I used to work out at the Hollywood Spa with a ex-soldier named Marshall -- mid-twenties, shorter than me, very pale, with a military haircut and a hard, smooth chest.
After working out, we sometimes stopped at the Hamburger Hamlet -- maybe not the best option for after-the-gym, but the hamburgers and fries were amazing!
One night we were talking about old boyfriends, and Marshall revealed that he had never been with a guy before!
"Are you newly out?" I asked in surprise.
"No."
"Terrified of AIDS?" No.
"Self-conscious about your size?" No.
"Suffering from a urological condition?" No.
"None of those things. I'm just waiting for Mr. Right"
"I was raised to wait until my wedding night," Marshall explained. "But since gays can't get married, I'll wait until I have a permanent commitment. Bound together for life. Forsaking all others."
"How do you handle dating? Most guys want you in the bedroom on the first date, maybe the second if you apologize profusely."
"If he really loves me, he'll wait," Marshall said firmly.
"Has anyone waited so far?" I asked. "Any second dates?"
"Not a lot. But you know how it is: most guys are jerks. Sex is too precious a gift to waste on just anyone!"
Marshall reddened. "When it's true love, you never even look at another guy. Like you and Lane. You have a solid, loving relationship, right? None of this sharing nonsense?"
Actually, Lane and I often brought home a guy to "share."
What right did Marshall have to imply that our relationship was therefore not solid or loving?
"Oh, sure," I lied. "I would never agree to sharing!"
"And sex with complete strangers in bathhouses! Sick!"
"That's nothing!" I said. "In Europe, every gay bar has a darkroom where you do things without even seeing what the guy looks like!"
"What sex-obsessed scumbag would want to do that? Disgusting!"
Lane and I loved the dark rooms of Europe. So now we were sex-obsessed scumbags?
I decided to do something with this self-righteous little twit -- like introduce him to the joys of cruising.
First I asked what kind of guys he found attractive."Older guys, Daddy types, beefy, with chest hair and beards. Nicely built. Big down there, of course."
"I have just the right guy for you. Tall, goodlooking, beefy, bearded, and a total romantic, looking for Mr. Right. He'll be at the Bear Party this weekend -- I'll wrangle you up an invitation."
"What's a bear party?"
"Oh, just a party where a lot of gay guys get together. There's swimming, snacks. Sometimes we watch a movie. There may be some sex going on, but you can ignore it."
The bear party:
It was held in a big house in the Hollywood Hills. Socializing in a gigantic lounge that opened onto a patio with a swimming pool. Downstairs, the family room had mattresses scattered around a big fireplace, and two of the bedrooms were converted into dark room-mazes.
I planned to introduce Marshall to Stuart, a regular at the bear parties: Mid-30s, muscular, a little belly, a hairy chest, Mortadella beneath the belt, But where was he?
Lane, Marshall, and I walked through the lounge, scanning the crowd of bears, daddies, Cute Young Things, and semi-celebrities.
"I guess Stuart hasn't arrived yet," I said. "Why don't we go in the pool while we wait? It's heated.""I didn't bring a swimsuit."
"That's ok, neither did we." We led him out to the patio, showed him where to strip and place his clothes, and jumped into the pool.
Marshall was too busy gawking at the dozens of naked bears to notice that his clothes were perilously close to the side of the pool, where divers were sure to splash them.
After awhile, he noticed. He climbed out of the pool and stood naked and shivering in the cool October evening. "My clothes are soaked!" he yelled. "And I'm freezing to death!"
I handed him a towel. "Sorry about that. But don't worry -- Lane will go pop your clothes in the drier. They'll be good as new in 30 minutes. While we're waiting, let's go downstairs -- I hear there's a fireplace down there where you can get warm."
All of the mattresses in the family room were occupied with naked guys, in pairs and groups, grabbing and fondling and exploring.
"Hey, you didn't say this was an orgy!" Marshall whispered angrily.
"Oh, it's fine. We don't need to do anything -- we can just sit and warm up. Come on --." I sat him down by the fireplace and put my arm around him. "Besides, there's nothing wrong with just looking."
So we looked, and looked, and Marshall became more and more obviously interested. He began stroking my knee. I reached out and grabbed a passing muscle bear, who smiled and tried to grope us.. Marshall declined, but I didn't.
"Lane doesn't mind you...doing that?" he whispered, eyes wide.
"Doing what? I was just being polite, not planning a romantic dinner for two."
"Just...being polite...."
Soon Marshall and I were kissing and groping.
When Lane appeared, Marshall jumped away. "Sorry -- I'm...I mean...I mean, I know you're together."
"It's fine. Boomer likes to kiss. So do I," Lane added with a leer.
Soon they were kissing and groping.
Then Marshall went down on Lane, while I went down on him. His first time was a three-way!
And Stuart never did show up.
Don't worry about Marshall, though. He found True Love, with a guy he met at the Bear Party.
In the dark room.
See also: Sharing the Kept Boy with Alan; How We Invented Sex Parties
Ha ha. I bought into that monogamy b.s. too. Only I didn't need a mentor since I figured it out on my own.... Only took me until age 50!
ReplyDelete