the guy is hot.


8:00 am.  Breakfast with Rolf, then jogging through the Montrose.

10:00 am.  The Museum District: Museum of Fine Arts, Natural History Museum, then cruising at Rice University.  A cute college guy seems to be flirting with me, but I don't have time to stop.

1:00 pm.  Lunch, then a stop at the gay sex shop to buy Boomer some souvenirs, a 9" dildo and some nipple clamps (he'll use them on me, hopefully).  They have video booths with glory holes, so I stick around for awhile.  Soon a 9" penis comes through the glory hole at me.  I don't know who it belongs to -- it's dark, maybe Hispanic.  Who cares?

Later a college-aged guy puts his very hard average sized penis through.  Is it the same one who flirted with me before?  I can't tell for sure.

2:00 pm.  Time to leave Hell-for-Sartain.

"What about you?" Troy asked.  "What did you do during your two days alone in Austin?"
I visited the State Capitol and  the State History Museum, which was kind of boring.  I cruised at Oilcan Harry's but didn't meet anyone, worked out at the Gregory Gym at the University of Texas but didn't seen any Texas penises, bought used books at a public library book sale, not very interesting ones.

"Meet any hot guys?"

"No.  I saw Alvin Rangel's biceps and bulge at a dance recital.

I should have gone back to Hell-fer-Sartain...um, I mean Houston.

See also: Troy's First Video Booth

Friday, February 17, 2017

Sleeping with a High School Boy in St. Louis

St. Louis, May 9th, 1985

7:00 am

After 210 execrable days of teaching bonehead English to redneckes in Hell-fer-Sartain, Texas,  I finally managed to escape.   I've been driving all night, except for a couple of hours sleeping at a rest stop, so I'm quite a zombie.

 And I'm angry and frustrated, after watching someone masturbate through a glory hole, but not being allowed to get any of the action.

Time for breakfast.

I get off Interstate 55 in a neighborhood south of downtown St. Louis and stop at the Mississippi Mud House, the only gay-friendly restaurant in St. Louis, according to my Gayellow Pages.

It's not entirely gay: there are heterosexual couples, some businessmen in suits, and a scattering of college students.  Actually, I don't see anyone who sets off my gaydar.

Except for a cute guy about my age sitting by himself at one of the little tables: tall and slim, with thick sandy hair, dark eyebrows, and pink lips.  Wearing blue jeans and a pink polo shirt.

Maybe I struck out last night, but this time it's a sure thing.

 I try to make eye contact, but he won't look up.

Who cares?  My discretion has vanished.  When my order arrives, I pick up my plate and coffee cup and plop down in the seat across from him.

"Hi! I've had a rough night. Can I join you?"

He smiles. "Sure."

His name is Dwight.  He's 17 years old, finishing his junior year in high school, with a job lined up as a life guard during the summer.  He comes to the gay coffee shop almost every morning before on the way to school, hoping to meet someone, but he never does.

"You haven't been with a guy before?"  I ask.

"No.  I guess that's pretty lame, isn't it?  But there's no gay kids at school, none that are out, anyway, and I'm too young to get into the bars, so this is the only place to go."

This is the homophobic 1980s.  There are no gay student groups, no youth groups.  The adults try their best to keep children from even knowing that gay people exist.    

"No, not lame at all. I haven't been with many guys myself."

Suddenly I get stage fright.  Do I have what it takes to be this guy's first time?  I haven't showered or brushed my teeth for 24 hours, while driving in the hot Southern sun, and I'm so tired I might not be able to perform adequately.

Besides, Dwight is too young and too thin for me -- I like guys a few years older than me, in their 30s, with some muscle mass, something to hang onto.  Somebody like my first boyfriend, Fred.

But I deserve something after last night's debacle, and after 270 dreadful days in Hell-fer-Sartain.  I'm going home with Dwight.

He has class in a few minutes, but he plays hookey to show me the sights of St. Louis -- the Arch, which I've already seen, the Anheuser-Busch Brewery (which I hate), the Art Museum (which he hates), and McDonald's for lunch.

I think he's stalling on purpose.

12:30 pm

It's after noon when we finally get to a two-story square brick townhouse about five blocks from the gay-friendly coffee house.

Dwight leads me into the small, unkept living room and then up an old wooden staircase to the bedroom he shares with his younger brother:  two unmade twin beds, two desks loaded down with textbooks, toy cars, action figures -- this guy still plays with toys -- a poster of Rob Lowe on the wall.  His family doesn't know about him, of course, and they're oblivious to his same-sex interests.  "I could join the cheerleading squad at school, and they'd think it was to meet girls!"

I sit on the bed, and draw Dwight down next to me.  He looks away.  "I'm kind of nervous.  Let's start slow, ok?"

"Sure, no problem.  We'll cuddle, and take it from there."

We lay on the bed.  I take my shirt off.  Dwight doesn't.  I take him in my arms, try to kiss him but get his cheek instead.  Our legs intertwine. I should be getting aroused by this point, but I don't.  He lays his head on my chest.

"This is nice," he says.  "Just being here, together, with our arms around each other.  Romantic, you know?  Could we just lay here for awhile?"

"Sure, no problem."  I hold him tighter, and close my eyes.

2:30 pm

The next thing I know, Dwight is shaking me and whispering "Boomer, wake up!"

I open my eyes.  "What's up?"

"It's 2:30!  Mom will be home soon.  We got to get out of here!"

I quickly dress.  I insist on stopping in the bathroom, in spite of Dwight's protests.  He practically pushes me down the stairs and through the living room.

"Sorry we didn't get to do anything.  Are you going to be in town for awhile?  Maybe I could come to your hotel?"

"No, I'm due in Rock Island tonight.   My parents will probably be waiting with a 'Welcome-Home' poster and party favors."

"Ok, well..."  He opens the door.  "It was nice cuddling with you, anyway."

"Yeah."  I close the door again and grab and kiss him.  He puts his arms around me.  I get aroused, and  feel a Bratwurst+ pushing against me.  I fondle him briefly, then say goodbye and push through the door.

Always leave them aroused.

I get back in my car, get lost once, and then hit the I-67 north for the last six hours of my trip home from Hell-fer-Sartain.

Hey, we didn't exchange telephone numbers!