Wednesday, June 1, 2016

A Glimpse of Supreme Beauty at a Highway Rest Stop in Iowa

Interstate highways have rest stops every 30-50 miles, so you don't have to get off the highway to do your bathroom business.

The older ones consist of just toilets and maybe some vending machines, but the modern ones have pathways through picnic grounds, flower gardens, and even wooded areas, so you can walk or jog.  I've covered 7 miles in a day just by stopping at a rest stop every hour and circling the path once or twice.

Rest stops are perfect places for sausage sightings.  Men typically need to urinate every 2-3 hours, so on a 6-hour road trip, they'll be at the urinal at at least twice.

 Rest stops are also perfect places for boy watching:  glimpsing handsome faces, muscular physiques, and spectacular bulges as dozens of guys walk past every minute,

But what happens when you encounter supreme beauty, and there's no time to make a connection before he's gone forever?



I-35 Rest Stop, May 2016

On the way back from visiting Troy and company in New York, I pulled into a rest stop near Northwood, Iowa.  It's a large facility with a tourist center, a coffee shop/bakery, and extensive walkways that wind through picnic areas.

I parked on the south side of the parking lot and walked to the sidewalk on the right side of the photo, past the green SUV.

A middle aged man and four guys in their teens or early twenties had just climbed out.  Two were walking toward the rest rooms.  Two were talking quietly.

And the last:

I stopped, speechless in the face of supreme beauty.

Impressions came all jumbled together in a single glance.  I categorized them and analyzed them later:

1. In his late teens or twenties, a college student.

2. Shorter than me, slim, tanned arms and hands, out in the sun in a t-shirt a lot. A tennis player or a farm boy.

3. Dirty blond hair, short, spiked.  Concerned with his appearance, knows his way around hair gel.


4. A round open face, prominent eyebrows, dark eyes.

5. Smiling.  He has been smiling every moment his whole life, probably because everyone he has ever met is in love with him.

6. Gray t-shirt with a Nebraska Cornhuskers logo, a little small, riding up above his outtie belly button.  University of Nebraska student for several years, maybe a senior.

7. Thin but hard biceps.

8. Calvin Klein underwear, white.

9. Blue jeans, torn at the knee, athletic shoes, no socks.

10. Traveling with a middle aged man and three peers on Memorial Day weekend.  Too late for a school field trip.  Maybe a father taking his son and three friends on a camping trip..

He looked at me and said "They have a bakery in there", thinking I was someone in his party.  Realizing his mistake, he looked down, embarrassed.  I smiled and moved on.

I walked around the picnic area for about five minutes, then went inside to use the restroom.  When I came out, he was walking down the stairs from the bakery with a cute guy in his early twenties.  They were eating cookies from an open box.

This time he definitely cruised me -- face, crotch, face.  

 I smiled and said "Hi."

He smiled back, but didn't speak.

I walked around the pathways for another five minutes, and headed toward my car.  He and his companion were standing by their SUV, talking to the middle-aged man.  The two other guys, both very cute in their own right,  were sitting at a picnic table nearby, occupied by their cell phones.

As I walked past, he looked at me while asking someone else "When we get there, will we have time to..."

He stopped.  I smiled. He stared, cruising again.  Face, crotch, face.

"Hot day" I said, addressing either him or the middle-aged man.

"Yeah," he said.

I couldn't start a conversation with his father or guardian right there!   I had to get him alone.  At least find out his name.

I circled half of the picnic area, and walked back.  Now he was standing by the picnic table with the duo, watching me curiously.  I quickened my pace, planning to say "Where you headed?" or  something.



Then the middle age man yelled "Are you ready to go?", and the three of them walked back to the SUV and climbed in.

I passed close to his car.  He was in the back seat, passenger side, watching me through the solid glass of the window.  I waved.  He smiled and waved.

We were only inches apart.

I returned to my car.

The SUV started to pull out.

I took out my cell phone and snapped a picture of it.








I don't know why.  He's not visible, except for a small, blurry image of his hand holding on to the seat in front of him.   It's just a picture of a green SUV with Nebraska plates.







With the most beautiful guy I have ever seen in the back seat, passenger side, going away forever.

At the end of our lives, we will remember glimpses of supreme beauty more fondly than any number of sexual encounters.

See also: I Pick Up a Boy at a Gas Station in Iowa, Sort Of; Picking Up the Checker in the Grocery Store; and The Amish Boy in Red Bikini Briefs.





Tuesday, May 31, 2016

The Famous Nude Photo of Fred Dryer

When Fred Dryer was starring in Hunter (1984-1991), about a tough, trigger-happy, macho cop, a nude physique photo appeared purporting to be from his early modeling days.















It looks like it's from Physique Pictorial or a similar gay-coded physique magazine.  The guy looks sort of like Fred Dryer, and he has the same jarhead buzz cut.  

There are some problems, though.

Fred Dryer was born in 1946, so he couldn't have posed for this photo any earlier than 1964.

1. There were no nude physique photos until the late 1960s, and then they were in color.
2. In the late 1960s, Dryer was in his 20s.  This guy is at least 10 years too old.
3. Dryer had long hippie hair and a Castro Clone moustache.

But the guy is hot, whether or not he's actually a now-obscure tv star.

The full post is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.


Time Warp: My Hookup Turns Into a Good Old-Fashioned West Hollywood Trick

In the 1960s and 1970s, when gay men were overcoming years of oppression, they often tricked -- like today's hooking up, but quicker and far more dangerous: you invited the guy home with no preliminary questions, no exchange of phone numbers, no introducing him to your friends, no precautions of any sort.

 It was risky -- you could get robbed or assaulted -- but gay men of that era believed that they were a band of brothers, so no one you invited home could possibly have ill intent.

Tricking fell out of favor during the AIDS crisis of the 1980s, replaced by dating and sharing your friend's boyfriends, and then, in the 2000s, by hooking up, with lots of screening questions and precautionary measures.  No one tricks anymore.

Except last Sunday night, I did.

May 2016

I am traveling back from a trip Upstate to visit Troy and company.

May 26th: Cleveland.  The Flex Club is amazing.  Usually at a bathhouse, you have to work hard to meet two or three guys, but today I meet as many guys as I want.  I am rejected by no one, not even the attitude-studded muscle queens.


May 27th-28th: Indianapolis.  After visiting my parents and sister, I reunite with Ryan, the IUPUI art major who Troy and I met last summer.  We go out to the 501 Eagle, where I am cruised by everyone in sight, from twinks to leathermen to daddies.

"You're really on a roll," Ryan says.  "What's your secret?"

I shrug.  "Well, I get cruised by twinks all the time.  The older guys, I don't know  -- maybe New Kid in Town syndrome?"








May 29th: Rock Island.  My hometown, although I don't have many friends left here.  After a Memorial Day picnic with my brother's family,  I go back to my hotel and get on Grindr.

The twinks all have strict age restrictions:
"No one over 30"
"18 to 25 only"
"Be about my age, please"

Ok, I'm 55 years old, but....I'm a twink magnet.

The older guys:
"Be under 30."
"Prefer young guys."
"You should be 18 but look younger."

Is anybody hooking up in this town?




Age requirement be damned, I start a conversation with a student from Augustana College, my alma mater, an Asian guy majoring in neuroscience.

But when we go from "how much it has changed" to "hookup," he starts with the "cool...cool...cool" responses that mean "Get lost."

But...I'm on a roll...











I change my profile photo from my face to my chest, and send random "hi!" messages to five guys who are reasonably cute and nearby.

Nothing.  Crickets.

Frustrated and angry, I abandon Grindr and put an ad on Craiglist, the bargain basement of hookups.

Within five minutes, I get a response:

"I'm Nick, 26, smooth swimmer's build, hung, DDF, usually a bottom but willing to top."

He sends three photos: face, full body, and penis.  Twink, slim, smooth, weird frizzled hair, three diamond earrings, soul patch, very feminine-looking, not at all my usual type.

With no further preliminaries, I tell him: "Sure, come on over."

We meet in the hotel lobby.  Nick is easy to spot in his gay-pride t-shirt and short white pants with an extra big bulge

He looks completely out of place, like he time warped directly from the Rage in West Hollywood in 1986.  He should be dancing to "Like a Virgin," gossipping about who is taking who to the AIDS Benefit, and giving me major Attitude.


We chat.  Nick just broke up with his boyfriend.  They were together for three years, and Nick still loves the guy, but he doesn't want to do anything but play video games all day.  He doesn't do any housework.  He won't get a job.  And every time they have an argument, he runs back to his Mommy and Daddy.  He's 21 years old, time for him to grow up!

Time warp! I had conversations like this all the time in the 1980s.

We go up to my room, sit on the bed, and kiss and fondle.  He becomes aroused instantly, stands, and drops his pants.  A long, thin penis sticks straight out.  I go down on him, while he murmurs "Do me...do me..."  Then he goes down on me until I finish.

Just the sort of things we did in West Hollywood in the 1980s.

Nick reaches down to his pants on the floor and pulls out a condom.   I refuse anal.  So he does interfemoral while we kiss -- he's very into kissing.

He finishes with a high-pitched shriek that must have aroused the neighbors.

Afterwards we cuddle for a bit, and Nick complains about his ex-boyfriend some more. Then he gets up and throws his clothes on, while I watch carefully to make sure my wallet and cell phone don't vanish.

He says "Thanks, bye" and leaves.  We don't exchange phone numbers.

I sit on the bed, amazed.  This wasn't a hookup, it was a  good old-fashioned 1980s West Hollywood trick.

Except in Rock Island, on Memorial Day 2016.

I wouldn't believe it myself, but I have the photos.

May 30th:

 I check Grindr on my cell phone. Last night after Nick left and I went to bed, the five guys I said "hi" to all responded.

See also: Picked up by a museum guard.