Saturday, October 1, 2016

20 October Hookups, Dates, and Sausage Sightings

It's October, my favorite month of the year!  The days get longer, tv and theater seasons are in full swing, the air is brisk, running outside is a pleasure rather than a sweaty chore.  You get apple cider and pumpkin pie.  And the scary, paranormal events that are rare in July happen every day.

Ray Bradbury calls this The October Country: where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and mid-nights stay. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain. 

In honor of our journey past the border into the October Country of 2016, here are my top October hookups, dates, and sausage sightings.

1. October 1968: My first date.  In third grade, a cute boy invited me to a movie, which was a sin to Nazarenes.  I was certain that God was going to strike me dead with a thunderbolt. He didn't.  Instead, I got to hug a hippie.

2. October 1969: My first kiss.  From Greg, the boy vampire (also an astronomer, geologist, naturalist, and psychic), while we were watching the Gothic soap opera Dark Shadows.  It was a compromise; he really wanted to bite me on the neck.

3. October 1972: Why corpses are called stiffs.  In seventh grade, my friend's brother who worked in a funeral home invited us to come in and look at the corpse of a teenage boy who died that day.  I didn't know that men become aroused after death....






4. October 1974: The preacher pops a boner.  At a pre-college weekend at Olivet Nazarene College, we sat on a lounge in the student union watching a ministerial student make out with his girlfriend. Gigantic boner, the stuff of fantasies.

5. October 1979: The German Choirboy.  During my sophomore year at Augustana College, I spent a quarter abroad in Regensburg, Germany, and got my first real boyfriend, Wolfgang the Choir Boy at St. Peter's Cathedral.  We went out about a dozen times, but never actually spent the night together, since we both had roommates.

6. October 1983: The Halloween Homophobe.  Aka the night I drank 1 1/2 beers.  In grad school at Indiana University in Bloomington, my roommate Viju and I invited some guys over for a Halloween party.  Jimmy the Bodybuilder on Crutches invited his homophobic friend, who didn't know that the rest of us were all gay.  He had a meltdown!



7. October 1987: Heinz and His Crazy Obsession.  In West Hollywood, my sort-of-boyfriend Raul was living with a crazy old guy named Heinz.  I still can't eat Jimmy Dean's sausage biscuits or listen to the song "Come away wiz me to Malibu...."  I agreed to sharing, just to be polite, until I discovered Heinz's obsession.  Hint: Nasssty!

8. November 1990: The Rocky Horror Picture Show Virgin.  I had seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show in theaters twice and memorized the soundtrack, and the moment it came out on VHS, I bought a copy.  So I didn't consider myself a RHPS "Virgin,"  Nor did I think that the audience would demand a "virgin sacrifice."

9. October 1992: The Lawnboy.  What's scary about a lawnboy?  When he lies about his age, and you don't find out until after you've made the date.  Fortunately, I managed to call it off before the jail-bait scalawag arrived.  We finished the date in 1995, after he turned 18.



10. October 1996: My Date with the Vampire.   I may have exaggerated the oddities of Kevin the Vampire, but he definitely had a paranormal aura.  If he stared at you the right way, you would lose your free will.  That's how he got most of his dates.  He got the others with cool Bohemian looks and enormous penis.

11. October 1997: The Fireman Fantasy.   I've dated two firemen, and they've both been rather small in the penis department. Maybe that's one of the reasons they want to work with those big long hoses.  This guy came to our apartment after my crazy straight roommate put some water on the stove to boil and then left for six hours.

12. October 1999: The Boy Who Refused to Leave.  Not only did Ozzie tell an unsettling story about hooking up with John Kennedy Jr. after his death, the next day, after a hookup with me and Yuri, he refused to leave Yuri's room.  Unsettling.








13. November 2000: The Football Player Who Got Stuck in Time.  I really believe (sort of) that the University of Alabama football player I hooked up with that cold Novmber day was on a field trip from 1941.

14. October 2002: The Gay Psychic Angel.  Raphael showed up unexpectedly at my house in Florida, did a past-life regression, told me not to move to Europe, and gave me his phone number.  He was ungodly cute, an angel, but his arms didn't work, and I wimped out on calling him.  I've been kicking myself for it ever since.  I tried looking him up again recently, but I don't remember his last name, and he doesn't appear in the directory of professional psychics in Florida.

15. October 2005: Remy the Jerk.  I've had dates with Creepy Old Guys, Sleazoids, elitists, idiots, and jerks of all kinds, but this guy was a complete, utter *hole, so nasty that it was scary.  It's a good thing we had our date on Halloween.


16. October 2008: The Satyr.    A massive guy, massively fat, with the biggest Kovbasa++++ I've ever seen, before or since.  I'm pretty sure he was a mystical being, Priapus the God of Virility, just manifesting in our reality as a super-hung chub.  His houseboy was cute, too.

17. October 2012: Assaulted in the Locker Room.  I've been yelled at and called names, but the only time I've actually been attacked was in the locker room of a gym in the gay neighborhood of Philadelphia, where a guy accused me of "looking at him" and rushed in to attack.










18. November 2012: The Dark Room. I went to the guy's house to pick him up for a date, and he opened the door naked.  Things went downhill from there.

19. October 2014: My Dad's Old Navy Buddy.   My weirdest paranormal experience to date: my Dad's old navy buddy shows up. Except my Dad was in the Korean War, and this guy is still in his twenties.  Ok, maybe it was his grandson.

20. October 2015: The Twink Who Wasn't Interested.  That's not actually scary, just perplexing for a twink magnet.  Turns out he was interested, he just didn't think I was.  Go figure.

Thursday, September 29, 2016

Cruising My Cousin's Son at a Funeral

Garrett, Indiana, July 2002

When I was a kid, we drove from Rock Island to Garrett, a small town in northeastern Indiana at least twice a year to visit my parents' family.  But after I moved to West Hollywood, I devoted my trips back to the Midwest to Rock Island and Indianapolis.  I haven't been to Garrett in 20 years.

Maybe I didn't want to come back to the country-western music, red pick up trucks, Republicans, rednecks, fundamentalists, casual racism, and incessant "wife and kids! wife and kids! wife and kids!" heterosexism.  This is what I moved to West Hollywood to escape.

Last time I saw my Cousin Annie, she was ten years old.  Now she's 30, a plump hausfrau in a Wal-Mart frock living down the road in Auburn, Indiana.  She says "I haven't seen you for so long!  Are you still a Nazarene?" and introduces her two sons, Paul, aged five (named after my Uncle Paul), and Phil, aged two (named to be alliterative, I guess).  Paul shakes hands solemnly; Phil hides in his mother's arms.

Then her husband, whose name I don't catch: a scary redneck truck driver with an admittedly spectacular basket, a bulge to die for, but few other attractive traits: a long face, a scraggly beard, and lots of ugly tattoos.

"So, how do you like living in Florida?" Annie asks.  "Do you spend all day at the beach, looking at all the gorgeous people in swimsuits?"

"Not really.  It's like living anywhere else -- I get up, go to work, go to the gym, come home."

"Are you seeing anyone special?"

I'm not going to mention my new boyfriend, Wade the Beach Boy.  I'm not going to come out to a small-town fundamentalist hausfrau married to a scary truck driver.


Kankakee, Illinois, June 2008 

My brother's daughter is getting married, and relatives from all over descend upon Kankakee, including Cousin Annie.  The truck driver is out of the picture: Annie is 36 years old, a single Mom, working as a middle-school teacher in Auburn, living with her mother, who helps her take care of Paul and Phil, aged  11 and 9.

This time they both shake hands solemnly.

"Aren't they getting handsome!" Cousin Annie exclaims, embarrassing her boys tremendously.  "Any day now they'll be breaking the hearts of every girl at school!"

Heterosexist nonsense!  Some of the girls in that school are lesbians, and how does she know her boys are straight?  I shouldn't say anything -- I don't want to get screamed at -- but I can't help myself.  "Not only girls -- I'll bet a few boys will get crushes on them, too."

She laughs.  "I never thought of that, but you're probably right.  How about you?  Break any hearts lately?"

"Um...not recently."  I am not coming out to a redneck fundamentalist relative who I only see once a decade!


Auburn, Indiana, April 2012

My mother's sister died a year ago, and her brother-in-law five months ago.  I didn't go to either of the funerals.  Now her brother, my Uncle Edd, has died, and she demands that I show up for the funeral.  So I fly back to Indianapolis, and we all drive up to Auburn together.

Uncle Edd had no children, so Cousin Annie holds the funeral reception at her house.  She's 40 years old, her red hair graying in spots, married to or living with a guy who's barely 30: a round-faced Southern boy with long hair, a short beard, and a basket that's just as impressive as that of Husband #1.

Obviously Cousin Annie is a size queen.

He refuses a handshake: "Where I come from, family hugs!"  After we hug, bulges accidentally pressed together, he whistles.  "Boys, get over here and say hello to your Cousin Boomer."

Paul is 15, a buffed, curly haired high school jock who smiles confidently as he draws me into a hug.

Phil is 13, short, quiet, eyeglassed, with dirty blond hair; he prefers to shake hands.

 The boyfriend laughs.  "Paul's the operator of the family.  Phil's a bookworm."

"Nothing wrong with being a bookworm.  I have over 1,000 books back home myself."

"Really?  I'm surprised you have time to read, with your fast-paced lifestyle and all.  I figured you'd be out at the discos every night, shaking your stuff."

"Shaking my stuff?" I repeat.  "At age 51?"

Cousin Annie says "Come on, Boomer, you're as young as you feel.  You're pretty buffed for 51 -- I'll bet the cute young things are lining up to ask you to dance!"

I am not coming out to Annie the Cougar and her Southern redneck Boy Toy.  "Oh, I do ok," I say noncommittally.

Indianapolis, September 2016

Another funeral.  Cousin Annie is 45 years old, with a new husband, a 50-ish chubby guy with a beard and square workman's hands, and, I assume, the supersized basket she finds attractive.  They sit with her mother and sons.

Phil is 17, a head shorter than me, quiet, stern, mostly attached to his smartphone.

Paul is 19, a sophomore at Indiana University, taller than me, curly-haired, handsome, with a stunning smile and a big chest and shoulders obvious even in his blue dress shirt.  I wonder if he inherited his father's super-sized basket.

Ok, he's my second cousin, but I can't help cruising him a little.

When he seats himself next to me at the dinner table, I think "Oh, boy!  A hookup!  First Lane's grandson, and now this!"

But he says "We're studying the 1970s in my history class, and I have to interview somebody that was there."

Way to make me feel old!  "Sure, I'd be happy to help.  I'm a child of the 1970s, a regular Disco Duck."

He doesn't catch the reference.  "I want to go with the homophobia angle.  Anita Bryant, Jerry Falwell, the Briggs Initiative.  It must have been rough for you, growing up gay with all that homophobia in the air."

Growing up gay...Paul knows?  That means Cousin Annie knows....has she known all along?


Gorgeous people in swimsuits.

Break any hearts lately...

Cute young things lining up.

I don't get a hookup out of the deal, but I do get to see both Paul and his brother shirtless later on, when I friend him on Facebook.

And I get a whole family of straight allies.

See also: My Date with the Groom's Grandson




Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Farshad's Hookup with Leonardo DiCaprio

Paris, June 2015

I'm in Paris for the first time in eight years, visiting my old haunts and catching up with old friends.  Farshad, the French Moroccan on my Sausage List, and his roommate Michel have me over for dinner.

Farshad is 38 years old, dark-skinned, bearded, with a hairy chest and a gigantic cut Mortadella+.  More importantly, he's one of the founders of the first gay Muslim organization in France and a member of a gay-friendly masjid.  Michel is a second-generation French Tunisian in his 20s, short, slim, with a smooth chest and a thick uncut Bratwurst.  .

The French are not as star-struck as Americans, so celebrity hookups are not a common dinner-party topic of conversation, but  I mention my relationship with Jimmy the Boy Toy, how my real-life celebrity boyfriend was not famous enough, so I invented a hookup with Gregg Sulkin of the Wizards of Waverly Place.

"Why didn't you tell him Leonardo DiCaprio?"  Farshad asks.  "He's more famous, and more believable.  Tout le monde a été dans son lit. [Everyone has been in his bed.]  Even me."

I nod knowingly.  Leonardo DiCaprio is not only immensely talented, a humanitarian, and a strong ally of the gay community, he's very, very busy.  He has been involved in passionate romances with female supermodels from three continents, yet he still has the time and energy to rack up up gay rumors.  Nearly every guy I know claims to have been with him, or at least to have seen him kissing a bloke at a nightclub.

But Michel is impressed. "You and the star of Titanic!" he exclaims.  "I never knew that.  Did you say  'I'm king of the world!' when tu l'baisé? [when you topped him]"

Brussels, June 1995

Farshad was 18 years old, a new graduate from a lycee in Lille in northeastern France, planning to study languages at the university.  He had just figured out that he was gay, not just using garz as a substitute for girls, as many of his friends did, but interested in dating and romance.

But where did a conservative Muslim boy from conservative Lille, whose parents, grandparents, uncles, aunts, and two brothers were members of the Ligue Islamique du Nord, go to meet boys?  And avoid running into anyone he knew?

To Belgium, of course.

One weekend he took the train 1 1/2 hours to Brussels, got a dorm room in a youth hostel, and set about exploring the gay nightlife.

He found a club on the Rue du Lombard that had a bar and disco in the front and a darkroom in the back, and saw a blond minet on the dance floor, shirtless, gyrating vigorously, almost obsessively. Sweat glistened on his slim, smooth chest, rolled down his perfect belly.  He had long arms and shoulders, dirty blond hair, a beautiful angelic face.

Trop chaud!  Farshad thought.  Too hot for me.  I have no chance.

But he underestimated his Mediterranean charms.  Soon the garz sat down at the bar next to him and ordered an Orangina and asked "Que tu veux boire? [What would you like to drink?] with a strong American accent.

Surprised and excited, Farshad stammered "Um...quoi... an Orangina, too, please."

"You speak English?  Excellent!"

"English,  Italian, Arabic, and a little Tamazight, the native language of Morocco," Farshad said, hoping to impress him.

He did.  "That's fantastic!  I can barely handle French and German, and that's only because my mother is from Germany."

He introduced himself as Leo.  He was  an actor, in Belgium making a movie about Arthur Rimbaud, the famous boy genius who wrote startling poetry and had an affair with the middle aged, established poet Paul Verlaine.

"Was he gay?" Farshad asked.

"Gay?  No.  He was gay, straight, bisexual, and everything else.  He loved men, he loved women, he loved words and language, he loved beauty.  He found desire everywhere, even in the slightest touch on the wrist."

Leo touched Farshad's wrist.  He immediately became aroused.

"I've never been with a garz before," Farshad admitted.  "Except for fooling around with my friends, fondling through their clothes, wanking them, that sort of thing.  Nothing romantic.  Nothing passionate."

"Well, it's about time you started," Leo said, moving in for a kiss.

Leo had an uncut Bratwurst, and was very passionate, into kissing and full-body contact and oral.  He went down on Farshad, then topped him with his legs in the air so they could kiss -- it was small but very stiff.  Then they held each other in their arms and kissed and cuddled, and became aroused again and moved into 69.  And on and on all night.  Farshad didn't remember it all, just a blur of hands and mouths and aroused penises.

Farshad awoke to the sound of the shower running.  Soon Leo emerged from the bathroom, toweling off.

"What do you want to do today?" Farshad asked.  "Have you seen the Musees Royaux des Beaux Arts?"

"Actually, I have to be on the set in an hour."

"Ok, then...dinner later?"

"I'll be going back to America soon.  And you have to be getting back to Lille."

"Mais...mais..."

Leo sat on the bed.  "The world is full of hot guys, Farshad.  Not just one, not ten, not a hundred -- thousands.  They'll come and go, but there will always be more.  Your job on this planet is to experience as much beauty as you can before it all fades away."

They didn't exchange telephone numbers.  They never saw each other again.

Paris, June 2015

"That's rather a sad story," I say.

"Sad!" Farshad exclaims.  "I see only happiness.  I spent the night with a man who has a beautiful body and a beautiful soul.  Can you expect more of life?"

"You shall certainly travel from stage to stage," Michel says, quoting the Qur'an.  "Nothing lasts forever.  What counts is the beauty in front of me at this moment."  He puts his arm around me and leans in for a kiss.

There's going to be some sharing tonight.

Was Farshad Telling the Truth?

Leonardo DiCaprio was filming Total Eclipse in 1995, and several scenes were shot in Brussels.  But his conversation seems too intellectual, even cerebral.  DiCaprio is more of a plain talker.

DiCaprio doesn't have blond hair, and is smaller beneath the belt than Farshad said.

The bedroom activity Farshad describes doesn't mesh with the descriptions of DiCaprio's bedroom activity from some of the women in his life, but that could be merely a matter of performing differently with men and women.

DiCaprio is a strong supporter of the gay community who has played gay or bisexual characters several times.  You'd think that if he was bisexual, he wouldn't keep it a secret.

But the gay rumors continue to rack up.

See also: Nude Photos of Leonardo DiCaprioThe French Moroccan on My Sausage List; My Date with a Star of "The Wizards of Waverly Place"