Saturday, December 31, 2016

A Boy With Daddy Issues Rips My Clothes Off

Plains, May 2015

Ever since I wimped out on Raphael, the Gay Psychic Angel, who was perfect in every way except that his arms didn't work, I have felt guilty.  I should have called -- I would have called -- except I kept imagining becoming his boyfriend, and being responsible for helping him eat and dress and use the bathroom -- how shallow!

So I decided that if I ever had such an opportunity again, I would go for it without hesitation.

The opportunity came in, of all places, a comic book store on the Plains.

I always feel out of place amid the fanboys and fantasy gamers, self-conscious about my age more than anything, so I rush in, get what I need, and rush out again.  But on that Saturday afternoon in May 2015, there were two guys standing in front of the New Arrival rack.

One was a hefty, bearded bear in his 40s.  He was picking up titles and showing them to his friend, who was small, slim, in his 20s.

And had cerebral palsy.

Back in college, I dated Jimmy, the Bodybuilder on Crutches, but his cerebral palsy resulted only in some stiffness, so he had to use crutches to get around, and some motor actions were difficult.

This guy had spastic movements (uncontrollable spasms in his arms), spasticity in his hands (they bent back), and gait disturbance (one leg dragged behind).

He turned and smiled at me. "We're almost done."

Slurred speech, too.

"Oh, don't worry.  Take your time."

He continued to smile.  The cruise was unmistakable.

I should say something else.  "Um...I heard that IDW is coming out with a new Donald Duck title.  Funny how Disney titles never last."

"Well, you know fanboys are fickle. My name is Andy."

"Boomer.  Pleased to meet you."

He swung his body to stretch out his curled, curved hand.  I took it and squeezed.  For some reason, I was surprised that it was warm.

By now his friend was staring at me suspiciously.  "This is my warden," Andy said in his slurred speech. "His job is to make sure I never have any fun."

"Roy -- Andy's Dad,"  he grunted.  "The one with the car."

Ok, I was being cruised by a guy who was thirty years younger than me, with spastic movements that kind of freaked me out, in a comic book store, in front of his father.

Time to seal the deal!

"Have you had lunch yet?  There's a pretty good Chinese place down the street that I like."

"We're going for pizza," Andy countered.  "You should come."

Roy grunted disapprovingly.  In retrospect, it must have seemed odd to watch his son pick up a strange guy twice his age.  Or did Andy do this all the time?

We had barbecue chicken pizza and garlic knots, while Andy's "spastic movements" kept rubbing his leg against mine.  I couldn't tell if Roy knew that his son was cruising me,  but it was obvious that he kept strict control over Andy's friends.  You had to prove yourself.

Turns out that Andy and I didn't have a lot in common.  He liked sports -- especially baseball -- and zombie movies and tv programs like The Walking Dead.

And he lacked most of the traits that I find attractive -- he was shorter than me, but slim, pale-skinned, and not religious.  I didn't get a chance to check on his beneath-the-belt gifts.

I was tempted to let the relationship slide,but then I thought of the Psychic Angel.  No way -- we were going forward, as far as Andy wanted!

Apparently I proved myself to Roy, as I got permission to solo with Andy the next day: a baseball game -- yawn -- then back to my apartment to kiss on the couch.

"I always liked older guys," Andy whispered, groping me with his curved hand.  "You're always so big!"

"It doesn't really get bigger as you get older."

"Ok, I guess I have Daddy issues, then."

"Well, your father is rather hot."

"Oh, I fantasize about him sometimes -- is that sick?  I want to tie him up and spank him.  You know, be the one in charge."

I could see where this was heading! "Sorry, I'm not really into that."  Andy probably couldn't tie ropes well, anyway.

"Ok, so...maybe I could like just tear your clothes off before we do it?  That would be erotic."

"Um...sure, I guess."

I put on an old t-shirt and jeans, and we went into the bedroom.  But old clothes are quite tough, apparently, and Andy's spastic hand movements couldn't get them to rip. I had to start the process with scissors.

The erotic activity that followed was a little disappointing.  Andy had a Bratwurst, very thick, with a foreskin that wouldn't retract -- but he was only into backside activity -- and a top.

I let him top me, but he worked so fast that I barely noticed.

Then I drove him home.

"This was fun," he said.  "Sometime you should meet my boyfriend.  He'd like you, too."

Boyfriend?  Wait -- I thought that Andy was a lonely shut-in who never got asked out, that I was doing him a favor by dating him.  "Is he an older guy?"

"Oh, no, he's in college.  All the college boys want to date me, but hardly ever anyone older.  But  older guys are fun -- they're always so grateful!   Well, bye!"

Wait -- was Andy doing me a favor?

See also Gay Psychic Angel; Cruised by my Mentally Disabled Neighbor

Wednesday, December 28, 2016

Cesar Hooks Up with the Entire Male Cast of "I Love Lucy"

Brentwood, California, April 1991

I'm not exactly friends with Cesar Romero, the 85-year old Latin hearthrob who played The Cisco Kid in the 1940s and the Joker on Batman in the 1960s.  In West Hollywood, your friends were generally your ex-boyfriends and their current boyfriends, and Cesar and I have never dated, never even tricked (although I've watched him and Lane go at it).

But after my Biblical Hebrew class at UCLA, I like going over to visit him in his modern glass-and-leather apartment in Brentwood, to drink lemonade, get flirted with, and hear stories about hookups with the stars of Golden Age Hollywood.  Today he promised to tell me about the time he hooked up with the entire male cast of I Love Lucy (1951-57).

The vintage sitcom was before my time, but I've seen lots of episodes in syndication.  I love "Job Switching," where Lucy and Ethel (Lucille Ball, Vivian Vance) get jobs on an assembly line at a candy factory, with disastrous results.  And "Lucy Does a TV Commercial," where Lucy gradually gets drunk while selling the vitamin tonic Vitameatavegimen.

Lucy and Ethel were the stars.  The husbands, Ricky and Fred (Desi Arnaz, William Frawley) were mostly there to say "no, you can't have a new dress" and do slow burns after a catastrophe.  

But Desi was impossibly cute, and I recalled a scattering of other hot actors.  I wonder which Cesar has been with.

"Where to begin..." Cesar says.  "I've gone down on so many of the cast members.  Not the women, of course.  But..."

"Begin with Desi," I tell him.  "He was the hottest."

"And the biggest," Cesar adds with a wink.

Hollywood, April 1940

Cesar Romero was 33 years old, and already an established actor.  Never a contract player, he worked for various studios, playing heavies, gangsters, handsome leading men, and sundry adventurers, most recently the sardonic cowboy hero The Cisco Kid.

But what made him the most well-known face in Hollywood was his social life.  He was out every night, to movie premieres, gallery openings, charity events, nightclubs.  He practically lived at the Coconut Grove.  He was always seen on the arm of an attractive lady, usually an up-and-coming starlet; but he was a complete gentleman, seeing the lady to her front door with nothing more intimate than a kiss on the cheek.  There was no hint of scandal about him.

Last fall he dated Lucille Ball, the glamorous contract player for RKO.  When she asked, "Why don't you ever make a pass at me?", he replied, "Nothing personal.  It's just that I'm queer."

She was the first person he ever told.   After that they became close friends and confidants, sharing notes on eligible and not-so eligible men.

It was Lucy who told him about Desi Arnaz, a 23-year old singer and dancer who had come to Hollywood to play Manuelito in Too Many Girls.

"He's Cuban, like you!" she exclaimed.  "And a dancer!  And he's dreamy besides!  You're sure to get along fabulously."

"Are you sure he's that way?" Cesar asked.

"Sure as shooting, Jackson!  He didn't even try to make love to me. [Make love is the old term for flirting.]  If that's not proof, I don't know what is!"

So Cesar took the charismatic young dancer to the Coconut Grove.  Where he couldn't stop talking about Lucy.

Ok, normal [the 1940s term for "straight"].  Just shy.

Still, they became friends.  When Desi started seeing Lucy, they often double-dated with Cesar and whatever beard the studio provided.

It didn't take long for Desi to figure "it" out:

"Mira!"  he said one night, while the girls were powdering their noses.  "You don't have to hide.  I know you're a maricon!"

Cesar started to protest.  "Did Lucy say..."

"She said nothing.  I know from how you look at me.  I've seen that look before."


Me resbala, acero!  [No problem, buddy.], I know you can't help it.  But you should know, I like girls, not boys.  I can't be your chaval."

After that Cesar became more open, telling Desi about his trysts with this or that guy, Hollywood stars and others, about the parties he went to at the USO.

And maybe more aggressive at cruising him, since one night Desi said "Bueno, let's do it.  We'll get it over with, and then we can be friends.  But just this one time, ok?  I like girls, not boys."

They went back to Cesar's house in Beverly Hills, went into the bedroom, and Desi unzipped.

"How big was he?" I asked.

"One of the biggest.  A footlong!  I could barely get my mouth around the head.  And he was quick, too.  A few thrusts, and he was spurting down my throat.  Huge load!"

One time turned out to be a regular thing.  Once a week or so, they would go out to dinner, then back to Cesar's house.  No reciprocation, no kissing, just a blow job, a friendly gesture between friends.

In November 1940, Lucy and Desi married.

Cesar heard all about their tumultuous relationship.  Desi liked women -- and men -- too much.  He was devoted to Lucy, yet he always seemed to have one or two affairs going on the side, plus innumerable hookups.

Eventually, in one of his many failed attempts to stay faithful, Desi put an end to the "friendly gestures."

Brentwood, California, April 1991

I'm a bit disappointed.  I've already heard a lot about Desi Arnaz's bisexuality, and a "double date" doesn't really count as "hooking up with the entire cast of I Love Lucy."  

"What about the other male stars?" I ask.  "William Frawley, who played Fred Mertz?"

"No," Cesar admits. "Even when I first met him, back in 1936, he was bald.  Ugh!"

I can't think of anyone else offhand, but I came prepared.  I pull out my Complete Guide to Prime Time TV Shows, and ask Cesar about his hookups with the rest of the actors, directors, and miscellaneous cast members.

Director William Asher?  No.

Head writer Bob Carroll, Jr?  No.

Richard Keith, who played Lucy and Ricky's infant son, but would now be in his 40s? No.

Ok, there are lots more in the cast list.  I go through them, one by one.

Cesar has gone down on Bennett Green, who played various bit parts in 21 episodes, and Marco Rizo, the music director.  And that's it.

"Three isn't bad," Cesar says.  "Besides, Desi and I were close friends for fifty years, And in the end, isn't friendship more important than any number of cocks?"

Of course, but I came here to learn about cocks..  "Ok, let's go on to your hookup with Desi's son, Desi Arnaz Jr."

See also: Lane's Date with Batman, Robin, and the Joker; I Love Lucy; Cesar's Three Way with the Sons of Desi Arnaz and Dean Martin

Monday, December 26, 2016

Hooking Up During a Job Interview

Xenia, Ohio, February 2005

I've been on the academic job market four times, after getting my Ph.D. (2001), when trying to leave Florida (2005), and at the end of my temporary positions in Dayton (2008) and Philadelphia (2013).  10-12 interviews each time, nearly 50 in all.

So I know all the routines.

1. I will be asked about the last game of whatever sports team is popular in my area.

2. I will be told about the hotness of local girls.

3. I will usually be assumed heterosexual, in spite of my resume-full of gay-themed research, although some people will wonder, and ask sneaky questions in an attempt to find out.

4. Others will conclude that I am gay, and hide in their offices when I'm around, lest they be forced to shake hands with a queer.

5. Sometimes they have just invited me to interview so they can congratulate themselves on how liberal they are; I have no chance at an offer.

Those interviews can actually be pleasant: since I have no chance, I can relax, not be "on" all the time, pay more attention to my surroundings.  And it's fun seeing them stumble around the gay issue.

In the spring of 2005, when I was invited to Wilberforce University, near Xenia, Ohio, it was obvious even before I arrived that I had no chance of a offer.  It's a historically black college. 500 students, 98% black.   And affiliated with the homophobic African Methodist Episcopal Church.  No gay student organizations.

No way they're hiring a gay white guy.

So I relaxed, played it cool, and settled in for my free trip.

A very pretty campus, Georgian style, a little run down, but crowded with extremely attractive black men, students and faculty both.

 I insisted on touring the athletic facilities, so I could see some semi-nude student athletes.


It might be fun working here, just for the pleasure of looking at the muscular physiques, and maybe scoping out a few sausages.

There were only four or five non-black students at the college, but they drafted one of them to show me around: Jordi, a fresh-faced German exchange student (top photo).

Ok, so there was some racial diversity on campus.

Now, if I could only find a gay student or faculty member at this small, closeted college.

My jobtalk (research presentation), advertised to everyone on campus, was not on a gay topic -- I didn't want to press my luck.  But it did have "race, gender, and sexual identity" in the title, signaling that there would be gay content to those "in the know."

The faculty hated it.  When I mentioned the increased rate of "downlow" activity among African-American communities, one stormed out, and another said "I completely disagree with your thesis!"

But at the reception afterwards, I was approached by a short, compact, rather buffed music major named Clintin.

"Your paper was very insightful," he said, shaking my hand.  "I've noticed that a lot of gay black men refuse to admit it.  They date girls, but then after the date they're in each other's dorm rooms."

Seeing my "in," I asked "Are there a lot of gay students on this campus?"

"I know a few," he said cagily. "But they're closeted, like you said.  They won't even drive to the gay bars in Dayton, 20 minutes away.  They go all the way to Columbus or Cincinnati."

He wasn't going to come out to me!

"Any homophobia on campus?" I asked.

"Not really.  Mostly they just assume that no gay people exist."

But then someone else came over, and he clammed up.

"Come to dinner with us," I offered.  "We can talk about this some more."

We actually couldn't, with five faculty members and three other students at the table at Mariachi's, a Mexican restaurant in Xenia.  But he did manage to sit next to me, so close that our thighs almost touched, and when I dropped my fork, we both leaned over to pick it up, and our hands touched.

At the end of the dinner, when they were looking for someone to take me back to my hotel, Clintin volunteered.

"I live in Xenia, anyway, so I'll be close to home," he explained.

When we were alone in the car on the way back to the Ramada, Clintin finally came out:

"Nobody knows.  You think they would suspect a flute player, but they think all gay guys are fruity little queens, and I'm built like a linebacker, so no suspicion.  I can get away with about anything.  When I was living in the dorm, I even had my boyfriend stay overnight, and no one got wise."

"Yeah, that happened when I was in grad school."  20 years ago!

Don't try this at home!

Never hook up with students, faculty, or staff during a job interview.  Word will get out, and you won't get the job.

But in this case, I knew I wasn't getting the job anyway, and Clintin was the only gay person I knew in the state.

The moment we got into my hotel room, we were kissing and fondling.  Soon I was going down on Clintin's impressive cut Mortadella and fondling his butt.  He threw me on the bed and tried to push my legs in the air, but I convinced him to thrust between my legs to finish.

Then we kissed and fondled until he was ready again, this time oral.

He went down on me until I finished, and then he was ready for his third time.

Finally, around 2:00 am, we exchanged telephone numbers, and he got dressed and left.

In the morning someone else picked me up for breakfast, and I had my meeting with the president, the provost, and human resources before going back to the Dayton airport to catch my flight to Fort Lauderdale.  I didn't see Clintin again.

Six months later, in August 2005, I moved to Ohio to take a job at the University of Dayton.  I got an apartment in Fairborn, a far eastern suburb, got my new driver's license and car registration, joined a gym, moved into my new office, and went to work on my fall classes.

Wilberforce University was only about ten miles away, but I didn't think of calling Clintin.  Surely that night was just a hookup.  Why would a closeted undergraduate at a homophobic college want to date an out-and-proud professor?  Who was 20 years older than him?

Then one day in the fall semester, he knocked on my office door.

"Last spring one of the frats put on a homophobic skit," he explained, "And me and some of my friends protested.  We were put on academic probation, so...guess what?  I transferred here, to the University of Dayton."

"A little more liberal," I said.

"Heck!  A lot more!  I joined the gay student association, and I started a club just for gay music majors -- there are like twenty of us.  We're putting on a drag show fundraiser in October."

"Sounds like you're busy.  Too busy to..."

He grinned.  "Not too busy to have dinner with you Friday night,  Not by a long shot!"

See also: Me and the High School Bodybuilder. 

Sunday, December 25, 2016

20 Uncles, Cousins, and Nephews on My Sausage Sighting List

Many guys have told me that their first inklings of same-sex desire came when they saw a cousin or uncle naked.  Sometimes they even had their first sexual encounter with a relative.

It makes sense -- uncles and cousins live far away, so you don't see them often, and the "mystery" necessary for sexual desire is retained, but there's a familial intimacy that makes sausage sightings much more likely than with strangers.

Here are my top 20 family-member sausage sightings, gropes, and grabs.

My Family

Ken, my brother.  Lots of times.

Terry, my sister's husband.  A bit homophobic, but still, I got a glimpse in the locker room when we stripped down to work out together.

Dad's Family, the Davises

Cousin Joe.  My very first sausage sighting, when I was 7 1/2 years old and went to the bathroom late at night, to see my older cousin there, washing off in the sink.  I saw him again, fully aroused, in high school.

Cousin George.  From South Carolina, exactly my age.  When I went to visit him at age 10, we took a bath together, and slept in the same bed, naked: "only fools wear pajamas."

Uncle George.  His father.  When we went swimming, we all changed clothes in the same room, and I got a good view of his cut Mortadella+ hanging down.

Cousin Phil.  One Thanksgiving evening my brother and I had to share a room with my older cousin.  I got not only a sausage sighting, but a sausage grope and fondle.

Cousin Donnie.  Actually my third or fourth cousin, from Canada.  Grandma Davis brought us out to visit one summer.  I got a good view in a bathhouse at the beach.

Mom's Family, the Praters

Uncle Paul, my mother's youngest brother.  He taught me how to pee "against the wind," and of course had to pull it out to demonstrate.  But I'm sure that the Naked Man in the Peat Bog was one of his friend.

Cousin Graydon, his son.  When he was grown up, I tried to get a sausage sighting, but didn't make it.  But my boyfriend Troy got one.

Uncle Edd.  When I was ten years old, Cousin Buster and I spied on him in the outhouse, hoping to get a glimpse of his "gun."  I saw something else instead.

Cousin Buster.  We spent a lot of time together, so I got several sausage sightings, including one when he was fully aroused.

My Kentucky Cousins.   The summer when I was twelve years old, we went down to Kentucky to visit my Uncle Ell and his family.  My three boy cousins and their two friends and I went skinny dipping in the creek.  Lots of butts.

Uncle Ell.  They didn't have running water in Kentucky, so they took baths by heating water on the stove and pouring it in a bathtub.  Uncle Ell went first.

My Indian Relatives

There was a complicated story that I didn't figure out until I was an adult.  As a kid all I knew was that we sometimes visited Grandma Rani in the Potawatomie Nation.

Cousin Javon.  Grandma Rani's grandson, so my cousin.  During an "enemy interrogation" game, I pulled down his pants and got a sausage grope.

Uncle Clyde.  I had to go to the bathroom while he was taking a shower.  He invited me to come in anyway. A glimpse of his massive penis through the opaque curtain.

Saturday, December 24, 2016

Nude Photos of Former Tarzan Boy Steve Bond

Here are the nude photos of Steve Bond, 1960s Tarzan boy who staged a comeback by displaying his fabulous endowment in Playgirl, a risky move in 1975.  The full post is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding

Steve is in his 60s now, and still appears on screen occasionally.  His most recent films are Noah (2012) and Born to Race: Fast Track (2014).  Unfortunately, no nude shots.

Friday, December 23, 2016

My Christmas Date with the College Track Star

Small-Town Illinois, December 2016

Last September as I was driving through small-town Illinois on the way back from Indianapolis, I met Ryan H., a University of Illinois freshman, previously a high school track star from a small town.

For the next three months we chatted on Facebook and Snapchat.  He invited me to visit him at Christmastime, and every now and then sent me a selfie to pique my interest.

And another, and another. Butts at first, but when I told him I was only into the front side, lots of shirtless shots.  And cock-and-balls shots.  Nude, aroused, fapping.

[To protect his privacy, I changed his name and location, and none of these photos are actually of him.]

I was torn. 600 miles is a long way.

But he lives right on the way to my parents' house.

Besides, you never meet a perfect combination of face, physique, and Kovbasa++.

There was never really any doubt about what would happen.

Wednesday, December 21st

I drive to Rock Island, work out in the spectacular gym next to the Holiday Inn, and get a Harris Pizza before going on Grindr and inviting a twink named Park over.  He's not very cute, but he has a nice sized Mortadella+ for me to practice my oral skills on.

I'm going to need all the practice I can get before trying out Ryan's Kovbasa++ tomorrow night!

And I need a refresher on contemporary pop culture and slang.  What does "stay woke" mean, for instance, and who the heck are the Chainsmokers?

Thursday, December 22nd

Breakfast at my favorite place in Rock Island, then a three-hour drive to Urbana.  I get a room at the Holiday Inn and go to the Krannert Art Museum at the University of Illinois, where there's an exhibit on "Making and Breaking Medieval Manuscripts."  

At 3:00 pm, I lift weights -- chest and biceps only.  I want to be good and pumped when I see Ryan.

Then it's time to for a protein snack and a shower. I put on my new underwear, jeans, t-shirt, and leather jacket, leaving nothing to chance,  and drive to small-town Illinois.

5:00 pm:   I expect to meet Ryan at a friend's house, or in a public place, but the directions he gives me are to a house in a flat suburb surrounded by cornfields.

A balding, paunchy middle-aged man answers the door, and offers me a handshake. "You must be Boomer.  I'm Ryan's father, Marshall."

He told his father about me?

Not only his father -- Marshall leads me into a living room festooned with Christmas cards and holly, where I meet Ryan's mother and younger brother.  They offer me eggnog (which I accept) and cheese-and-crackers (which I refuse) and ask the sorts of questions parents ask: "How did you and Ryan meet?  What do you do?"

After about ten minutes, Ryan come down the stairs.  As cute as I remember!  White cargo shirt open two buttons, blue jacket, tight jeans with an obvious bulge.  He wraps his arms around me and kisses me on the cheek.

"Don't keep my boy out too late, now," Dad says as we walk toward the door.

"Dad, I'm 19!" Ryan exclaims.

"And I'm 46. We both need our beauty sleep."

We climb into my car.  "Your parents don't mind that you're dating someone my age?" I ask.

"No.  They think older guys are more mature, so I'm less likely to get in trouble.  My first boyfriend was way old -- 53."

I don't mention that I'm 56.

6:00 pm:   I expected to go into Urbana to the gay bars, but instead we go to a varsity wrestling match at the high school.  We sit in the bleachers with Ryan's bff Sam and two other guys!

Not my idea of a first date.  Especially since I'm the only person over 40 in the stadium who isn't a parent.

But I make the best of it, looking for wrestling singlet bulges.  And finding them.

8:00 pm: Dinner with Ryan, the bff, and the two other guys at a "family restaurant."  I have the fried chicken.

It's sort of nice to be squeezed into a booth next to Ryan, our legs pressed together.

But so small-town...wholesome...tame.

This is the adventurous guy who snuck into a gay bar in Indianapolis with a fake id and had a three way with Harry Styles of One Direction?  

Maybe Ryan is planning a group thing later.

Nope -- after dessert (apple pie), two of the three friends scatter., leaving Sam.  

"So, back to my hotel in Champaign?" I suggest.

Ryan looks doubtful.  "I promised Mom and Dad that I'd be home early."

"It's only fifteen minutes away."

"You guys can come hang out at my house," Sam offers.

Sharing, on a first date? I think.  What will kids today think of next!

10:00 pm:  Ryan and I sit on the bed in Sam's bedroom, watching Yoga Hosers on Netflix.  Sam has a chair.

It's rather nice to cuddle with Ryan, feeling his body against my chest, holding his hand.  Like being a teenager again.

But when are we going to get to the sexual activity?  Is Sam going to join us, or leave so we can get some privacy?

When Sam goes to the bathroom, we kiss and grope.  I feel Ryan's Kovbasa growing under my hand, and start to unzip him.

"Wait."  He pushes me away.  "Sam will be back any minute."

This is the guy who's been sending me nude selfies for three months?  Who had a three way with a pop star?  Come on!

12:00 am, sharp.  I drive Ryan back to his house and walk him to his front door, hoping to be sneaked into the house and into his bed.  

Instead, I get a kiss.

"What are you doing New Year's Eve?" he asks.

"I guess I'll still be in Indianapolis."

"Perfect.  The family's spending New Year's Eve in Indianapolis, too.  I'll take you to a pizza party at a 21-and-under club.  Text me."

He kisses me again and vanishes into the house.

There's no rule that you must have bedroom activity on a first date.  I guess.

I drive back to my hotel, feeling something like this.

See also: Picking Up a Track Star in Small-Town Illinois;  Ryan's Three Way with a Boy Band Member; My New Year's Eve Date.

Monday, December 19, 2016

Desperately Seeking Kevin the Vampire

San Francisco, March 14th, 2003

A Friday.  I'm living in Florida, but back in San Francisco for five days, anxious to visit my old hangouts and re-unite with my old friends:

Drake the Teddy Bear Artist.
Corbin, the Gym Rat with the Mortadella+:
Clay, who I picked up in the restroom at Macy's
Wayne the Ex-Priest.
Matt, my ex-boyfriend's ex-boyfriend

And especially Kevin the Vampire.  When I left San Francisco, I was actually relieved to be rid of him:  his smoking, his elitism, his weird paranormal powers, his exhausting bedroom calisthenics.  But at least dating him was never dull.

David, the ex-Baptist minister who is trying to make up for lost time by hooking up with at least two guys every day, picks me up at the airport.  On the way to his apartment on Alvarado in the Castro, he tells me that Drake, Corbin, Clay, and Wayne have all moved away or gone incognito.

I'm disappointed.  Back in West Hollywood, almost everyone I knew is still there.  I could walk into the French Quarter or the Fautline, and it would seem like I never left.

David shrugs.  "It takes a lot to live in Gay Heaven.  Not only money, but stamina, determination, passion.  Most guys get burned out in a few years."

"Well, surely Kevin the Vampire is still around.  I can't imagine him living anywhere else."

"Dunno.  I just hung out with him because of you, so we haven't been in contact.  Why don't you give him a call?"

I am embarrassed to admit that in a year of dating, I never got Kevin's phone number.  He always called me, or showed up at my door.

"Well, do you know his address?"  David asks.  "We could do a drop-in."

"I never got his actual street address, either, but I know where his apartment is.  I've been there a hundred times."  I hesitate.  "Only...we might not be able to find it.  One of Kevin's paranormal powers was confusing visitors.  If he wasn't expecting you, you would get lost."

"Desperately seeking Kevin the Vampire, a paranormal adventure!" David exclaims.  "I'm in -- but only if we can hook up with some of the leads.  I'm running a little low on my quota."

Saturday, March 15th

We have breakfast at Orphan Andy's, and then take the Muni out to the Richmond, where we find Kevin's apartment with no problem.  It's on the third floor of a Victorian on 12th Avenue, just south of Clement.

When we knock, a cute black-haired twink answers the door, bleary-eyed, wearing only pajama bottoms.  He introduces himself as Rome (or Roam) and invites us in for coffee.

"I've lived here for two years now, but I know who you're talking about.  He was here when I came to look at the place.  Not my type -- I like them muscular, like you guys."  He puts his hand on David's knee.  "But big eyes.  Weird, hypnotic."

"Definitely one of his selling points," I say.

"Well, he sold me.  I ended up going own on him, right in front of the landlord.  And I'm never a slut!  Weird, huh?"  He pauses, lightly stroking David's knee.  "Sorry I can't help you out.  I have to go take a shower and get ready for work.  So...unless you want to join me..."

I wait in the bedroom while David and Rome make out in the shower.  When they emerge, I go down on Rome while David is topping him.  Smooth hairless chest, average sized, cut, a lot of moaning.

That night David hosts a party in his apartment.  He invites four guys, including Matt, the crazy Harvard boy who was with my ex-boyfriend Fred for ten years, and runs a nude housekeeping service.  Matt's date is, of all people, Seth!

A cute science nerd in his 30s with a surprisingly muscular physique, a hairy chest, and a Bratwurst+ beneath the belt.  The teaching assistant in my chemistry class in 1997, now a chemistry professor at San Francisco City College.  He and Kevin dated after we broke up (or maybe before we broke up).

The ex-boyfriend of my ex-boyfriend is dating the ex-boyfriend of my ex-boyfriend!

The mind boggles.

"Kevin and I didn't really have a friendly break-up," Seth tells me.  "There was yelling, and crying, and throwing things, and that was just my friends, when I told them about it.  So I haven't seen him since.  Sorry I can't be of any help."

Well, Seth was of some help.  I got to go down on him again during a game of "Guess the Penis."

Monday, March 17th

While David is at work, I go to St. Mary's Hospital to see Marius (top photo), the Argentine German who was Kevin's boss and best friend.  He's in his 40s, a hairy muscle bear with an enormous uncut Mortadella, and religious, a devout Lutheran who once planned to become a minister.  I'm sure we would have dated, except that I only met him after I began dating Kevin the Vampire.

"Kevin quit a couple of years ago, and moved out of town," Marius tells me.

"Out of San Francisco altogether? That's odd."

"I know.   But with rents going sky-high, he just couldn't afford to stay here on his salary any longer."

So Kevin the Vampire abandoned Gay Heaven for the most mundane of reasons, his checkbook?  I am strangely disappointed.

"I have his address and telephone number back at my apartment, if you'd like to stop by later."

"Sure, that'd be great."

He smiles.  "We could have dinner first, if you're free."

I check with David -- he's fine with not feeding me.  So Marius and I have dinner at Thai Thai, and then go back to his apartment in the Richmond to spend the night.  I go down on him, and he finishes with interfemeral while we're kissing.

Tuesday, March 18th

The telephone number that Marius gave me for Kevin doesn't work.

Wednesday, March 19th

My last night in San Francisco.  I have to get up early to catch my plane, so David and I are staying in.  He's busy in the kitchen, making arroz con pollo with a salad and fresh fruit, when there's a knock on the door.

"Could you get that?" David yells.  "And if he's hot, invite him to stay for dinner."

Through the peephole I see -- Kevin the Vampire!

Shocked, I pull the door open.  ""

He grins.  "Aren't you going to invite us in?"

"Sure, come in."  Us?  

He comes in, followed by a buffed guy in his 30s with a short beard, a v-shaped torso, and impressive biceps.

David appears from the kitchen, staring.  " did you get here?"

"By BART, of course.  I live in Milpitas now, in an actual house, just like Ma and Pa Kettle.  This is Charlie -- quite a beautiful specimen, isn't he?  And you should see his penis -- well, most likely you will, before the evening is over."

Charlie shakes hands with us, unfazed at being called a "specimen."

"How did you know I was back in town?" I ask.

"Well, Boomer, you've been calling me for five days.  You must have known that, sooner or later, I would answer."

"I haven't been calling you...the phone number Marius gave me didn't work."

He laughs.  "I didn't mean by telephone."

By the way, Charlie did have a very nice penis.

See also: Dick Sargent's Three Way with Pat Boone.; David and I Hook Up in the Restroom at Macy's; On My Knees in the Teaching Assistant's Office

Thursday, December 15, 2016

300 Naked Men Before Breakfast

I looked at over 300 pictures of naked men this morning before breakfast.

Big and small, thin and fat, flaccid and aroused, all ages (18+), races, shapes, and sizes.

And, if I had the time and inclination, I could easily look at 300 more.

When I was growing up in Rock Island, and even through my years in West Hollywood in the 1980s and 1990s, you might see ten pictures of naked men per month, if you were lucky.

They were glossy photos of professional models in expensive magazines.

Nude photos of amateurs were extremely rare.  Photo labs wouldn't develop them, so you had to have your own darkroom.

Once I photographed Fred from the waist up immediately after his orgasm.  We sent it in to the photo lab, laughing, knowing that the lab technicians would have no idea what they were processing.

Even shirtless photos were rare.  Occasionally a shirtless celebrity would show up in a movie magazine.  Or you could look at the underwear ads in clothes catalogs.

Beginning around 1990, cameras appeared that developed the pictures on the spot, so you didn't need a photo lab.  Suddenly you could get nude photos.

But only of your friends, who you had seen naked in real life.  There wasn't much point.

Once one of Fred's friends flew out to West Hollywood for a visit, took some nude photos of me, and showed them to every gay man in Des Moines.

In the 1990s, Usenet groups, and later bulletin boards, allowed you to look at -- and download -- photos of shirtless and naked men for a small fee. Only a few per week, all professional models, but still, it was an amazing improvement.

Checking for the new photos on your usenet groups and bulletin boards became a standard part of your morning routine.

The explosion began around 2007, when smartphones became capable of taking uncensored photos and submitting them instantly.

Suddenly every guy with a smartphone and a bathroom mirror could post himself and his friends on the internet.

Not every guy did, of course: if you were shy, conservative, sensitive, if you had a small penis or a self-esteem problem, if you were worried about your career, you wouldn't bother.

I have some shirtless photos online, and some penis shots, but not both together.

We're much pickier now.  A big penis or hairy chest is not enough.  To attract our attention, the guy has to have something that stands out: a smile, a tattoo, a special combination of face and physique.  Plus we look at the background of the photo, analyze the composition, structure, and lighting.

We have become connoisseurs of naked men.

Which is fine.

But sometimes I miss the days when seeing a photo of a naked man was a rare, exciting experience, something to be cherished.

Not the 20 minutes before breakfast in your daily routine.