Friday, June 17, 2016

Baseball Butts

I'm definitely a frontside fan.  When I see a backside, I always want to tell the guy, "Turn around!"

90% of the attraction comes from the face, not the back of the guy's head.

And the interplay of muscles in the pecs and abs.  Who cares about the latissimus dorsi?

And, of course, the penis is infinitely more fascinating than the butt.  It comes in different sizes and shapes.  You can watch it move and bulge.  When he is aroused, it takes on a life of its own, getting bigger and firmer, and you can use it to bring him to an orgasm.    

What does the butt do?  Just sits there.  

But a couple of days ago I was trapped in a baseball game.  I'm not into sports -- I can't tell a triple play from a touchdown -- but if I'm forced, I'll go for the snacks, and to cruise the spectators in the stands.  They're often quite a hunky lot, and those thin-silk athletic shorts make for some nice bulge watching.

Unfortunately, I was seated next to a Creepy Old Guy who kept trying to involve me in conversations about baseball (go figure).  

Our seats were on the ground level, just to the left of home plate, so with a good view of the players, too, as they waited their turn at bat.  A few glimpses of bulges, but mostly backsides.

I never noticed before how -- well, big -- baseball players' butts are.  They strain and shift against the fabric of their pants.

"Do those uniforms have some kind of butt padding?" I asked, "In case they want to slide into home?"

"No, no padding," my friend answered. 

These are their natural butts, getting ready to burst out of their pants as the player adopts the squat, knee-bent batting stance. 

I guess there's something to be said for a nice pair of glutes, after all.

Remember the "Big Butts" song?  (It's actually "Baby Got Back," by Sir Mix-A-Lot).

I like big butts, and I cannot lie.
You other brothers can't deny.
That when a guy walks in with an itty bitty waist,
And a round thing in your face,
You get sprung, want to pull up tough,
Cause you noticed that butt was stuffed.

Of course, the song was originally written about ladies' butts. With men, you have the added attraction of knowing that there's more to see, more to feel, more to touch and taste.

You just have to tell him, "Turn around!" 

See also: Top or Bottom?

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Sharing My Celebrity Boyfriend, the Director, and his Cute Young Thing

West Hollywood, March 1987

The Celebrity and I have been dating for over two months, and I still haven't met any of his friends!

Friends always want to meet a new boyfriend, to make sure he's good enough for you, to expand their social circles, and to increase their options for bedroom activity!

He's met all of my friends, and shared Alan and Raul. What's the holdup?

"It's tricky," the Celebrity says.  "I'm not out at the studio, of course. A lot of my friends are straight."

In West Hollywood in the 1980s, you don't have heterosexual friends.  If they're not screaming "Got AIDS yet?", they're simpering, condescending, heterosexist.  I assume he means coworkers and business acquaintances.

"Tell you what.  The Oscars are on the 30th.  Let's have a post-Oscar party.  I'll invite four or five of my friends, and you invite four or five of yours.  That way everybody can meet everybody."

I invite Alan, Raul, and Thanh, plus a couple of celebrities, Michael J. Fox and Tom Villard, who can't make it.   Alan and Thanh bring dates to make up the fourth and fifth.

Alan's date is Rye, aka the Porn Star, an acquaintance from his porn days: tall, dark tan, Mediterranean face, big chest, big bulge.  "The Entertainment," he whispers with a grin.

The Celebrity's guest list is a little disappointing.  Only two guys I recognize, Lee Montgomery, a 25-year old former Child Star with a lean, hairy chest, and Doug Barr, aka the Fall Guy, a clean-cut All-American type in his mid-30s. They come together,  so I assume they're a couple.

Plus another actor named Spencer, aka the Leading Man.

The Celebrity's ex-boyfriend, a Director named Joseph: in his 40s, slim, with a salt-and-pepper beard and thinning hair.

And his date, a Cute Young Thing named Scott, who isn't in the industry.

I wonder who we will be sharing tonight.

The gay parties of West Hollywood all have about the same plot, as predictable as a stage play.

1. The Arts.  You socialize in pairs and groups, with hors d'oeuvres and drinks. Polite discussions in small groups: the latest art exhibit, movies with gay subtexts, who has just returned from San Francisco.  New boyfriends are introduced.  Cute Young Things tell their coming out stories.

2. Dinner.  More discussion of the arts, or moving on to tall tales of dates from hell, celebrity hookups, gigantic penises, scandalous public sexual encounters, homophobic horror stories.

3. Dessert.  More tall tales.  Flirtations and double-entendres occur.

4. The Entertainment. A movie on VHS, Trivial Pursuit, a more complex game such as a scavenger hunt, or, at the best parties, a male stripper or live sex show.  More flirtation.

5. The Bedroom. Couples  or pairs of close friends select a guy to "share," and everyone heads off to the bedrooms.  Those who don't care to participate go out to the bars.

The Arts segment goes according to custom.  Thanh and Alan introduce their dates.  Scott doesn't tell his coming out story, but I figure he's been friends with the Celebrity for awhile, and already told it.

I start up a conversation with Joseph  "How long have Lee and Doug been dating?"

'Why, I hadn't known they were.  Does Clare know about this?"


"Well, not his mistress, certainly."

The Fall Guy is straight?  What's he doing here?

 Dinner is served buffet style, out by the pool.  It's too chilly for swimming, but the Porn Star and Alan take off their shirts.  The Celebrity stares at them.  Rye tells us about his date with Wesley Eure, the star of Land of the Lost in the 1970s.

"You can't mean Wesley Eure is gay!" Lee exclaims.  "I've met him.  He's as butch as they come!"

Borderline homophobic.  This party is not going  well.

Dessert is petit gateaux with ice cream.  Thanh starts to tell us about a date from hell, but the Celebrity cuts him off.

I cruise Spencer.  He doesn't give me Attitude, necessarily; he doesn't seem to understand what I'm doing.

Another one?  Who invites straight guys to a gay party?

I start to clear the dishes.  Scott helps.

"I've never been to a gay party before," he says.


"Is it true that they turn into a big orgy?"

"Sometimes.  Usually it's more sedate."

"Not tonight, I hope!  I'm really hot to get some action.  Do you think Alan and Rye would let me share?"

"Well, you could get the ball rolling by getting naked, showing them what you've got."

"Cool!"  He strips, revealing a hard smooth chest and a nice-sized Kielbasa, and returns nonchalantly to the living room to clear more plates.

Spencer has an "early day tomorrow," and leaves. Doug starts with the "early day" rhetoric, but Lee cuts him off.  "Oh, let's stick around for a few more minutes," he says.  "Things might get interesting."

The Porn Star seeks me out.  "Hey, I heard there were straight guys at this party!"

"Yeah, the Celebrity has some weird friends.  Just deal with it, I guess."

"I was going to do a stripping routine as the entertainment.  Do you still want me to?"

I look around the room.  Scott, naked, is cruising Alan.  Joseph is cruising Lee.  Looks like a standard gay party.

"Sure, go ahead.  It will be great."

The Entertainment: Rye  excuses himself and goes to the bathroom.  He returns in his underwear and starts an erotic dance, gyrating in front of each guest in turn.  Scott tries to cover his arousal, but Alan moves his hand away.

When he has gyrated in front of each guest twice, and gotten groped around twenty times, Rye returns to the bathroom.  He returns toweled off, and naked, and sits down next to Scott.  They kiss.

The Entertainment is over.  It's time for guys who don't want to participate in the Bedroom to leave.

Sure enough,  Doug and Lee  "have an early day," and say goodnight.  Raul, Thanh, and Thanh's date go off to the bars.

The Bedroom:  It looks like Alan, Rye, and Scott will be sharing. I look at the Celebrity and the Joseph expectantly.

"I guess the masses have spoken," Joseph says.  "Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?"

Joseph has a tan, hairy chest, a little belly, and a very thick Bratwurst.  After I work on him for awhile, he tops the Celebrity while I'm going down on him, then collects Scott and goes home.

Rye goes home, too, and Alan comes into our bedroom to top the Celebrity again while I'm going down on him again.

That was the end of my relationship with the Celebrity.  He stopped answering my calls, and when I finally got a hold of him, he was "really busy."  Finally I moved on, and he dated Alan for a few weeks.

At the time I assumed that I was being too "couple-like," when he was just interested in a down-low fling.  But now I'm thinking that maybe we were planning two different types of parties, and he got embarrassed when the gay and straight worlds collided.

Or maybe he just realized that he liked being topped.

See also: My Celebrity Boyfriend: and Lee H. Montgomery.

Schlong, Schlanger, Schvantz: 18 Yiddish Words for Penis

A Germanic language influenced by Slavic and Hebrew, Yiddish was spoken throughout the Jewish communities of Eastern Europe from the 9th century on to World War II.

Jewish immigrants to the United States brought a strong tradition of Yiddish literature, art, and theater.  In the early 20th century, entertainers such as the Three Stooges and the Marx Brothers introduced many Yiddish words into everyday English, including klutz, schlep, kitsch, and chutzpah.

Many more are familiar: nebbish, schvitz, tuches.

There are still 1.5 million native speakers of Yiddish, mostly in the Ukraine, Israel, and the United States.  They are mostly elderly: except in a few Hasidic communities, the language is not being taught to the younger generations.

But many young Jews are learning Yiddish in order to embrace their cultural heritage.  You can major in Yiddish Studies at Columbia University and Rutgers,   The Digital Yiddish Library offers free downloads of over 11,000 titles.

So knowing a few Yiddish words for penis might come in handy for cruising at your local synagogue.

Note: most of these terms are obscene, so don't use them when your boyfriend's bubbie is making kiska in the other room.


Petseleh.  Baby-sized penis.

Schmeckel.  Diminuitive of "schmuck" (see below).

Schmecky.  A children's euphemism, like "wee-wee."

Schtickl.  A tiny penis.  From "schtick," a little bit, a familiar term in English for a comedy routine.

Average Sized/General Terms

Bokher.  Literally "boy."

Brit. Jewish/circumcized penis.  From the Hebrew for "covenant."

Eyver.  The polite term. From the Hebrew for "leg."

Mile.  Another polite term.

Putz, potz.  Literally "ornament."  Also "jerk, fool"

Schmuck, schmock. Also "jerk, fool."  The Three Stooges, who incorporated a lot of Yiddish into their act, called each other "schmucks" a lot.

Vyzoso.  Also "idiot."  The son of Haman, the enemy of the Jews in the Biblical book of Esther.


Schlang, schlong.  From the Persian for "snake."  Donald Trump was being quite vulgar when he claimed that Hillary Clinton was "schlonged" by President Obama.

Schlanger.  An extra big schlang.

Schmohawk.  An extra big schlanger.  They don't get much bigger.

Schtrunkel. The biggest of the big.  Literally "tree trunk."

Schtupper.  From "schtup," to have sex with someone.

Schvantz.  From the Middle High German for "tail."

Yung.  From "young man."

So Yiddish has 4 words for a small penis, 7 for an average size, and 7 for an extra-large?

I like those odds.

See also: 6000 Ways to Say "Penis"

Monday, June 13, 2016

Yuri and His Boyfriend Find a Gay Hangout

Setauket, Long Island, February 1999


This is Yuri's third date with Daniel -- they met on Valentine's Day -- and he has invited me and some of his other friends out to dinner to meet him.  Daniel seems to be exactly his type: early 40s, handsome, bearded, with a bodybuilder's v-shaped torso, ample chest hair poking out over his t-shirt, and of course an enormous bulge (Yuri likes them gigantic).

I usually stay over with Yuri on Wednesday nights rather than going all the way into Manhattan and back again the next morning, but I don't want to suggest "sharing" so soon in their relationship, so I say "Well, the Long Island Railroad awaits..."

"Can't wait to get back to the City, huh?" Daniel asks.

I've been having rather a bad day, and I don't relish the idea of two hours on a train, a 20-minute subway ride, and a five block walk in the in the February ice, so I snipe "No, actually, I don't like it there at all."

Gulp -- that was the mistake.  All gay men living east of Chicago are expected to believe that Manhattan is Heaven, to be desired, dreamed of, wept over, and fought over.  You don't like Heaven?  Blasphemer!

Four guys around the table at the Raga Indian Restaurant in Setauket stare at me in surprise.  Then they all start talking at once:
"I'd give anything to live in the City, instead of out here in the sticks!"
"It's the biggest, most exciting, most gay city in the world.  What's not to like about it?"
"You spend all last year saying how much you want to live there, and now you don't like it?"
"What don't you like? The museums, the restaurants, or the gay culture?

"I know, I know, it's got the best of everything in the world," I say, stopping them.  "I love the Met, the Museum of Natural History, the Guggenheim.  I love having Chinese, Japanese, Thai, and Vietnamese restaurants within a few blocks.  But... I'm a perpetual tourist.  I never really feel at home."

"Maybe you're staying overnight with Yuri too much," Daniel says, with a note of jealousy in his voice.  "Maybe you're not giving it enough time."

"I only stay with Yuri on Monday and Wednesday nights.  I'm in the City five nights a week.  It's just that...everyone is a stranger.  The streets are crowded with ghosts, time travelers, lost souls."

I'm on a roll.  "My roommate is a stranger.  All of my friends are here on Long Island. I don't have any hangouts, like the French Quarter in West Hollywood or Orphan Andy's in San Francisco.  I'm always alone."

"What is hangout?" Yuri asks.

I explain it to him.

"Ok, that's easy.  We come to the City this weekend, find you a hangout.  You pay for dinner."

"It's settled, then," Daniel says.  "The Great 'Find Boomer a Gay Hangout' Quest of 1998."  He pauses.  "And you don't need to go back to the horrible bright lights of Manhattan tonight.  I'm sure one of these Long Islanders will take pity on you and offer you his bed."

The City, Saturday

Yuri and Daniel arrive at Penn Station around noon, their Spartacus Gay Guide in hand.  We go to the Museum of Natural History and the big Brentano's Bookstore on 5th Street, then get down to business.

"What was your favorite hangout in West Hollywood?" Daniel asks.

"Mugi," I tell them.  "It was a small bar for Asian guys and their admirers.  They played 'One Night in Bangkok' two or three times a night.  It was ridiculous!"  I smile at the memory.

9:00 pm: The Web.  A small, cramped bar on 58th Street in Midtown, near Central Park.  Dirty, sleazy, full of leering, elderly rice queens who aggressively cruise Cute Young Thing Yuri.  There aren't any Asian guys except some go-go boys dancing in their underwear, looking bored.

Yuri is annoyed by the aggressive cruising.  We leave quickly.

"Ok, how about the Faultline in West Hollywood?" I say.  "A bear/ leather bar with an outdoor patio and beer/soda busts every Sunday.  I also hung out at the San Francisco Eagle, same kind of format."

11:00 pm: The New York Eagle.   On West 28th, near Penn Station.  I know my way around a leather bar, but this cavernous, red-hued fetish space is a little over the top.  A vast sea of sweating, pierced, leather-clad bodies swigging on beer bottles, chomping on cigars, and giving major Attitude.  At least they're not aggressively cruising.  Or cruising at all.

And there's a little dark room activity going on.  Yuri goes down on a very well hung older bear, while Daniel, a guy named Carl, and I watch/keep guard.  Daniel gets so excited that he pulls it out, and lets me fondle it for awhile.  I'm too skittish to go down on him, until later, when we return to my apartment to "share."

The bedroom activity is fine: Daniel and Yuri kiss while I go down on them both, and then he tops Yuri while Yuri goes down on me.  Not my favorite hookup, but fine.


We get up, have a breakfast of cereal and toast, and then set out again to find a hangout.

In West Hollywood, I went to the gay-specific Metropolitan Community Church every Sunday.  It was a small congregation, no more than 30, and they became like family.  I dated several members of the congregation, including two student clergy.   I also went to the MCC of San Francisco, but not as often.

Yuri is Russian Orthodox who goes to Mass occasionally, and Daniel is a non-practicing Jew.  They both agree to come to church, in the interest of providing me with a hangout.

10:00 am: The New York MCC.  On West 38th Street, just north of Penn Station.  There are over 500 congregants; it is a very narrow, cramped space, crowded with mostly lesbian couples and a few older gay men.  During the coffee hour afterwards, we get major Attitude; no one comes up to welcome us.


I'm running a little low on potential hangouts.

"You talk about the French Quarter all the time," Yuri suggests.

I loved the French Quarter in West Hollywood.  We went several times a week, often for Sunday brunch or in the evening after a night of cruising.  All gay except for a few elderly Jewish ladies in mink coats.  The waiters were all hot, and had no Attitude.  Best omelettes I've ever eaten, and the zucchini sticks -- wow! I'd pay to have them air-shipped to New York.

12:00 pm: The Bistro, on Bleecker Street, about a mile from my apartment.   They don't start serving brunch until noon.  It's a bright, airy space, with interesting selections like salmon and polento benedict, which turn out more bland and tasteless than you'd expect.  And our waiter, although cute, spends most of his time ignoring us, and the rest rolling his eyes when we request water.


We walk north on Broadway, through Washington Square.

"Well, did you have any other hangouts?" Daniel asks.

"Just the bear parties in San Francisco."  They were held twice a week at a private house South of Market.  Socializing and snacks upstairs, sexual activity downstairs.  The regulars got to be pretty good friends."

 "We have that on Long Island," Yuri points out.  "Ravi's Bear Parties."

"On Long Island," I say with a sad smile.  "I guess Manhattan is a lost cause.  So, what do you guys want to do this afternoon, before you catch your train back home?  How about the Museum of Modern Art?"

"We must go to the gym," Yuri says. "We do not go yesterday."

I don't actually belong to a gym in the City.  I'm on Long Island four days a week, where I can use the campus gym for free, and on the other days I just go to the 'fitness center' in the basement of my building.  But I could use a workout, too, so we find a gym wit day memberships.

2:00 pm: The New York Spots Club.  On Irving Place, a few blocks from my apartment.

It doesn't advertise as gay-specific, but the members seem to be mostly gay men, languid twinks with 10-lb dumbbells, tanned 30-ish guys in designer gym clothes on the treadmills, chubby bears straining at the chest press machines, gym rats in mesh t-shirts grunting as they bench 400.  The familiar smells of chalk and sweat.  The sound of clanking weights, grunts, and gossip.

I sit at a incline press machine, wipe off the last guy's sweat with a rough white towel, set the weight to my usual, and press.

A feeling of contentment sweeps over me.

No matter how cold and alien the City is, this is always warm and familiar.  This is home.

My favorite hangout is not a bar or restaurant, or a sex club, or church.  It's the gym.

Sunday, June 12, 2016

Which Penis Will You Choose?

Here's a party game that we used to play in West Hollywood.  

Before the party, get nude photos of hot men of various ages, races, and penis sizes, one for each party guest.   One of the penises should be very small:

Paste them onto poster board so they won't get crumpled, and cover their sex organs with a large square of black construction paper, "hinged" so it can be lifted up.  Each square should be of identical size:

1. Decide who will be the Judge (typically the guy who made the photos).

2. The Judge passes out the photos to the players at random..  

3. During the next five minutes, they can keep their  photos, or trade with the other players.  Their goal is to get a photo of a guy with a penis that is the same size as theirs, using only the physique as as a clue.   

4. At the end of five minutes, everyone lifts up the tab and looks at their photo's penis.  If a player thinks that the guy in the photo has a penis the same size as his own, he demonstrates by pulling it out (he doesn't have to be aroused).

 If the Judge agrees, the player and his photo are out of the game.

If the Judge disagrees, the player suffers a "penalty" and stays in the game. (For penalties, I suggest a spanking, a grope, or a brief blow job, but they don't have to be sexual.)
5. The remaining players have five minutes to trade with the others and try again.  By the third or fourth round, everyone will have a good idea of what all of the photos look like, and plan their strategy accordingly.  Typically everyone tries to avoid the very small penis.

The Judge can be accurate or inaccurate in his evaluations.

6.  The last player remaining loses -- whatever losing means, after everyone has gotten naked and probably gotten groped.


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