Saturday, July 2, 2016

My 10 Best, 10 Worst, and 10 Most Erotic Summers

I hate the summertime.  It's hot, boring, isolated, and depressing, with the sun staying up until an ungodly late hour and people always trying to force you to play outside.  7 weeks left (groan!).

So I thought it would be fun to compile my 10 Best, Worst, and Most Erotic Summers (since moving to West Hollywood in 1985).

Summer will count as the months between the end of spring semester and the beginning of fall, except for the years when I wasn't in school or teaching (then it's June, July, and August).

The 10 Best














1. 1988:  No travel except for a week back in Rock Island, where I hook up with my old grade school teacher.  In West Hollywood, a busy round of parties, barbecues, concerts, book signings, trips to museums, being double-teamed by always-effervescent Fred and Alan.

2. 1990: Looking for penises in Poland and moving in with Lane -- my first live-in boyfriend (not counting 3 weeks with Fred in college).

3. 1991: My first Paris-Brussels-Amsterdam circuit, plus moving to Nashville to start a great new career (ok, a great new semester).

4. 1992: Back to Paris-Brussels-Amsterdam, plus a new job working with juvenile delinquents.  Three summers in a row!  I must have been doing something right.  

5. 1999: Anytime you spend a summer in Paris, it's the best summer of your life.  





6. 2000: Back to Paris, Brussels, and Amsterdam, plus South Africa.  And, back home, Liam gave me a present for his 18th birthday.

7, 2007: My visit to Yuri and his boyfriend Michael in London, plus meeting the French Moroccan on my Sausage List.

8. 2009: Yuri visits me, and we go back to Manhattan.  Plus I'm picked up by a boy and his dog while jogging, and I start dating Troy, my boyfriend for the next five years.

9. 2014: Busiest summer in years.  Visits from Yuri and Eli (from Amsterdam), visits to Indianapolis and San Francisco, and a Pow Wow Hookup.

10. 2015: Another amazing summer.  Visiting Yuri in London, a bath house adventure in Paris, plus the Indianapolis-Cleveland-New York jaunt.

6 of my top 10 summers involved visiting Paris and 5 involved visiting or getting visited by Yuri.  I know what I'm going to do in August.



The 10 Worst

1986: It sounds good on paper, with trips to Australia and Japan, a lot of hookups, and meeting a celebrity at Mugi, but actually it was uncomfortable being a houseguest in a foreign country for an extended period.

1989: I am just starting to date Lane, which is nice, but this is the summer when I give up my doctoral plans with all but the dissertation finished, and go to work for the horrible Getty Consternation Institute.

1996: We are living in San Francisco.  Lane decides to move back to L.A., leaving me scrounging to find a new place with very little money.

1997: I fly crosscountry to New York, leaving my friends, most of my stuff, and San Francisco behind, to move into graduate student housing at a dreary college on Long Island, with three straight roommates and the nearest gay neighborhood two hours away.

2002: I start dating Wade the Beachboy, but back in Indianapolis, Dad asks me about "pretty girls."  Plus I go to a terrible conference in Brisbane, Australia.


2005: I've just left all of my friends in Florida behind to teach at-risk teenagers in Slovakia.  I get to visit Germany, Hungary, Austria, and the Czech Republic, but still -- it's Slovakia.

2008: My move to Upstate New York, five hours from the nearest gay neighborhood.  My exile into the Straight World begins.

2011: Dull, dull, dull!  Monotony broken only by a Cleveland-Indianapolis jaunt.

2012: More of the same, plus I leave Troy Upstate for my terrible year in Philadelphia begins.

2013: More of the same, plus I move cross country to the Plains.  At least I get to spend a week in San Francisco visiting David.

7 of my 10 worst years involve ending -- giving up on grad school, moving to a new city, breaking up with boyfriends.  Almost everything bad that has ever happened in my life has happened in June, July, or August.






The 10 Most Erotic

1987: Alan and I meeting guys in a bathhouse in Tijuana, public sex at a conference at Notre Dame, and a Date from Hell at Mugi, "Mr. Muscle Doctor Big Basket."

1993: Visiting Alan in Norfolk, Virginia, and having him fix me up with Tarik.  It almost made being stranded on the Island of Dogs earlier in the summer worthwhile.

1994: Visiting Spain, where Lane and I hooked up with a Chinese Catalan guy and his roommate.

1995: The Great Redneck Roundup of 1995: Lane and I hook up with 20 guys in 20 days.  Plus we moved to San Francisco.  A fitting end to three erotic summers in a row.

1998: Trip to Estonia, Finland, and Russia with Jaan and Yuri, plus cruising at a conference in Montreal and discovering the Truth about the Formosan Penis.





2001: Moving to Florida, a memorable encounter with the Amish Boy in Red Bikini Briefs, plus getting into the hectic Wilton Manors nightlife.

2003: Hookups, dated, and sharing.  Janik, the Frisian Bodybuilder at the Horseman's Club, invites me to stay.  I share Yuri's boyfriend.  David and I pick up a teenage hitchiker in Key West.   I date the son of my old high school speech teacher.  I'm surprised I had the energy!

2004: Visiting Larry in New Mexico, cruising in Tucumcari and in the Navajo Nation, plus, back home in Florida, Jaan came to visit.

2006: Doc and I search of sex and languages in Durban, South Africa!

2010: Troy moves in with me.  We don't leave the apartment for two days.

Only three of my most erotic summers have involved travel to Europe (hear that, Paris?), but eight involve visiting friends or traveling with a friend.  Apparently it takes the combined cruising efforts of two or more guys to make a summer erotic.

See also: My Best, Worst, and Most Erotic Christmases

Thursday, June 30, 2016

The Search for a Roommate Leads to 3 Hookups and 2 Dates

Germantown, Pennsylvania, September 2012

When I got a temporary one-year position at a small college in a distant suburb of Philadelphia, I was ecstatic.  Finally I could move back to a gay neighborhood.

It didn't take long to realize that the commute was going to be a problem: a five block walk to the metro station, wait for the train, take it to the downtown station, wait again, transfer to a new train, sit for 45 minutes, walk to campus, an hour and a half each way 4 days per week.

Maybe I could relieve some of the pressure by finding someone in town to stay with now.

Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of gay men on the small, conservative campus at least not many open enough to find and amiable enough to make friends with.

1. Horst.  The academic advisor of the gay student organization, a bisexual woman, introduced me to the only out professor on campus, a musician named Horst: in his 30s, tall, thin, elegantly dressed.

We met at small, elegant bistro near the campus, where he got on my bad side right away by waiting until I ordered the fajita platter, then ordering just a small bowl of mushroom soup -- "You don't need to eat much for lunch, just a little soup or a salad."

He was a graduate of Brown University, originally from Germany, where they still believed in culture.  Americans -- all idiots!  Is there anything more hideous than rap?  And American students, with their mindless pursuit of video games and graphic novels! A generation of morons!

I hate elitists.

Next!

At least I got a date out of the deal. Horst had an uncut Kielbasa+, very thick. I didn't even mind his habit of yelling out orders "Faster!  Slower!  Take your time!  Take it all the way down your throat!"


2.  Jimmy. Horst gave me the number of his ex-boyfriend, Jimmy, who worked in the Admissions Office: in his 30s, rather buffed, with thinning brown hair and very big hands.

Jimmy insisted that we meet in a park by the river: "It will be getting cold soon, so we have to squeeze in all of the outdoor time we can, right?"

We walked through the park, over the bridge, and through the park on the other side, while he talked about his garden: "I got some asters and Russian sage coming up, and I still have to do some weeding and hedging.  The helenium is looking good."

"So, do you own your own house?" I asked.

"Well, it's actually my great-grandmother's house.  My mother is renting it to me and a straight couple."

I stared.  He shared his house with a straight couple?

Next!

But at least I got a hookup out of the deal.  Jimmy was average beneath the belt, but very passionate, into kissing and oral.  We laughed over Edgar shouting out orders.



October

3. Rory. I couldn't stay with a student, could I?

Jimmy gave me the number of his ex-boyfriend, Rory, a senior majoring in modern languages.

We met at the YMCA near the campus, where many students and faculty worked out, and shared a desultory game of handball.  Rory had a round, handsome face, a slim swimmer's build, and, from what I could peek at in the shower, a Bratwurst+ beneath the belt.

He was impressed by the fact that I was a Modern Languages Major as an undergrad, that I had lived in Turkey and France, and that my boyfriend Troy was a French major.

But: "I live with my parents and little brother.  They know that I'm gay, but we don't talk about it.  I've never brought guys home when they're not around, but I've never introduced them to a boyfriend."

Next!

At least I got a hookup out of the deal.  Like many 22-year olds, Rory was constantly aroused, before, during, and after the bedroom activity.  He was strictly oral passive, going down on me while murmuring "Take me, Daddy!"



4. Hamid.  I hate, hate, hate the question "Do you have any big plans for the weekend?"  It always makes me feel guilty.  Am I the only person in the world who doesn't spend the weekend riding dirt bikes on the beach and then singing around a campfire with 20 of my closest friends?

So when the Middle Eastern guy at the Barnes and Noble near the campus asked, I got sarcastic: "Sure, I'm jetting down to Cancun to go hang gliding with Tom Cruise."

"That sounds like fun," he said, oblivious.  "I'm going to the Beer Fest in King of Prussia."

"You drink beer?" I asked in surprise.

He grinned.  "I do a lot of things."

Hamid was a recent graduate of Temple University with a major in theater arts, a practicing Muslim, but he ate pork and drank beer.  He had a trim physique, with a smooth tight chest, thick biceps, and a thick Bratwurst.  He was mostly into anal, but open to suggestions.

Oh, and he was living with his sister and her husband, who didn't know he was gay.

Next!

But at least I got a date out of the deal.

November

5. Sprag.  Maybe I was going about this wrong.  Maybe I could actually rent a room from a gay guy two nights a week.   It would be a little pricey, but it would save me from a long commute.

I answered an ad for someone to stay during the spring semester, a room with kitchen privileges for $300 per month.

His answering message was very long and annoying, ending with "and the little bird said 'beep'," and he was never home, so it took about two weeks to get ahold of him.

His name was Sprag.  He was about 40, very pale,very muscular,  with dark eyes, red lips, and a short beard.

While I was interviewing, he played loud music constantly -- an immediate turnoff.

"My boyfriend stays over several nights a week," Sprag said.  "And sometimes I hook up.  I hope that's not a problem."

"No, not at all," I said with a grin.  "I have no problem with hookups, especially if you're into sharing.

"And sometimes I have girls over, too,  I'm like 90% gay, but you know, sometimes I'm in the mood for p____."

Next!

At least I got a hookup out of the deal.  Sprag had firm, pale chest, a shaved crotch, and an enormous cut Kielbasa.  He wouldn't kiss, but he was into both giving and receiving oral.

By this time, there were only a few months left, so I decided to ride it out.  I never found a guy to stay with, but it was a lot of fun looking.

See also: My Date with the Nastiest Guy in the World

Wednesday, June 29, 2016

10 Unique Photos

I've been saving these pictures for a long time, but they're too unique to use as story illustrations, so I'm just going to post them without stories.





1. I like the background.  Is that a mosaic on his bedroom wall?
2. His right arm is far more developed than his left.  A bad job of photoshopping?






3. I like the coul sunglasses and straw hat, but his penis is a little small.
4. I think this is an action figure, not a real person.



5. Why would you clean up after a circus while naked?
6  He looks like my grad school friend Viju.











7. That size difference doesn't look right.  They aren't actually in the same shower.
8. He's not really naked.



9. I like the frizzy blond hair and the 8-pack abs.
10. Did he light his pants on fire on purpose?

Sunday, June 26, 2016

A Guide to Bulge Watching

There's no reason for your enjoyment of men's beneath-the-belt gifts to end once you leave the restroom or locker room.  After all, you see 100 or more men fully clothed for every one you see naked.  They are hidden, but with a little practice you can usually see a telltale bulge or outline.

Especially when the guy gets aroused.















Athletic shorts are perfect for bulge-watching.  Football and baseball players usually wear cups that just give the illusion of a bulge while hiding everything, but other athletes just wear jock strap that gathers everything together in one place.
















Wrestler's singlets are even better.  They tend to ride up, giving you a perfect outline of the penis and testicles, even when they're not aroused.















Short pants with a light fabric, such as guys wear to the beach, show outlines well.  Particularly if they get wet, or if they guy is engaging in amorous activity.













Or falls asleep.


















The best reason to go to the ballet is to check out the baskets in those skin-tight leotards.

















Although I must admit, I've never seen a guy get aroused on stage.  He's usually too busy thinking of his next dance move.

















Military and police uniforms typically don't show a lot, but if you are patient, the guy will soon touch his crotch to make sure everything is in the right place.  Most guys do it every few minutes.















Business suits are a problem.  A men's fashion blog tells us that "A well-chosen outfit should direct attention toward the face and help it stand out in the viewer’s mind.  Drawing the eye below the waist does nothing to further that goal."

With that kind of pressure to make the beneath-the-belt gifts invisible, it's hard to get a good look unless he reaches into his pocket to play with it.

But if you look carefully, there will usually be some dents and wrinkles that reveal which side he's hanging on.













Ready?  Ok, does this guy hang left or right (from his point of view)?

Answer: definitely right.

See also: 12 Boyhood Sausage Fondings, Gropes, and Grabs



L

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