Sunday, September 6, 2015

Cruising the Dwarf in West Hollywood

West Hollywood, March 1992

I have always been attracted to guys who are short, the shorter the better.  Under 5'8" is good, under 5'4" is great.

Dwarf/Little Person (defined as under 4'10") -- whoa, here's my number!

But only about 30,000 people in the U.S. are Dwarfs/Little People (according to activist Danny Woodburn, either term is correct).  That means about 1,000 adult gay men.  And since people with atypical bodies often have fewer hangups about their partners' gender, maybe another 3,000 who are bisexual, or straight but "bent around the edges."

4,000 in a country with a population of 300,000,000 The odds against of meeting one are astronomical!

In Los Angeles, the odds increase a bit: due to wide-ranging discrimination, many LP are drawn to show business.  So I occasionally saw a LP at a Hollywood event, or on the street in Century City.  But never in a gay context.

Except one night in the spring of 1992, when my partner Lane and I were at the Faultline on Melrose.

It was always packed with bears, bikers, leathermen, and their Cute Young Thing admirers, but never before or after had I seen Ryan (not his real name) -- about 4'0", shirtless, muscular, with a broad oval face and a quick smile.  He was a little drunk, and heavily cruising a Cute Young Thing (who was trying hard to ignore him).

I wasn't going to let this opportunity pass!  Lane and I had an open relationship, so he agreed to be my wingman.  We sidled up to the spot next to Ryan, and Lane asked, "How's the filming going?"

In West Hollywood, any hint that you worked in show business immediately netted you some fans.  But Ryan glanced over with cool, crisp Attitude, and redoubled his efforts to land the Cute Young Thing.

"Um...filming is going great," I said.  "Next week we're having a wrap-up party on the yacht."

"Are you bringing the Maserati?"

"No, that's still down in my place in Cabo."

 Of course, I didn't have a yacht, a Maserati, or a place in Cabo, but cruising is all about the illusion.  But Ryan remained unimpressed.

Lane and I exchanged panicked glances.  None of my good material was working!  Think, think, think...what did West Hollywood guys like more than showbiz contacts and bank accounts?  

"But you know, I really miss my modeling days." (This was true; I did do some modeling)

"Yeah, I loved your spread in Inches. Didn't you win the Spectacular Pecs award?"

"No, I got runner-up."

An appearance in a beefcake magazine.  Who could resist checking that out?

But Ryan was gazing wistfully as the Cute Young Thing wafted off to cruise a leatherman.  He drained his beer and started walking away.

What did West Hollywood guys like more than showbiz contacts, bank accounts, and pecs?

I walked over, stood directly in front of Ryan, blocking his way, and said "Hi."

He was exactly 2 feet shorter than me, so he was looking directly at my crotch.  His eyes widened.

Penises trump pecs, bank accounts, and showbiz contacts. I got his number.

Next: The Worst Date in West Hollywood History.

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