Yuri bringing a guy home for me was not unprecedented. In West Hollywood in the 1990s, Lane and I used to cruise separately. He went to the Faultline, and I went to Mugi or Basgos.
We arranged to meet up at 11:00 pm. If one of us struck out, the other would "share" his hookup. If we both met someone, we played mix-and-match in the bedroom.
Since the Faultline was for older guys, bears and daddies, and Mugi specialized in Asian twinks, it made for some diverse evenings.
One night I struck out at Mugi, but when I got home, Lane was sitting on the couch with an Asian guy. At least I thought he was Asian. Short, bronze skin, round face, military hair cut, shirtless, wearing a leather vest and nipple rings.
"This is Arnie," Lane said. "He's up for sharing."
"Boomer. Pleased to meet you." I took my place on the couch next to him.
"My legal name is Joseph, but when I came out, I took the name Arnie, short for Arnauyq, It means 'gay,' in my language, or really 'man who imitates woman.'"
"What language?"
"Inupiaq. What you call Eskimo."
"Great," Lane complained. "Boomer is a language nut. Now you're never going to get him off that couch and into the bedroom."
"No, no." I reached over fondled Arnie's hard, smooth chest. He smiled and moved my hand to his crotch. "But...I thought there were only a few native speakers of Inupiaq outside of Greenland."
"Well, it's not my native language. Even my grandparents don't speak it well. But I took lessons at the Community Center. I figured, it's part of my heritage, I should learn it."
"I love Inuit words. They seem to go on forever."
"Yes, you can keep adding suffixes forever. Do you speak Inupiaq? is one word, Inupiaqtituuhuunguvin."
Lane started playing with his nipple rings. "I went to Hebrew school," he announced. "Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam, asher kidshanu b'mitzvotav, l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat."
That was probably the first time anyone said the Sabbath prayer while playing with someone's nipple rings.
Arnie was very hot, very muscular, and when I groped him, I felt impressive beneath-the-belt gifts. But I wanted to hear about Inupiaq.
So we did some minor groping and neck-nuzzling while Arnie told us about growing up in Kotzebue, Alaska, a small town of 3000 people north of Nome. Much of his childhood sounded familiar: church, school, comic books, Star Wars toys, hanging out with friends at Little Louie's on 3rd.
He was on his high school wrestling team.
But there were also dog sled races, spearing fish from a kayak, hunting on the ice, the polar bears walking through downtown, and Inupiaq lessons at the Community Center.
Who wouldn't want to hear these stories instead of jumping into the bedroom right away, regardless of the size of the guy's package?
Lane, apparently. "Shouldn't we be starting the sharing?" he asked.
"Sure, let's go," Arnie said.
"Oh, your butt will keep. It's not even midnight yet. Tell me about the Yupik."
So Arnie kept talking. Eventually, tiring of kissing and fondling his chest, Lane unzipped him and started going down on him.
But Arnie had the most amazing capacity to keep on talking in the midst of erotic activity.
Defeated, Lane said "I'll be in the bedroom if anybody needs me," and vanished.
"Um...I think we're being summoned," Arnie said. "We should get in there. He's my hookup, after all."
"Lane likes to read for awhile before bed anyhow. We have plenty of time."
Fortunately, Arnie liked to talk.
But eventually he got tired and lay his head back against the couch. "Ok," he said, eyes closed. "Now we have to get in that bedroom, before I get too tired to care about hooking up."
We walked into the bedroom, where Lane was lying naked in bed, reading Rendezvous with Rama. "Have we met?" he said sarcastically. "You look almost like some guys I used to know, a long time ago."
"Sorry. We were just talking." Arnie leaned over the bed, took the book out of his hand, and kissed him.
And kept on kissing him.
He spent the rest of the night exploring every inch of Lane's body and all but ignoring me.
I guess I deserved it.
But let's face it -- you meet hot guys every day in West Hollywood. How often do you meet an Eskimo?
See also: Our date with the teenage beachboy; cruising in the Navajo Nation
Saturday, October 10, 2015
The Gift of the Magi, Four Guys in One Bed
Wilton Manors, December 2004
When the three guys sharing a house are all actively dating and hooking up, you never know who is going to be at the breakfast table in the morning, or wandering around at 2:00 am looking for the bathroom.
Maybe someone you like better than the guy in your bed.
But the Gay Code strictly forbade "stealing" a friend or roommate's date. You might ask to "share," but otherwise it was strictly hands off until they broke up, and then only with their permission.
Until that night in December 2004. I always get depressed at Christmastime anyway, and I had just gotten dumped, so I was even more depressed.
"Come out to the Club with me," Yuri said. "You will feel better when the hot guys start cruising you."
"I'm not in the mood for hot guys, sorry. I just want to watch tv and go to bed early."
I actually put on my bathrobe and sat down to watch tv, but after awhile, I said, "Yuri is right. I'm going to a club." I walked over to the Filling Station, and soon got cruised by Tye. Not really my type: a little too tall and pale, in his 30s but going bald on top. But he kept going on about how hot I was, and when I groped him, I felt a substantial Bratwurst+, so when he invited me to get coffee, I accepted.
Boring! Tye could talk about nothing but sports and the minutiae of his job, which involved writing reports in a cubicle. I really didn't want to continue with the evening, but what could I do -- I invited him back to my place.
We sat down on the couch. He insisted on turning on the tv to check the scores of the game.
A few moments later Yuri came in with a hookup! A guy who had 3 of the 5 traits I find attractive: shorter than me, muscular, and dark-skinned. He was in his 20's, black, with a firm, compact frame, and extraordinarily cute.
Yuri stared at my date. "You said you were not going out."
"Oh, I changed my mind. This is Tye, insurance guy and all-around sports nut My housemate Yuri and...um..."
"Howard," Yuri said. "We talked online before, but tonight is the first time we met. He studies at Emory University. Theology."
Theology! Religious, #4 on my list! Now he just needed to be gifted beneath the belt, and I'd be all set to fall for him. Except he was Yuri's date, and I had a lunk sitting next to me.
"Pleased to meet you." We all shook hands.
But instead of excusing himself and herding his hookup to the bedroom, like a dutiful roommate, Yuri plopped down next to Tye on the couch and started interrogating him on tonight's game. I had no choice but to go over to the loveseat where Howard was sitting and ask him about theology.
"This is my first year at Emory. I'm going for a Master of Divinity, so I can get ordained in the United Methodist Church."
"They don't allow gay ministers, do they?" I asked, surprised.
"We're going to change all that. I'm the president of the Atlanta chapter of Affirmation, for gay and lesbian Methodists."
We talked like that for awhile, while Yuri and Tye discussed sports, I assumed. Suddenly I wasn't hearing anything -- I looked over. They were kissing!
"Yeah, they've been busy for awhile now," Howard said. "I think your date might have jumped ship."
I should have been incensed -- Tye was with me! But instead I said, "Well, when in Rome," and grabbed Howard and started kissing him.
After awhile we all went into Yuri's bedroom, where we mixed-and-matched hookups, a mini Bear party.
In case you were wondering, Tye really did have a Bratwurst+, but Howard was just average, maybe a little small.
Not that I minded.
Eventually four people in Yuri's bed got a little crowded, so I grabbed Howard and took him into my bedroom for the night.
In the morning there was a flurry of scribbling telephone numbers, while Barney, our other housemate, eyed us suspiciously. Then Tye and Howard left together.
"That was different!" I exclaimed. "Barney, guess what -- Yuri and I switched hookups last night!"
"Howard wasn't my hookup," Yuri said. "I talked to him online for a long time, and I find out that he is your type exactly, so last night we meet at the Manor, and he comes home with me to share, because you are home without anybody and sad."
"Wow, how thoughtful! What did you think when you came in, and I was already with a guy."
"I knew you do not like him, you are just with him because you are depressed, so I def...what is the word...deflect?"
"You deflect him by taking him for yourself."
He grinned. "It worked, right? You spent the night with Howard, who you really like."
The Gift of the Magi.
See also: A Naked Baseball Player in My Kitchen.
When the three guys sharing a house are all actively dating and hooking up, you never know who is going to be at the breakfast table in the morning, or wandering around at 2:00 am looking for the bathroom.
Maybe someone you like better than the guy in your bed.
But the Gay Code strictly forbade "stealing" a friend or roommate's date. You might ask to "share," but otherwise it was strictly hands off until they broke up, and then only with their permission.
Until that night in December 2004. I always get depressed at Christmastime anyway, and I had just gotten dumped, so I was even more depressed.
"Come out to the Club with me," Yuri said. "You will feel better when the hot guys start cruising you."
"I'm not in the mood for hot guys, sorry. I just want to watch tv and go to bed early."
I actually put on my bathrobe and sat down to watch tv, but after awhile, I said, "Yuri is right. I'm going to a club." I walked over to the Filling Station, and soon got cruised by Tye. Not really my type: a little too tall and pale, in his 30s but going bald on top. But he kept going on about how hot I was, and when I groped him, I felt a substantial Bratwurst+, so when he invited me to get coffee, I accepted.
Boring! Tye could talk about nothing but sports and the minutiae of his job, which involved writing reports in a cubicle. I really didn't want to continue with the evening, but what could I do -- I invited him back to my place.
We sat down on the couch. He insisted on turning on the tv to check the scores of the game.
A few moments later Yuri came in with a hookup! A guy who had 3 of the 5 traits I find attractive: shorter than me, muscular, and dark-skinned. He was in his 20's, black, with a firm, compact frame, and extraordinarily cute.
Yuri stared at my date. "You said you were not going out."
"Oh, I changed my mind. This is Tye, insurance guy and all-around sports nut My housemate Yuri and...um..."
"Howard," Yuri said. "We talked online before, but tonight is the first time we met. He studies at Emory University. Theology."
Theology! Religious, #4 on my list! Now he just needed to be gifted beneath the belt, and I'd be all set to fall for him. Except he was Yuri's date, and I had a lunk sitting next to me.
"Pleased to meet you." We all shook hands.
But instead of excusing himself and herding his hookup to the bedroom, like a dutiful roommate, Yuri plopped down next to Tye on the couch and started interrogating him on tonight's game. I had no choice but to go over to the loveseat where Howard was sitting and ask him about theology.
"This is my first year at Emory. I'm going for a Master of Divinity, so I can get ordained in the United Methodist Church."
"They don't allow gay ministers, do they?" I asked, surprised.
"We're going to change all that. I'm the president of the Atlanta chapter of Affirmation, for gay and lesbian Methodists."
We talked like that for awhile, while Yuri and Tye discussed sports, I assumed. Suddenly I wasn't hearing anything -- I looked over. They were kissing!
"Yeah, they've been busy for awhile now," Howard said. "I think your date might have jumped ship."
I should have been incensed -- Tye was with me! But instead I said, "Well, when in Rome," and grabbed Howard and started kissing him.
After awhile we all went into Yuri's bedroom, where we mixed-and-matched hookups, a mini Bear party.
In case you were wondering, Tye really did have a Bratwurst+, but Howard was just average, maybe a little small.
Not that I minded.
Eventually four people in Yuri's bed got a little crowded, so I grabbed Howard and took him into my bedroom for the night.
In the morning there was a flurry of scribbling telephone numbers, while Barney, our other housemate, eyed us suspiciously. Then Tye and Howard left together.
"That was different!" I exclaimed. "Barney, guess what -- Yuri and I switched hookups last night!"
"Howard wasn't my hookup," Yuri said. "I talked to him online for a long time, and I find out that he is your type exactly, so last night we meet at the Manor, and he comes home with me to share, because you are home without anybody and sad."
"Wow, how thoughtful! What did you think when you came in, and I was already with a guy."
"I knew you do not like him, you are just with him because you are depressed, so I def...what is the word...deflect?"
"You deflect him by taking him for yourself."
He grinned. "It worked, right? You spent the night with Howard, who you really like."
The Gift of the Magi.
See also: A Naked Baseball Player in My Kitchen.
Thursday, October 8, 2015
Lane and I Date the Beach Boy
West Hollywood, September 1992
In West Hollywood in the 1980s and 1990s, hooking up was unheard of. You dated -- you met someone, then planned a full evening of social activities five or so nights later.
Even when you were partnered.
One Friday night in September 1992, Lane went to Shabbat services at Beth Chaim Chadashim, the gay synagogue, and returned gushing over a Cute Young Thing he met at the refreshment table.
Artan, 19 years old, a sophomore at Pepperdine University, still living with his parents.
West Hollywood culture was rather strict about age differentials: anything more than 5 years older or younger caused raised eyebrows and snide remarks. I was 31 at the time, and Lane had just turned 36 -- Artan was 12 and 17 years younger!
"I know they'll make fun at me at temple and the Zone -- but he's so cute, I couldn't resist!' He went on to describe a blond, tan beach boy, with broad shoulders and a hard chest. Plus he was studying English. He wanted to become a writer. Plus he was a science fiction fan. And Jewish. Practically perfect in every way.
"Anyway, in 20 years we'll all be Daddies," Lane continued, planning ahead. "Our date is Wednesday night. And you're invited."
Date #1:
It was rare to let a partner tag along on a first date -- the infatuated gushing made you feel like a third wheel, no matter that you would all be sharing a bed soon. But I was curious about this guy who had Lane on Cloud Nine, so Wednesday night we met Artan for dinner at Killer Shrimp in Marina del Rey.
There was one thing on the menu: shrimp. It came in a bucket, with bread on the side.
Artan was as extraordinarily cute as Lane said, and not as shy and quiet as most Cute Young Things. In fact, he took over, quizzing me on the first date essentials with the ease of a news reporter, yet not for a moment leaving Lane out of the conversation.
Yes, I noticed the incongruity of two Jewish guys at a shrimp restaurant, but I didn't mention it.
After dinner we went to the Change of Hobbit, the premier science fiction bookstore in California, probably the world. Lane was 300 times the science fiction fan that I was, yet Artan managed to draw us both into discussions of our favorite authors.
Next, cruising at the Rage (we figured a twink bar would be his style), then home to the bedroom, where Artan was equally attentive to both of us.
In case you were wondering: hard, smooth body, tan line, good kisser, average beneath the belt gifts, and extremely energetic. We were both dozing while he was still going strong.
It still seemed weird to be going out with someone so much younger, especially when he had to leave at 11:00 because he told his parents he was studying at the library.
Still, best three-way date ever.
In West Hollywood, the 48 hours after a first date were traumatic. You were flushed with the heat of desire, thinking about him, fantacizing about him, yet you couldn't call, lest you appear too eager and scare him off.
You had to wait at least 24 hours, but no more than 48.
Our date ended at 11:00 pm Wednesday, and 11:00 pm Thursday was too late to call, so Lane had to wait until Friday and call him from work. He got the house phone -- no one had a private telephone in those days -- and left a noncommittal message.
Artan finally returned our call at 10:30, half an hour before the 48 hour waiting period was over.
The second date was his idea -- to the Santa Monica beach tomorrow at noon!
Date #2:
In all my years in West Hollywood, I was only at the beach twice. A few years ago, Alan dragged me to the nude beach for cruising. And this time.
The scenery was breathtaking, but the water was too cold for swimming, the sand was gritty, and we felt quite out of place among the heterosexual couples with children and presumably heterosexual surfers.
Although some of them were quite breathtaking as well.
We splashed around a bit, then dried off, changed into our street clothes, and, anxious to be among gay people again, went to the Different Light and then had dinner at the Greenery.
There were a few stares -- what are those two doing with a Cute Young Thing? A friend came over and asked "Is it past your bedtime?" But no major resistance.
We began thinking about a three-way romance, having Artan move in with us, meeting his parents, signing our party invitations "plus Artan."
He was, again, very attentive and very affectionate in the bedroom, even though he had to leave at 8:00 pm because he was meeting some of his school friends. He wasn't out at school, see, and....
Still, the second best three-way date ever.
Traditionally another 24-48 hours passed before you called to ask for the third date, the one which officially sealed the deal, made you a couple. Or in this case, a trio.
Our date ended at 8:00 pm on Saturday night, so we couldn't call until a little after 8:00 pm Sunday night.
Artan answered. "Yeah, I'm sorry, I'm a little busy this coming week. But we'll definitely get together again soon. I'll call you."
That's West Hollywood speak for "I have to wash my hair."
We were disappointed, but figured the age difference was just too much for him.
A few months later, we ran into Artan again at the French Quarter. His tan had faded a bit, and he grew his hair out, but he had the same broad shoulders and impish smile.
He was having brunch with an older man. Way older.
Lane knew him -- Isaak, who sometimes came to Shabbat services at the gay synagogue. A newspaper reporter in Poland before World War II. A concentration camp survivor.
In his 70s.
Distinguished, grey-haired, deep tan, wearing a white shirt open a few buttons to display some chest hair, plus short pants that displayed a bulge. But still....
We said hello and retreated to another table. Artan followed.
"Hey, I'm sorry we never got to the third date," he said. "I had a lot of fun with you guys, but it was exhausting!"
"You..were exhausted?" I repeated, shocked.
"Isaak is more mature, settled down. Not running around all over creation all the time. You know we did last night? We ordered Chinese, watched tv, and fell asleep in each other's arms! No sex! How romantic is that?"
"We like to order Chinese, watch tv and fall asleep without sex," Lane protested.
He laughed and rubbed Lane's shoulder. "You firecrackers? I don't think so. But I'm into sharing -- just give me a few days advance warning, so I can rest up!"
He left. Lane and I stared at each other.
Years later, when I turned 40 and became a twink magnet, I started to understand.
See also: The Teenage Lawnboy and Sharing the Orthodox Jewish Boy.
In West Hollywood in the 1980s and 1990s, hooking up was unheard of. You dated -- you met someone, then planned a full evening of social activities five or so nights later.
Even when you were partnered.
One Friday night in September 1992, Lane went to Shabbat services at Beth Chaim Chadashim, the gay synagogue, and returned gushing over a Cute Young Thing he met at the refreshment table.
Artan, 19 years old, a sophomore at Pepperdine University, still living with his parents.
West Hollywood culture was rather strict about age differentials: anything more than 5 years older or younger caused raised eyebrows and snide remarks. I was 31 at the time, and Lane had just turned 36 -- Artan was 12 and 17 years younger!
"I know they'll make fun at me at temple and the Zone -- but he's so cute, I couldn't resist!' He went on to describe a blond, tan beach boy, with broad shoulders and a hard chest. Plus he was studying English. He wanted to become a writer. Plus he was a science fiction fan. And Jewish. Practically perfect in every way.
"Anyway, in 20 years we'll all be Daddies," Lane continued, planning ahead. "Our date is Wednesday night. And you're invited."
Date #1:
It was rare to let a partner tag along on a first date -- the infatuated gushing made you feel like a third wheel, no matter that you would all be sharing a bed soon. But I was curious about this guy who had Lane on Cloud Nine, so Wednesday night we met Artan for dinner at Killer Shrimp in Marina del Rey.
There was one thing on the menu: shrimp. It came in a bucket, with bread on the side.
Artan was as extraordinarily cute as Lane said, and not as shy and quiet as most Cute Young Things. In fact, he took over, quizzing me on the first date essentials with the ease of a news reporter, yet not for a moment leaving Lane out of the conversation.
Yes, I noticed the incongruity of two Jewish guys at a shrimp restaurant, but I didn't mention it.
After dinner we went to the Change of Hobbit, the premier science fiction bookstore in California, probably the world. Lane was 300 times the science fiction fan that I was, yet Artan managed to draw us both into discussions of our favorite authors.
In case you were wondering: hard, smooth body, tan line, good kisser, average beneath the belt gifts, and extremely energetic. We were both dozing while he was still going strong.
It still seemed weird to be going out with someone so much younger, especially when he had to leave at 11:00 because he told his parents he was studying at the library.
Still, best three-way date ever.
In West Hollywood, the 48 hours after a first date were traumatic. You were flushed with the heat of desire, thinking about him, fantacizing about him, yet you couldn't call, lest you appear too eager and scare him off.
You had to wait at least 24 hours, but no more than 48.
Our date ended at 11:00 pm Wednesday, and 11:00 pm Thursday was too late to call, so Lane had to wait until Friday and call him from work. He got the house phone -- no one had a private telephone in those days -- and left a noncommittal message.
Artan finally returned our call at 10:30, half an hour before the 48 hour waiting period was over.
The second date was his idea -- to the Santa Monica beach tomorrow at noon!
Date #2:
In all my years in West Hollywood, I was only at the beach twice. A few years ago, Alan dragged me to the nude beach for cruising. And this time.
The scenery was breathtaking, but the water was too cold for swimming, the sand was gritty, and we felt quite out of place among the heterosexual couples with children and presumably heterosexual surfers.
Although some of them were quite breathtaking as well.
We splashed around a bit, then dried off, changed into our street clothes, and, anxious to be among gay people again, went to the Different Light and then had dinner at the Greenery.
There were a few stares -- what are those two doing with a Cute Young Thing? A friend came over and asked "Is it past your bedtime?" But no major resistance.
We began thinking about a three-way romance, having Artan move in with us, meeting his parents, signing our party invitations "plus Artan."
He was, again, very attentive and very affectionate in the bedroom, even though he had to leave at 8:00 pm because he was meeting some of his school friends. He wasn't out at school, see, and....
Still, the second best three-way date ever.
Our date ended at 8:00 pm on Saturday night, so we couldn't call until a little after 8:00 pm Sunday night.
Artan answered. "Yeah, I'm sorry, I'm a little busy this coming week. But we'll definitely get together again soon. I'll call you."
That's West Hollywood speak for "I have to wash my hair."
We were disappointed, but figured the age difference was just too much for him.
A few months later, we ran into Artan again at the French Quarter. His tan had faded a bit, and he grew his hair out, but he had the same broad shoulders and impish smile.
He was having brunch with an older man. Way older.
Lane knew him -- Isaak, who sometimes came to Shabbat services at the gay synagogue. A newspaper reporter in Poland before World War II. A concentration camp survivor.
In his 70s.
Distinguished, grey-haired, deep tan, wearing a white shirt open a few buttons to display some chest hair, plus short pants that displayed a bulge. But still....
We said hello and retreated to another table. Artan followed.
"Hey, I'm sorry we never got to the third date," he said. "I had a lot of fun with you guys, but it was exhausting!"
"You..were exhausted?" I repeated, shocked.
"Isaak is more mature, settled down. Not running around all over creation all the time. You know we did last night? We ordered Chinese, watched tv, and fell asleep in each other's arms! No sex! How romantic is that?"
"We like to order Chinese, watch tv and fall asleep without sex," Lane protested.
He laughed and rubbed Lane's shoulder. "You firecrackers? I don't think so. But I'm into sharing -- just give me a few days advance warning, so I can rest up!"
He left. Lane and I stared at each other.
Years later, when I turned 40 and became a twink magnet, I started to understand.
See also: The Teenage Lawnboy and Sharing the Orthodox Jewish Boy.
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