Here are some of the best-preserved and most attractive of the nude African men photographed by Louis Agassiz in South Carolina in 1850 and Brazil in 1865.
Nice biceps, well hung, and I think he's smiling at the camera.
Even nicer biceps, very thick endowment, and a cute beard.
An old guy with a very long arms and a little belly. In West Hollywood today he would be a twink magnet.
The xylophone abs almost draw attention away from the massive endowment.
The full post is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.
Saturday, September 24, 2016
Conservative superstar Pat Boone, the World's #1 homophobe, had a three-way with Darrin of Bewitched?
I'm back in West Hollywood for a post-Oscar party thrown by Lane and his roommate Randall, 62 years old, but still a hot muscle bear with a pierced penis and a coterie of leather bear, cub, and otter friends.
The conversation moves inevitably toward celebrity hookups, and Randall begins telling the story of how, as an 18 year old in 1958, his friend Dick Sargent (who would star in Bewitched in the 1960s) took him to a gay party in Beverly Hills, where they hooked up with Groucho Marx and Cary Grant. On the same night, in the same bed.
He's at the part where he and Dick are sitting in a parked car, making out and discussing who's gay in Hollywood. Sal Mineo. James Dean. "Pat Boone. I haven't actually been with him, but I've watched him in action."
"Wait, wait, wait!" someone exclaims. "Pat Boone is a total homophobe. He writes books on how to 'be saved from the dangerous homosexual lifestyle.' Are you trying to tell us that he's gay?"
"According to Dick, he's straight, but open to 'fooling around' with guys," Randall says. "They had a three-way with a teenage fan while they were working on a movie together."
Bernardine, filming at 20th-Century Fox in the spring of 1957, was a frothy comedy about three high school boys who enter a fictional woman's name into a contest. Hilarity and romance ensue. The big draw would be Pat Boone, a 22-year old teen idol with a string of hits: "Ain't That a Shame," "Long Tall Sally," "Love Letters in the Sand, "April Love." This was his first acting job.
Costar Dick Sargent was 26 years old, with two years of acting under his belt, including a starring role in the tv series West Point, so he became a sort of mentor to the young star. After work Pat often invited him home for dinner with his wife and three young daughters. He became like one of the family.
One night when they were alone in the living room -- Shirley was off putting the girls to bed -- Dick did something that you never did in the 1950s: he came out!
"Today he would be setting himself up for screaming and Bible thumping!" I exclaim. "It must have been much worse in the 1950s!"
"Actually," Randall says, "The conservative Christians hadn't discovered us yet. Back then they were screaming mostly about divorce and premarital hetero-sex. Everybody hated queers, of course, but Dick was tall and studly, a graduate of military academy, not a queer queer, if you know what I mean.
"I don't really like girls," Dick told Pat. "I dig boys. In fact, I've been in bed with one of our costars -- I can't tell you who, of course."
"I hear you, Daddy-o," the teen idol responded. "Who doesn't dig boys? I mean, I would never dream of cheating on Shirley, but it's not cheating when it's with a dude, reet?" And I'll tell you a secret --" he leaned in conspiratorily. "When I sing 'Love Letters in the Sand,' it's not just bobby-soxers who moan and sigh and send me their phone numbers."
Dick was intrigued, and more than a little interested in the handsome Pat Boone, so he agreed to "fool around" with one of his regular "playmates," a teenage fan named Gerry.
After work a few days later, they drove up to Van Nuys, to one of those cheap hotels where the rooms have private entrances. Pat waited in the car while Dick paid. Inside, Pat made a phone call, and after about half an hour, Gerry arrived.
He was in his late teens, shorter than Dick, with brown curly hair, dark eyes, pouting lips, and a full, hard physique -- what they used to call "well knit."
After shaking hands with them both, he sat on the bed and began fondling himself through his chinos. No preliminaries!
Shocked, Dick said "Shouldn't we kiss or fondle a bit first?"
Gerry frowned. "You think this is a Sweet Sixteen Party, Howdy Doody?"
"No, but..., I like the way a dude looks and feels. It's not just about the act itself." He turned to Pat for validation, but Pat had already pulled out his own average-sized penis.
"I agree with the kid," he said, fondling himself to full arousal. "Hearts and flowers for the ladies, cocks and balls when it's just us cool cats." He walked over to the bed. Gerry started going down on him.
Dick pulled Gerry's shirt up to feel his hard chest and squeeze his nipples, but the kid still didn't react.
After a few minutes, Gerry got on his knees, pulled out Dick's Bratwurst, and went to work. That's what it seemed like -- doing a job.
Dick leaned over and tried to pull Pat close enough to go down on, but got shooed away. "You can't fool around with your friends," Pat murmured, fondling himself.
Who else can you fool around with?
He and Gerry moved into the 69 position, still mostly clothed. Gerry worked vigorously and enthusiastically, but still, Dick had trouble staying aroused. He wanted Gerry's arms around him. He wanted kissing. He wanted the sight, touch, taste of the masculine!
Gerry finished soundlessly, with a gigantic spurt -- two mouthsful! -- and then turned his attention back to Pat, who continued to stand, continued to be fully clothed. Dick stood and fondled his butt and tried to nuzzle his neck, but got shooed away. Finally he sat down and beat off while watching Gerry bring Pat to orgasm.
Then Pat gave Gerry a dollar and sent him home, and they drove home, too.
They stayed friends, but when Pat suggested that they hook up with other boy fans, Dick refused. He didn't like just fooling around with guys. He wanted touching and kissing and fondling. He wanted dating and romance. He was a queer queer.
I got this story third hand, and it took place nearly sixty years ago, so it's impossible to determine what actually happened and what was embellished at some point along the way -- or made up altogether. Today Pat Boone makes frequent homophobic statements, but who can say what he was thinking at the age of 22? Maybe he really did think that "fooling around" with guys was fine, as long as you returned to your wife's bed at the end of the day.
After all, he was enough of a libertine to have someone photograph his penis in a box.
See also: Dick Sargent, Groucho Marx, and Cary Grant in the Same Bed; and Pat Boone, Teenage Heartthrob
Friday, September 23, 2016
This is purportedly a nude photo of heterosexual Hollywood star Victor Mature (The Robe, Samson and Delilah). Looks real to me.
The only problem: his "supersized" heterosexual penis is not terribly impressive, a Bratwurst at best. I guess that counted as well-hung in Heterosexual Hollywood.
The full post is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.
Thursday, September 22, 2016
It is the evening before the AIDS Walk, an event almost as big as Halloween or Gay Pride, and Lane and I are having some guys over for dinner, including Will the bondage boy, Randall, the muscle bear with the pierced penis, and Scott from MCC.
During the time between dessert and sharing or hitting the bars, we swap stories about gigantic penises, homophobic home towns, and hookups with the captain of the football team, and the question comes up, "Who's the biggest celebrity you've ever been with? Big in stardom, or big in size?"
Scott: David Hyde Pierce, star of Frasier
Lane: Batman and Robin
Me: Michael J. Fox
Will: Peter Fonda
Randall the muscle bear sits back in his chair, looks slowly around the room, and says "Cary Grant, star of North by Northwest and Indiscreet."
The famous movie star! We all wait expectantly. I haven't heard this story before.
"Dick Sargent, who played Darrin Stevens on Bewitched," he continues.
"Um...I'd rather hear the Cary Grant story."
"...and Groucho Marx. All on the same night, in the same bed."
Hollywood, Summer 1958
A hot day in June. Randy was 18 years old, newly drafted into the navy, enjoying his last few weeks of freedom before shipping out. He went to a Dodgers game with his brother, ate his mom's chocolate chip cookies, watched The Red Skelton Show with his grandmother -- and went cruising.
Los Angeles was still a netherworld. Police chief William H. Parker hated "perverts." The sodomy law wouldn't be revoked until 1976. There were bar raids, entrapment scams. Randy was afraid to go to the bars.
So he stood on the corner of Hollywood and Highland, outside of Coffee Dan's, and waited for someone to pick him up.
He looked much different than the muscle bear that we met 33 years later. Cleanshaven, a boyish face, short black hair in a military crewcut. Thinner but still built, smooth chest, nice biceps. And a Kielbasa, which he augmented with a balled-up sock in his jeans.
It didn't take long to get offers. He rejected two before climbing into the car with a guy in his 30s with a round face and a warm smile. They drove to a deserted parking lot off Selma, and kissed and talked, and the guy went down on his massive Kielbasa -- not pierced yet. He offered $1, but Randy rejected the money and went down on him in return. Then they sat and kissed and talked some more.
"The second Darrin on Bewitched!" Lane exclaims.
"So..." Will says. "How big was he?"
Randy knew him from Bernardine (1957), about a high school boy who invents a fictional girlfriend. Dick was doing that a lot in the studios!
One of his buddies in the movie was played by his ex-boyfriend Hooper Dunbar, who had also dated James Dean and Sal Mineo. He left Hollywood for Central America, where he would become a painter and important Bah'ai leader.
His other buddy was played by singer Pat Boone, straight but open to suggestions. His "Long Tall Sally" which hit #8 on the charts in 1956, was about a drag queen.
"I haven't slept with him." Dick said. "But I've seen him in action. Not bad."
"Sounds like everybody in Old Hollywood was gay," Lane says.
"That's what I told Dick."
"You don't know the half of it. There are so many guys like us in the studios. Some of them you'd never guess. Marlon Brando, Wally Cox, who plays Mr. Peepers on tv. Cary Grant. He's such a ladykiller, you'd never know he's in the fraternity."
"Cary Grant! I loved him in Indiscreet!"
"Would you like to meet him? There's a party Sunday afternoon, if you can make it."
It was held at a gay casting agent's house in Beverly Hills. About thirty men, all ages from oldster to teenager, talking, dancing, flirting, swimming naked in the pool. Randy had never seen anything like it.
Some guys he had heard rumors about:
Van Johnson, who starred in Brigadoon.
Tab Hunter, whose "Young Love" caused bobby-soxers to swoon.
Antony Perkins, who almost won an Oscar for Friendly Persuasion (left).
Others he had no idea of:
Ronnie Burns, the teenage son on the Burns and Allen Show
Rock Hudson, who starred in a lot of war movies.
And Groucho Marx!
The star of all those anarchic 1930s comedies like Duck Soup and Monkey Business, and now the host of the game show You Bet Your Life on Thursday nights. He was sitting by himself, smoking his trademark cigar and drinking whiskey and being ignored: at 68, he was a bit too old for all the cruising going on. Besides, the cigar stank.
Randy left Dick to mingle and approached him. "Hey, Groucho, what's the secret word?" he said, stupidly, kneeling in front of him like an acolyte. "I didn't know you belonged to the fraternity."
The aging jokester grinned. "How old are you, Beany Boy?"
"Two years younger than my grandson Andy. Well, Beany, in my day tricks weren't just for fairies. Any red-blooded all-American could grab his buddy's penis, no questions asked." He put his hand on Randy's shoulder and pushed him forward. "Now, how much do you charge to go a little lower?"
Then Dick appeared, arm in arm with the handsome, svelte 54-year old Cary Grant.
"Hello, what's this?" Cary exclaimed. "The party's getting a bit wild, isn't it?"
Randy stood, embarrassed by the implication. Dick and Cary towered over him. "It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Grant."
Cary took his hand and held it for a long time. "And you as well. Dick, my boy, how do you conjure up all these foxes? You must have a magic wand."
"Well, I do, actually," Dick said. "But it's nothing compared to Randy's."
"Hey, Mr. Blanding, take a number," Groucho called. "I believe the bobby-soxer had a previous commitment."
Cary grinned. "You're into the Geritol set, huh? Well, maybe we can work something out."
They ended up going to Groucho's house on Hillcrest Road, a few blocks away ("Don't worry, the wife is in Europe, playing 'Marco Polo' with an Italian gigolo"). Groucho served them all whiskey sours and put on a record of Dinah Shore singing "It's So Nice to Have a Man Around the House." Dick and Randy kissed and fondled, while Cary and Groucho watched. Then they all took off their clothes and went into the master bedroom.
Cary had a Bratwurst+, and Groucho -- incredible! A Kovbasa++, easily a foot long once it sprang to life! While Cary went down on Dick, Randy tried his best to go down on Groucho. He just managed to get the head.
"Noble attempt, kid," Groucho said. "Better than Rock Hudson, I'll give you that."
Then Randy went down on Cary -- much easier. He finished in a few minutes with a monumental shudder.
"Time for the floor show," Groucho said. "Live on stage, Randy and Dick, the Magic Wand Twins."
Dick topped Randy, his legs in the air -- bareback -- no condoms in those days! Then he kissed Randy and helped him finish, while Cary and Groucho watched.
Then Groucho gave Randy $5 and sent him and Dick out the door.
A week later, Randy was on a ship headed for Guam. He wouldn't be back in Hollywood for eight years.
"I never saw Cary Grant or Groucho Marx again," Randall says. "But Dick and I stayed friends. He and Bert used to have me over for dinner and sharing. He wasn't happy with my Prince Albert."
Dick Sargent came out in 1991, and became a "retroactive role model" for gay youth. He and Elizabeth Montgomery, his Bewitched co-star, were the grand marshalls of the 1992 West Hollywood Gay Pride Parade. He died on July 8th, 1994.
See also: The Muscle Bear with the Pierced Penis; Bewitched, Bewildered, and Gay; and Dick Sargent's Three-Way with Pat Boone.
Wednesday, September 21, 2016
In the 1980s and 1990s, the moment you figured out that you were gay, you made plans to move to a big city. Small towns and even medium-sized cities were sites of lies, secrets, and silence, where gay people were assumed not to exist, and probably didn't.
There might be one or gay people left in Crawfordsville, Indiana, or Danville, Illinois. They were deeply closeted, living in constant fear, isolated, lonely, desperate.
Yesterday I was traveling with my brother and sister-in-law on I-74 through the desolate nowheres of Indiana and Illinois, past Crawfordsville and Danville, Veedersburg and Westville, Mahomet and Farmer City and Leroy. I turned on Grindr, and watched the names and faces come and go, and listened the voices of gay men. Were they still isolated, lonely, desperate?
Here are 14 of their profiles, edited slightly for narrative flow. Decide for yourself.
[The photos are not from Grindr, which doesn't allow nudity]
2. Mystic. Running, animals, anime, gaming, having fun, stargazing. Passing time on Earth, making friends along the way. I'm an old soul in a modern age, dreaming of things that might never be. 8 inches. Hookups ok.
4. Funfun. Living life at level 10. Hit me up for a night of Netflix and pizza. If you have holes in your ears big enough to see through, no thanks. No one over 26.
5. Another Reject. Bottom if you want to know. High school senior, as lonely as all of you here. I'm awkward, so good luck. No, the girl I'm with is not my girlfriend, and it's not my prom. Looking for a boyfriend. Let's get coffee and see where it goes.
6. Speed Racer.. I work for a company that sanctions races all over the country. I also announce races all over the Midwest. Masculine, laid back, looking for younger, well hung a plus. Blonds go to the front of the line.
7. Potato Pancakes. Virgin, never did this before. I may not be gorgeous, but I'm still a catch. I cook, sew, sing, garden, can my own spaghetti sauce. Oral and anal bottom.
8. Jelly. Age 21. We all have the time. Reading, jazz, retro porn, Pokemon Go. I am a summer looking for a winter.
9. Paratrooper Comedian. Uptight high strung goofy 420 friendly with a glock. My Mamma left me, my Daddy left me, I'm lazy and not goodlooking but I'm full of laughter and heart. Baby, ring my bell.
10. Dick Wolf. Sup, Boners? I call my bedroom Margaritaville because I'm wasting away in it. Come and see my band and punch me in the throat and make out with me on stage. We can go on a cuddling date later.
11. Zoom Zoom. I'm me. Sarcasm, art, music, motorcycles, cooking, sake with Red Bull. Nothing upsets me. Black Buddhist bottom. The bigger you are, the better. Want a blow job?
12. Open Minded. Up for anything -- you tell me. No bi, married, trans, closeted, femmes, fats, Blacks, piercings, druggies, losers, weirdos, gang bangers, unemployed, or old dudes. Sorry, no offense, it's just not my thing.
13. Nerd. Loves books,movies, video games, all physical activity. Quirkily cute. Fuzzy bottom. Cannibal chaser. Poet and philosopher. If you're closeted, I'm not interested. Please don't contact me if you don't want to hang out and get to know me.
14. Enigma. Adult male primate. Intellectual gym rat nudist with a screw loose and a campy sense of humor. Also a cock as big as Mount Everest. Why can't orphans play baseball? Because they have no home. I have a home. It could be yours, too, if you play your cards right.
We're on our way back from a funeral, my brother and sister-in-law in the front seat, me in the back, driving down I-74 through a wilderness of small towns and vast plains: Danville, Farmer City, Mahomet, LeRoy, Downs, Carlock.
Katie points to the sign of a town with a quirky name. "We should stop there for dinner. It will probably have a cute Mom and Pop restaurant that all of the locals go to."
"Small town locals? Sounds scary. ZZ Top wannabes driving red pickup trucks with Confederate flags and 'I Heart Trump' bumper stickers."
"...and rows of cute boutiques and antique shops," Katie says.
"I think we should just press on to Bloomington. According to Google Maps, there are three Thai restaurants..."
"I can't wait another hour!" my brother Ken exclaims. "And I'm not eating rest-stop McDonalds!"
"It will be fine!" Katie jokes. "If your hot pink tutu and drag queen bouffant attract rednecks, we'll tell them you're my hairdresser."
To get to the small town, you drive north from the highway through one of those horrible retail strips, with a Wal-Mart, fast-food restaurants, and car dealerships. Then through a residential district of the same white-porch houses you see everywhere in Illinois, across a river, and to downtown:
A park with a bandshell.
A clothing store for Cowgirls.
Two closed banks, a closed antique store, a hair salon, a lot of deserted storefronts, and two restaurants, only one open: The Paradise Soda Shop.
We go into the soda shop. Maybe it serves sandwiches, too.
It's in a historic building, with restored booths and seats from the 1920s,
There's a hot bear in an old-fashioned soda jerk costume behind the counter: in his 40s, chubby, black hair, beard, nice square hands. His name tag reads "Seth."
I go into full cruise mode: eyes, crotch, eyes again. Unfortunately, Seth's crotch is covered by an apron. "Hi, Seth, my name is Boomer. My associates and I are traveling through on the way to the big city, and we were wondering what kind of local delicacies you have."
"Carbonated water with all different kinds of flavoring. They were popular in the 1920s. But we have flavors they never thought of: watermelon, papaya, kiwi, sriracha..."
"Sriracha? The hot sauce?"
Our eyes meet with that unmistakable vibe. "It's an acquired taste."
"We were looking more for dinner," Ken says,
"Well, there are two restaurants in walking distance: Burger King and Pizza Ranch. But be sure to come back for a phosphate later. I'm here until 7:00."
So much for a down-home Mom and Pop restaurant that everybody goes to.
The Pizza Ranch is the franchise run by fundamentalists, with the goal of Glorifying God with bad pizza and deep-fried chicken. Two buffet tables loaded down with fried stuff. A salad bar consisting of wilted lettuce and sliced cucumbers, and some long rows of family-style tables.
Where the entire local high school football team is eating! Eight beefy guys squeezing past us to get to their table, then returning for more fried stuff and squeezing past us again.
Crotch view after crotch view!
Legs and thighs an inch away!
Chests and biceps in full view!
A smile and an "Excuse me, sir" as a guy shifts toward me to scoot around.
Plus a cute boy eating with two rednecks, a pair of men in muscle shirts, and the father of a nuclear family with a blatant bulge in his pants.
There are 23 men and 3 women in the room. My kind of restaurant!
I nudge Katie. "I think I'm going to move here, and eat at the Pizza Ranch every night."
"You do, and you'll be as big as a house," Katie says.
"Ok, I'll go somewhere else for the food, and come here for the view."
I try to push us through, so we can get back to the Paradise for phosphates and cruising. Unfortunately, we arrive a little after 7:00, and Seth is gone. A gruff older woman takes our phosphate orders.
Seth may be gone, but there's a cute college boy a nearby booth, eating ice cream with his two friends -- both girls, I notice. He's tall and slim, with a long face and dirty-blond hair. And he keeps looking over at me and smiling.
Seeing a chance to cruise, I excuse myself and go over to his booth. "Hi, you look familiar..."
"You must have seen me at the meet. I'm Ryan H**** -- I placed at 10.23."
I have no idea what he is talking about, so I say "That sounds very impressive. Sorry I wasn't there to see it. I'm Boomer -- my brother and sister-in-law and I are just passing through town."
His face falls. "Are you interested in track and field?"
"Sure, I like all sports. I used to write for a bodybuilding magazine."
"Cool! What do you do now?"
While the girls text furiously on their smartphones, Ryan and I talk about college. He's a freshman at the University of Illinois, where he's on the track team (10.23 is his personal best for a 2-mile run). He wants to major in criminology and go to work for the FBI.
"I can tell you all about the field of criminology," I begin. Then I see Ken and Katie gesturing at me and looking bored. "But we should be going -- we have a long drive ahead of us. But you and I should stay in touch. I'll give you my email address."
He thanks me, but doesn't offer anything in return. We shake hands and head out into the night.
"I'm definitely moving here!" I exclaim.. "This place is cruisier than the Rage on a Saturday night at last call!"
"Are you sure Ryan wasn't just being friendly?" Katie asks. "There's a big difference between friendly and interested. He didn't give you his phone number, did he?"
"Anyway, he lives 600 miles from your town," Ken adds. "A little far for dating."
"Well, I'll be passing through this way again at Christmastime."
I'm guessing he's gay.
Suddenly my cell phone buzzes. Ryan has sent me a photo: nude, at a pool, his enormous Kovbasa semi-aroused. Probably photoshopped, but who cares?
I'm guessing he's interested.
Only three months until Christmas!
See also: My Christmas Date with the College Track Star; Hookup with the Waiter at a Christian Restaurant; and Ryan's Three Way with Harry Styles.