Saturday, November 21, 2015

Yuri Tricks the Bear into Sharing

Old Westbury, New York, Fall 1998

When we were living in New York, Yuri and I sometimes took the train to Old Westbury, where Ravi and his partner Claude held monthly "bear parties."

Ravi was in his 40s, South Asian, with a very hairy chest. I never found out what he did for a living.

Claude was in his 20s, from England, a biology student at Adelphi University, slim and smooth, with an enormous penis, easily a Mortadella+.

They lived in a big house, square, white, and ultra-modern, with a pool, a hot tub, and a game room.

They charged $5 for admission, to cover the cost of the snacks, condoms, lube, and towels.

The rules of the bear party were:
1. You had to be nude.  You could bring a towel to sit on, but no wrapping it around yourself.
2. No discussions of women or feminine beauty.
3. No sex in the living room, dining room, or kitchen.  You had to use the game room, tv room, or pool.
4. Use a condom for anal.
5. No attitude.  Let other guys watch, go down on you, or lend a hand.

But Ravi and Claude never participated in the activities.  They stayed in the living room, keeping track of the guests, taking the money, making sure no one stole anything.  Ravi sometimes went back to address a problem, but Claude never left.  It was as if he was on a leash.

Why host a "bear party" if you're not going to participate?  Or even watch?


And there was another problem: Yuri was interested in Claude.  He usually liked his guys a little older and more muscular, but the Mortadella+ was exceptional.

Besides, they had a lot in common.  They were both international students.  They were both newly out (Claude had only dated two guys before moving in with Ravi).  They liked the same movies and tv shows, like the Britcom Mr. Bean.  

Yuri took to spending most of his time in the living room, talking to Claude.

"Well, if they're holding bear parties, they must have an open relationship," I said.  "Why don't you ask him out?"

"I asked him,  He wants to go with me, but he says they are not open."  He paused.  "But I know Ravi does things.  When he goes to the back, guys go down on him.  He doesn't tell Claude."

"That doesn't seem fair."

Yuri shrugged.  "I don't want to tell him, and get in the middle.  But what can I do?"

I suggested a little double play.

1. Yuri and I went to the party together, stripped, and wandered off separately.

2. I waited until two guys started doing anal in the game room. Then I ran to the living room and told Ravi, "Hey, there's two guys in the kitchen doing anal without a condom."

Violating the two biggest rules of the party?  Ravi stood immediately and followed me back.  But the guys were in the game room, and upon inspection, definitely using a condom.

3. Ravi apologized for interrupting them and turned to me.

I shrugged.  "I guess they moved.  But as long as you're here..."  I knelt and started going down on him.

4. At that moment, Yuri, who was lurking nearby, took the half-full tray of  mini-quiches from the snack table and deposited them in the refrigerator.  He ran into the living room.  "Hey, you are out of mini quiches," he told Claude.

"Really?" Claude asked, beaming. "They went fast."  They were his prize recipe, the centerpiece of his snack array.

"Can you get more?"

"Ravi will get more out when he comes back.  He just has to drizzle them with melted butter and microwave them for thirty seconds."

"You are the cook.  You must do it."

Claude looked uncertain.  "Well....I have to man the front door."

"It will take a minute.  Please...they were really good."

Claude was persuaded.  He followed Yuri to the kitchen, where the mini-quiches were indeed all gone.  And I was going down on his partner.

5. "Hey, what are you doing?" Claude exclaimed.  Other guys stopped their activity to watch.  Would there be fireworks?  Recriminations?  A packed suitcase?

No.  Yuri took Claude by the hand and led him to Ravi.  They began to kiss.  Then Yuri knelt and took my place, working on them both at once.

He ended up spending the night and introducing Ravi and Claude to the concept of "sharing."

See also: Third Wheel to a Muscle God.

Monday, November 16, 2015

I Meet the Boy with a Bratwurst from My Dream Last Night

Plains, July 2016

Never eat just before bedtime.  You have long, involved, vivid dreams.  A couple of nights ago, I had one for the record books.

Sunday

I was delayed, and didn't eat dinner until 9:00 pm.  At 10:00 pm, the dream began.

I was at a party in West Hollywood: 20 or more guys sitting on couches and divans in a vast living room.  No one I knew.

I went into a spare bedroom to change into my Superman costume for a skit we were performing.  But I forgot my tights, so I had to go out to the main room naked from the waist down.

No one noticed.

While waiting for the other performers to arrive, I sat next to a cute  twink, college age, with short brown hair and a round friendly face.  He was wearing a formal white shirt, unbuttoned a few buttons so I could see the cross around his neck and an outline of a smooth hard chest.

He gave his name -- I don't remember it, so I'll call him Gene.  He was visiting from Saskatechewan, in town for only a few days: "West Hollywood is fun, but I miss Regina.  People are real there."

I said "Regina is only two hours from the Plains.  We can visit."  [It's actually more like ten hours]

We started kissing.  I  fondled his crotch, and a Bratwurst+ sprang to life.  But when I tried to push his head down onto my crotch, he resisted.  "Not here.  There are too many people."

I looked around.  The living room was deserted.  The last of the lights went off, leaving us in darkness.

"They all went downstairs," Gene said.  "This is a sex party.  Do you want to go down?"

I didn't want to lose Gene to a bunch of other guys, not so soon, so I suggested we take a walk instead.

 We walked down a strangely empty Santa Monica Boulevard, past the Greenery and the Rage, and even the Different Light (which closed long ago).  We stopped to sit one of the little tables outside The French Quarter.

It was closed.  The street was deserted.  We started kissing and fondling again.

Soon we were both fully aroused.  He knelt to go down on me.

But the street wasn't deserted!  It was bustling with after-theater crowds.  A waiter came out of the French Quarter and asked "Can I take your order?"  A police officer glared at us suspiciously.

We quickly stood and left.  We returned to the house, and up to the bedroom where Gene was staying.  "Do you want to watch something on Netflix?" I asked.

"Sure.  Whatever you want."  He went into the bedroom, and returned naked, his Bratwurst+ standing out straight in front of him.  He started kissing and licking my chest.  I pushed him onto his knees.

And woke up!

Ok, an erotic frustration dream, combined with the standard "nude in public" anxiety, but so vivid and detailed that I wrote it down.

Monday

After dinner (at the usual time), I went on Grindr, and Gene was there.

Only 1,000 feet away!

 Well, the guy with the tagline "Visiting" looked just like Gene, except he had slightly darker hair and no cross around his neck, and he was a little more buffed.  His profile photo showed him lifting weights.

Eerie!

"Hi, we're like half a block away!" I typed.  "Why haven't we met before?"

He responded immediately: "I'm visiting my brother and his girlfriend for the week."

His name was Kyle, not Gene, and he was from Lincoln, Nebraska, not Saskatchewan.  Still, that dream was eerily precognitive!

We actually didn't have a lot in common, other than a shared interest in bodybuilding.   He was a business major (ugh!) at the University of Nebraska, and a fan of video games and Pokemon Go (whatever that is).

But he was ungodly cute, and it seemed like we already knew each other.  I remembered feeling his body pressed against me, kissing him, watching his Bratwurst+ spring to life.  And constantly being stymied in my attempt to have sex with him.

I had to get him into my apartment, to see if he really looked and felt like Gene from my dream.  And to finish the job!

"Do you want to come over here," I typed, "And watch something on Netflix?"

"Sorry, I'm hanging with my brother, as soon as he gets off work."

Darn!  "Tomorrow?"

"Ok.  But we should meet in a public place.  You have to be careful, right?"


Tuesday

We met at the gay-friendly coffee house.  Kyle looked less like Gene in real life: younger, taller, and deeply tanned, an outdoorsman, into hunting and fishing and whatever else one does in Lincoln, Nebraska.

We talked about growing up in small towns.  I told him my best West Hollywood dating-celebrities stories, and he told me about the time he met wrestler John Cena.  We held hands under the table, and groped surreptitiously.  He definitely had a Bratwurst+.

"How about that Netflix?" I asked.

"Um...I like to takes things slow, and get to know the guy."

I started getting annoyed.  It felt like the sex been postponed about six times already.  "Yeah, slow," I sniped.

 "Are you free Saturday?  We're going to a party down in Sioux Falls.  You can be my Plus One."

"Gay party?"

"Mostly straight people.  Is that a problem?"

I hate straight parties!  But if it would seal the deal.... "Sure."

"Great.  We just need to coordinate our costumes."

"Beg pardon?"

"Didn't I mention it?  It's a costume party.  I was planning to go as Cupid, but we should do something as a pair, like Batman and Robin."

I think I'll go as Captain America.  Less chance of losing my pants.

See also: The Late for Class Dream

Sunday, November 15, 2015

Rev. Jasper's Boys


West Hollywood, September 1987

I don't remember where I met Rev. Jasper.  Not at MCC, maybe at Evangelicals Together, the gay evangelical network in West Hollywood.  He was in his 40s, a little taller than me, and very muscular,  thick and heavy, with a furry chest.

A bit too old for me: in West Hollywood, you were expected to date within a 5 year age range, and in the summer of 1988, I was only 27 years old.

But he had most of the characteristics I find attractive, including being a clergyman: he was a minister at a gay-friendly American Baptist church in Gardena, about 45 minutes south of West Hollywood.






There aren't any Baptist churches near Gardena that are gay-friendly today, so I doubt that there were any 30 years ago.  Rev. Jasper was probably just feeding me a line.

On our first date,  we had dinner at the French Quarter, and he tried to impress me with his knowledge of Hebrew, Greek, and Latin.  But he got some basic dates in biblical history wrong, and he had a weird theory about Leviticus:

"The Bible is the literal Word of God, no doubt about it, but you have to interpret it right.  For instance, in Leviticus, thou shalt not lie with man as with woman.  Well, how do you lie with man as with woman?  You lie on top of him, and he puts his legs in the air.  So no Greek (anal).  But God doesn't say anything about French (oral)."


But he was muscular, with a thick neck and black eyebrows, so I invited him home.

He liked oral, getting but not giving.  Not a problem.  The only thing I didn't like was his annoying habit of calling me "nice boy, good boy" during the Act.  I felt like a puppy dog.

On our second date, you always introduce him to your friends, so Raul and Heinz invited us over to watch a movie.

This date didn't go as well.  Rev. Jasper was practically drooling over Raul, even suggested sharing on the second date!  Plus he told us about another weird theory.

There were 8 sexes, 4 anthropomorphic (male) and 4 gynecomorphic (female):

Masculine/feminine men
Masculine/feminine boys
Masculine/feminine women
Masculine/feminine girls

And you are only attracted to other sexes, so masculine men are never into other masculine men, for instance, only feminine men, boys, women, or girls.

"Um, excuse me!"  I exclaimed.  "I'm only into masculine men, and I'm plenty masculine!"



He said "Are you really?"

Ok, this would be our last date!  "What about Raul, my ex boyfriend?  He's plenty masculine too!"

"He's still a boy.  A very hot one, I might add."

Raul was 24.  So by boy, Rev. Jasper meant twink.  

Didn't he?

I didn't call Rev. Jasper again, but I don't think he noticed.  The moment the 48 hour waiting period was over, he called Raul for a date.

Fine with me.

So they began dating.  Raul told me that Rev. Jasper was interesting to talk to, and very nice in bed, except for his annoying habit of saying "Good boy, nice boy" during the act.

"I'm not a boy!" Raul exclaimed.  "I'm a grown-up man, ese!"

"He just means a twink,". I said.

"It's still disrespectful."

I shrugged. "Then break up with him."

Raul smiled.  "Did you see what he looks like naked?  I can stand being a boy for a chance at that sausage.  And he has some interesting things to say about the Bible..."

Then, just after their fifth or sixth date, Raul called, bubbling over with excitement.  "My brother Manny is coming for a visit!"

Raul's parents were very conservative Pentecostals.  They weren't happy with him being gay, but they were trying to learn tolerance.  So agreeing to let Manny visit was a major victory.

"We'll have so much fun!" he continued.  "We'll go to Knotts Berry Farm, and Mann's Chinese Theater, and the beach.  And I'll introduce him to all my friends, so he can go home and tell Mama and Papa that gays aren't monsters."

On Friday Raul and I drove down to Escondido, about two hours away, to pick Manny up and take him out to dinner at Mel's Diner in Hollywood.  There were six of us: Raul, me, and four of his friends, including Rev. Jasper.

Manny was 14, cute, energetic, and very nonchalant about Raul's gayness.  He asked thoughtful questions about who called who for the date, who paid, and how you stayed friends after breaking up.

On Saturday, Raul and Manny went out on their own to tour Hollywood and the Santa Monica Pier.

On Sunday, Raul, Manny, and I went to church at the MCC, and then we drove him home.


On Monday, Raul called.  "That's all! I'm not dating Rev. Jasper any more."

"Why?" I asked, surprised.  "What happened?"

"Oh, he's good...he's smooth...but come on, I'm not stupid. When Manny was visiting, his eyes got all big, he talked to him like that, asked him questions like that."

My face started to burn.  "You mean..."

There was dead silence on the line.

"I didn't notice anything inappropriate," I began.  "When he says boy, he means twink....um, doesn't he?"

"He calls me today, he wants to invite me and Manny to Bear Mountain."


"Um...well, that sounds innocent.  He's just being nice to his boyfriend's brother."

"But wait -- he says 'Manny is such a cute boy!  Such a good boy!'"

Ok, that sounded a lot like Rev. Jasper's pillow talk.

"Then he says 'Do you think Manny liked me?  When can I see him again?'"  Like he wants a date! First you, and then me, I'm still a boy, and now Manny!  Pendejo!"

Ok, no more Rev. Jasper.

See also: Preachers, Priests, and Monks on my Dating List




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