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.

Friday, November 20, 2015

16 West Hollywood Hunks That I've Been Keeping Secret

The 10 years I spent in West Hollywood were the best in my life.  Ok, my career was going nowhere: I dropped out of two graduate schools, couldn't sell my novel, tried to make do on part time and temporary jobs, and was unemployed for a year.

But who cares, when you live in Paradise?  Everything was fresh and new and exciting.  Just stopping for coffee at the Greenery was an adventure.  

And the beefcake....

You probably thought that 40 stories, from the Bulgarian Bodybuilder through Marshall the Virgin, represents a comprehensive account of my erotic and romantic life in West Hollywood.  But there's a lot more.  Here are some boyfriends, dates, hookups, and sausage sightings that I forgot to mention. 

Or didn't want to.  Either they're not interesting enough for a full post, or they're too embarrassing or distasteful to dwell on.

1. The Farmboy Fetishist, who spent our entire date asking me about milking cows, driving pick up trucks, wearing blue overalls, and going to tractor pulls.  I tried to tell him that Rock Island was urban, nowhere near cornfields, but he wouldn't believe me.

2. The Insult Comedian I got fixed up with, who spent the entire evening insulting me, and then asked me up to his room.  I reneged, saying "Oh, my favorite tv program is on."  He said, "You can watch it upstairs."  So I relented.  I watched tv and then left without doing anything erotic.

3. Sleeping on the Floor. The guy who invited me back to his place at the end of the date, but wouldn't let me into his bedroom.  He spread out a blanket on the living room floor.  Unfortunately, his gigantic dog wanted to participate.  Every time I tried anything, the dog would try to join in.  Finally he said "This isn't going to work."

4. Will the Bondage Boy who lived in Silverlake, where he had a Sweeney Todd fetish.  He had a fantasy about being cooked and eaten, and wanted me to help him accomplish it -- not all the way, of course, but a fantasy scene.

5. Raul's New RoommateHeinz, a slim, long-faced, bearded Daddy with a girl fetish, not my type, but I figured it was only polite to agree to share.  

6. Lane's Celebrity Date.  A minor celebrity -- he had starred in one of those low-budget teen slasher movies.  Blond, nice physique.  He moved to Tampa, Florida to work in hotel management.  When I moved to Florida years later, I looked him up -- and he remembered me!

7. The Silver Lake Stud. The guy who spoke only Spanish who I picked up at a bar in Silverlake.  He said he wanted to do a lot of things, but when I got him back home to the apartment with Lane, he didn't want to besar or mamar.  "Oh, I just said that so you would bring me home," he said.  All he wanted to do was to cojer.  But I wasn't in the mood, and besides, there were no condoms in the house.  So I drove him all the way back to Silverlake.  I should have made him walk.

8. "How Are You" Is Not a Question.  The guy who invited us up to his room -- he turned out to live in on of those low-budget hotels downtown -- where he told us about his many, many, many, many serious medical problems.  Way to kill the mood!

9. Multiracial.  The Asian guy from Mugi who invited me over for dinner with his roommate, who was black, and the roommate's boyfriend, who was Hispanic.  We did a lot of switching partners that night.

10. The guy Alan knew from his porn movie days, who he brought as the "entertainment" to a party with my Celebrity Boyfriend.

11. Randall, the Bear with the Pierced Penis.  Not just a small piercing, either -- a gigantic silver ring through the head.  You could break your teeth on that thing.

12. The Silverlake Wrestler.  He wanted to become an Episcopal priest, and was into wrestling.

13. The African-American leather bear who wore ten tons of jewelry on his nipples and liked having them bitten -- hard.

14. The portly leather guy who had his body completely covered with tattoos.  He even had a tattooed penis.

15. The Sleazoid. Lane and I never talked about what we would do if one of us brought home someone to share, and the other wasn't interested.  It happened one night: he brought home a sleazy, oily, disgusting guy who reeked of alcohol.  No way!  But I had no choice but to watch; it was part of the deal.

16. The cholo who asked me out to see if I would be too scared to accept.  I wasn't.  Our date involved going to his cousin's quinceanera and meeting his abuela

Thursday, November 19, 2015

The 20 Most Beautiful Men in the World

One day Thomas Hardy saw a person on the bus of remarkable beauty "such as we see sometimes among strangers but never among our friends."  Who knows them?  He wondered.  Who sees them at the breakfast table?  Who picks them up at work?  Who knows the daily monotony of their lives?

I haven't really been reading the letters of Thomas Hardy.  Linus quotes him in a Peanuts cartoon.  

And I have the answer: we all know them.  They are our friends and lovers, but familiarity has eroded the rush of awe we felt on first sight.  A few farts, sniffles, and complaints about the guy at work, and they are no longer creatures of supernatural beauty.  They're just plain Stan or Rick or David.

The fleeting glimpse of supreme beauty always happens when there's no way possible for you to ever meet.  You're far from home, so you won't be passing that way again, there's not enough time to strike up a conversation, or the press of the crowd makes it impossible to reach him (try tracking a stranger across a crowded room). 

That's why the fleeting glimpse is so important.  There is no quirk ridden personality or traumatic back story to deal with.  There are no meetings to strategize over, no dates to plan.  There's no person, just archetypal beauty.  

On your death bed you'll remember these faces and physiques.  You won't regret that you never met them, never became friends or lovers, maybe didn't even make eye contact.  You'll be grateful that you were lucky enough to get a glimpse of heaven.

1. Rock Island, 1981.   I was walking through the library at Augustana College.  On a couch below a Spanish language encyclopedia, he had fallen asleep, legs splayed out on the floor in front of him.  His shirt was unbuttoned an extra button, revealing a v of bare chest.

2. Barcelona, 1994. I looked out my hotel room at the hotel across the street,  where some athletes had a room.  He was still wearing blue bikini briefs as he pushed the window open to greet the world.

3. Tampa, 2005.  On a job interview in Florida, I was taking a tour of the town, and we stopped at a stop light. He was standing in line at a frozen custard stand, waiting to order, in a white t-shirt, red shorts, and sandals instead of shoes.

4. Rock Island, 1984.  We were driving through Rock Island on Christmas Day.  It was unseasonably warm, in the 60s, and he was on the roof of his house, doing something with shingles, shirtless, pale, hardbodied.

5.  London, 2007. At Heathrow, everyone gets off the plane and heads straight for the rest room, so they get crowded.  I saw him next to me at the urinal, wearing a backpack, yellow shirt, buffed, intent on his business.

6.  Indianapolis, 2012. At a hotel in Indianapolis where I was staying while visiting my parents: he was eating breakfast with two other guys.  Short, well-groomed, smiling.  They were all wearing suits and talking about the project. 

7. South Carolina, 2005.  Driving through South Carolina, I saw him in a field, a farmer or farm hand, black, shirtless, sweating.  I waved.  He waved back.

8. Paris, 1999. He was sitting on the Paris metro, wearing a grey coat, reading a book.  I couldn't make out the title.

9.Missoula, 1995. On our road trip across the mountain states, we drove through Missoula, Montana.  He was fishing off a bridge, blond, wearing a sleeveless shirt that showed off his biceps.

10. Boston, 2008. At Harvard University, he was walking briskly across the quad, carrying a cup of coffee, his breath smoky in the early morning cold.

11.  Los Angeles, 1988. He was at LAX, waiting for the same flight that I was, muscular in a grey t-shirt, big hands with a class ring.  I prayed for us to be seated together or across the aisle from each other, but no.

12. Cordoba, 1994. He was among the crowd leaving a church in Cordoba, Spain, Young, teen or early 20s, wearing a white shirt and blue tie.  He smiled at me as I passed.

13. Baltimore, 2015. I was at a small diner in Baltimore with just a counter.  He was next to me, eating waffles and texting on his cell phone, wearing a cal poly tshirt.  I tried to make eye contact, but no.

14.  Upstate, 2010.  At the nursing home upstate, visiting Troy's grandmother, I saw him pushing his own grandmother in a wheelchair out into the sun, talking softly to her.

15. Fort Lauderdale, 2003. We were driving somewhere, and I saw him playing tennis on a public court, his shirt off, his bare chest gleaming in the sun.

16.  Dayton, 2010. I never go to Wal-Mart, but that day we were driving crosscountry, and for some reason we stopped into the Dayton Wal-Mart. He was shopping in men's shirts.  He was wearing a cowboy hat and an Angry Birds t-shirt.

17. Los Angeles, 1988.  I took a new route home from work, and I saw him at the bus stop with his friends.  We made eye contact.  I took that route again for a week, making sure that I passed by that bus stop at the same moment every day,b ut I never saw him again.

18. New York, 2004.  He was in the aisle across from me on a plane going from New York to Fort Lauderdale.  Asleep for most of the trip.  I watched carefully for any sign of a sleep bulge.

19. Cleveland, 2009. In a museum in Cleveland, he was an art student taking notes about a painting of a naked Cupid arising from his bed.

20. Iowa, 2016.  At a highway rest stop, where he and his companions had stopped on the way north.  We exchanged glances and said "hi" before he got back into his car and drove away forever.

See also: 20 Sausage Sightings.

Three Guys in My Bed in Baltimore

People think that professional conferences are about getting drunk and having orgies, but in fact you're very busy with presentations, meetings, book sessions, and a little sightseeing, so there isn't much time left for bars and boys.

When I was in Baltimore last week, I was staying right in the conference hotel.  What would be easier than bringing somebody up during my hour or two between sessions, or in the evening?

Easier said than done.

Friday night, the last night of my trip.

6:00 pm: I go on Grindr.  Back home I get inundated with hookup requests within minutes.  Here, nothing.

6:15 pm.  I take a new shirtless photo to post.  Maybe that will help.

6:30  I go on Scruff, Adam4Adam, and Hornet.

6:45 pm.  Guys start to approach me, but they're not visitors staying in any of the dozen hotels in the area.  They're all locals.

7:30 pm.  I settle on Alix, age 35, slim, Asian, in the medical profession, with a very provocative selfie.  He lives in Cold Springs, about six miles away, so it will take about half an hour to get here.

8:00 pm.  In this hotel, you have to have a guest room key card to go up the elevator.  So we agree that Alix will text me when he arrives, and I'll go down and get him.

8:15 pm.  I'm still waiting.  While I wait, I chat with other guys.

8:30 pm.  I go downstairs and look.   I text him "Ok, you're a no show."

I invite another guy on my list. Rob, also in his 30s, bearded, hairy, muscular, Middle Eastern-looking, with a job in finance and another very provocative selfie.

"I live in Glen Burnie, about 10 miles away," Rob says.  "So, with traffic and parking, plan on it taking an hour for me to get there."

"Great!  I'll see you at 9:30 pm."

8:45 pm.  Alix texts.  He's downstairs.  He was delayed.

What do I do now?  Cancel with Alix?  He's already here. Cancel with Rob?  He's on the way. 

I go down and get Alix, hoping for a quick, half hour hookup, and out the door before Rob arrived.

Alix has a nice physique and an exceptionally large Kielbasa beneath the belt, but he doesn't want to kiss or do oral.  He wants to top me, but I don't have any condoms.  So I go down on him, while he moans "I want to f*** you, I want to f**** you."

9:15 pm.  We're finished.  He holds me in his arms so tightly that it hurts, and starts talking.

How can I get him out of here?

At that moment, Rob texts.  "Traffic was light.  I'm in the lobby."

Embarrassed, I tell Alix, "I thought you were a no-show, so I invited another guy over."

He says, "Well, invite him up! The more the merrier."

I go into the lobby, pick up Rob, and bring him upstairs.  I tell him, "Pay no attention to the naked man in the bed."

"Oh, is this your roommate?" Rob asks.

"Hookup from earlier in the evening," I admit.  "But I'll kick him out if you'd rather have a one-on-one."

He looks at Alix.  Alix smiles.

"No, this is fine."  He quickly takes off his clothes, climbs onto the bed, and takes Alix in his arms.

Wait, Alix didn't want to kiss me, but he'll kiss Rob?

I go down on Rob while they're busy.  Alix murmurs "I want to f*** you, I want to f**** you."

Fortunately, Rob brought condoms.

At least I get to kiss Rob while Alix is working.

Afterwards they seem to fall asleep in each other's arms.  At least I get some cuddling.

10: 30 pm.  I can't have two strangers spending the night!

I wake them up.  "'s been fun, but one of you has to leave."

They both get dressed and leave.  Together.

Which, I suppose, make sense.  Alix and Rob live close enough to date, whereas I'm getting on a plane tomorrow and flying away.

Still, I hadn't planned to be a match-maker!  Besides, I didn't get a chance to do much.  I'm still in the mood.

It's against the rules of cruising to hook up with more than one guy in an evening, but....

10:45 pm.  I invite a third guy over.  Christian, a Johns Hopkins student, 20 years old, with an athletic physique, and again, a very nice selfie.  Looks like he has a Kielbasa beneath the belt -- they make them big in Baltimore.

Just as we finalize the hookup, he says  "Do you mind if I bring my boyfriend?  He's into older guys, too."

See also: The 20 Most Beautiful Men in the World; My Most Embarrassing Hookup; My Saturday Night Special

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.


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.


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.


"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?"


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, 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

Tarik's First White Cop

Norfolk, Virginia, June 1993

"Ok, my turn,"  Tarik says.  "I'm going to tell you about my date with a blue-eyed demon."

I'm in Norfolk visiting my friend Alan the Pentecostal Porn Star, his boyfriend Sandy, and their friend Tarik.  We're swapping stories of celebrity hookups, deplorable dates, and guys with baseball bats beneath the belt.

"Do you mean a real demon?" Alan asks, paling.  He's a recovering fundamentalist, and still believes that demonic powers wander the Earth, oppressing and possessing mortals.

"You'll have to wait till the end of the story to find out," Tarik says with a smile.

Tarik grew up on 36th Street in Norfolk.  He was raised by his older sister Tamisha and her husband Jameer, who belonged to the Nation of Islam, and took him to the Friday services at Masjid William Salaam.

There he learned that blacks were the only true humans, the Tribe of Shabazz, and whites were monsters created by the evil scientist Yakub 6,600 years ago, who broke free from their cages and set out to destroy the world.

The imam said, "Be polite, smile, but don't let your guard down.  If they can, they will take what is yours..  They will even kill you. Never invite one into your home, or accept an invitation into one of their homes. You may not make it out alive."

There weren't any white kids in Tarik's neighborhood, or in his school.  About the only white people he saw were the cops, who drove through constantly, looking for an excuse to humiliate the brothers, call them racial slurs, beat them up, and arrest them

"Well, you have to admit, most cops are homophobic bastards," Sandy says. 

The imam didn't like gay people, either -- they were blue-eyed demons, sent by the evil Yakob to  seduce black men and spread AIDS through the communities.

"So...this story is about sex with a white guy?" Sandy asks.  "That's not no thing -- I did that last night.  You did too."

"Not just any white guy," Tarik tells us. 

Tarik was a good kid.  He didn't use drugs, or hang out with the gang-bangers.  But he liked guys who played against the rules: sneaking into of the Virginia Zoo after hours, going skinny-dipping in the Lafayette River, that sort of thing.  Often their evening adventures ended with a heavy session of making out and oral sex, but Tarik never associated that with being gay.

Fall 1985

After graduating from high school, Tarik enrolled at the all-black Norfolk State University as a Food Science major.  He was the only boy in most of his classes.   Jameer and Tamisha disapproved: "Next you'll be turning into a cheerleader, shaking your pom-poms around!"

He went out for cheerleading, just to spite them.

He met some guys who were "in the life," and began dating.  They told him about the racism and discrimination in the gay community, and advised him to stay with his own people.

But...when he watched Miami Vice, about buddy cops Crockett and Tubbs, he found himself imagining the nude form of the white Don Johnson, not the black Philip Michael Thomas.

"No way!"  he chided himself.  "No way!"

Fall 1989

After graduation, Tarik was certified as a dietician, and went to work at the Norfolk General Hospital.  It was fun -- and nonstop beefcake!  He got to plan the dietary regimes of injured men, interview them about their allegies and food preferences, consult with cute male doctors and orderlies.  Many were white,,,,

"No way!"  He chided himself. "No way!"

"Once you go white," Sandy says, "You're never uptight!"  He laughs.  " I just made that up now."

One day Tarik had to interview a new patient, a young guy with a broken leg.

White.  And amazingly beautiful: short brown hair, flawless pale skin like marble, piercing blue eyes.

Intellectually, he knew it was ridiculous, but he still associated blue eyes with gay people.  A gay white man!

"No!" he told himself.  :Be polite, be professional, nothing more!"

"" he began, speechless.  "I'm your dietitian, Tarik."

"Howdy!  I'm your patient, Jim."  He held out his hand.

How could just a simple handshake be so erotic?  Tarik felt like he was going to faint.  He sat down next to the bed, and looked at the guy's chart.  James Masterson.  A cop!

"Um... the doctor said you can eat normally, so  I just need to check your food preferences.  For breakfast, you have a choice of an omelette and wheat toast or oatmeal..."

He returned after breakfast to see if James Masterson -- Jim -- was eating right.  And the next day.  And for the next two weeks.  And when Jim was ready for his release, Tarik was the one who drove him to his apartment, made sure he could get around ok, and spent the night.

"Details!" Alan exclaims.  "How big was he?  What did you do?  Give us a blow-by-blow."

"Or blowjob by blowjob," Sandy adds.

Jim was very big beneath the belt, a thick cut Kielbasa.  He was mostly into making out and oral: Tarik went down on him three times that night.  But this wasn't just fooling around -- they were dating!

Dating one of the racist oppressors!  What was he going to tell his friends?  What was he going to tell Tamisha and Jameer?

He decided not to beat around the bush.  He called, said he had met someone, and arranged for them all to have lunch together at the Handsome Biscuit on Granby Street -- in public, in case there was yelling.

Jim wore his uniform to make a good impression.  Tarik helped him through the restaurant door and to the booth where Tamisha and Jameer were waiting.  Their smiles turned to stares, then back to smiles, as they greeted Jim.  They asked polite questions, and even joked a bit.

"So they were more supportive than you thought!" Alan says. "Very nice story."

"Just wait."

The next day Tamisha called.  "I have a bone to pick with you about that white boy of yours."

Uh-oh, Tarik thought.  Here it comes -- the screaming.  Traitor!  Brainwashed!.  Bringing AIDS into the community!

He braced himself.  "What about Jim?"

There was a moment of silence on the phone.  Then: "Now, I know you like a little danger in your men, but really, Tarik, a cop?  Every time he goes out, you'll be at home worrying that he'll get his head blown off!  You won't get even a minute of peace!"

"They were fine with me being gay, and dating a white guy, but they didn't like him being a cop!"  Tarik laughs.  "Doesn't that take the cake?"

"It could have been worse," Alan says.  "Imagine if Jim was a soldier."

"A white boy in uniform!" Tarik exclaims.  "C'mon, Boomer, let's go cruising."

See also: Alan Picks Up a Father and Son. ; My Hookup with the Martian; Tarik Hooks Up with Jonathan Brandis


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