Saturday, December 31, 2016

A Boy With Daddy Issues Rips My Clothes Off

Plains, May 2015

Ever since I wimped out on Raphael, the Gay Psychic Angel, who was perfect in every way except that his arms didn't work, I have felt guilty.  I should have called -- I would have called -- except I kept imagining becoming his boyfriend, and being responsible for helping him eat and dress and use the bathroom -- how shallow!

So I decided that if I ever had such an opportunity again, I would go for it without hesitation.

The opportunity came in, of all places, a comic book store on the Plains.

I always feel out of place amid the fanboys and fantasy gamers, self-conscious about my age more than anything, so I rush in, get what I need, and rush out again.  But on that Saturday afternoon in May 2015, there were two guys standing in front of the New Arrival rack.

One was a hefty, bearded bear in his 40s.  He was picking up titles and showing them to his friend, who was small, slim, in his 20s.

And had cerebral palsy.

Back in college, I dated Jimmy, the Bodybuilder on Crutches, but his cerebral palsy resulted only in some stiffness, so he had to use crutches to get around, and some motor actions were difficult.

This guy had spastic movements (uncontrollable spasms in his arms), spasticity in his hands (they bent back), and gait disturbance (one leg dragged behind).

He turned and smiled at me. "We're almost done."

Slurred speech, too.

"Oh, don't worry.  Take your time."

He continued to smile.  The cruise was unmistakable.

I should say something else.  "Um...I heard that IDW is coming out with a new Donald Duck title.  Funny how Disney titles never last."

"Well, you know fanboys are fickle. My name is Andy."

"Boomer.  Pleased to meet you."

He swung his body to stretch out his curled, curved hand.  I took it and squeezed.  For some reason, I was surprised that it was warm.


By now his friend was staring at me suspiciously.  "This is my warden," Andy said in his slurred speech. "His job is to make sure I never have any fun."

"Roy -- Andy's Dad,"  he grunted.  "The one with the car."

Ok, I was being cruised by a guy who was thirty years younger than me, with spastic movements that kind of freaked me out, in a comic book store, in front of his father.

Time to seal the deal!

"Have you had lunch yet?  There's a pretty good Chinese place down the street that I like."

"We're going for pizza," Andy countered.  "You should come."

Roy grunted disapprovingly.  In retrospect, it must have seemed odd to watch his son pick up a strange guy twice his age.  Or did Andy do this all the time?

We had barbecue chicken pizza and garlic knots, while Andy's "spastic movements" kept rubbing his leg against mine.  I couldn't tell if Roy knew that his son was cruising me,  but it was obvious that he kept strict control over Andy's friends.  You had to prove yourself.

Turns out that Andy and I didn't have a lot in common.  He liked sports -- especially baseball -- and zombie movies and tv programs like The Walking Dead.

And he lacked most of the traits that I find attractive -- he was shorter than me, but slim, pale-skinned, and not religious.  I didn't get a chance to check on his beneath-the-belt gifts.

I was tempted to let the relationship slide,but then I thought of the Psychic Angel.  No way -- we were going forward, as far as Andy wanted!

Apparently I proved myself to Roy, as I got permission to solo with Andy the next day: a baseball game -- yawn -- then back to my apartment to kiss on the couch.

"I always liked older guys," Andy whispered, groping me with his curved hand.  "You're always so big!"

"It doesn't really get bigger as you get older."

"Ok, I guess I have Daddy issues, then."

"Well, your father is rather hot."

"Oh, I fantasize about him sometimes -- is that sick?  I want to tie him up and spank him.  You know, be the one in charge."

I could see where this was heading! "Sorry, I'm not really into that."  Andy probably couldn't tie ropes well, anyway.

"Ok, so...maybe I could like just tear your clothes off before we do it?  That would be erotic."

"Um...sure, I guess."

I put on an old t-shirt and jeans, and we went into the bedroom.  But old clothes are quite tough, apparently, and Andy's spastic hand movements couldn't get them to rip. I had to start the process with scissors.

The erotic activity that followed was a little disappointing.  Andy had a Bratwurst, very thick, with a foreskin that wouldn't retract -- but he was only into backside activity -- and a top.

I let him top me, but he worked so fast that I barely noticed.

Then I drove him home.

"This was fun," he said.  "Sometime you should meet my boyfriend.  He'd like you, too."

Boyfriend?  Wait -- I thought that Andy was a lonely shut-in who never got asked out, that I was doing him a favor by dating him.  "Is he an older guy?"

"Oh, no, he's in college.  All the college boys want to date me, but hardly ever anyone older.  But  older guys are fun -- they're always so grateful!   Well, bye!"

Wait -- was Andy doing me a favor?

See also Gay Psychic Angel; Cruised by my Mentally Disabled Neighbor

Monday, December 26, 2016

Hooking Up During a Job Interview

Xenia, Ohio, February 2005

I've been on the academic job market four times, after getting my Ph.D. (2001), when trying to leave Florida (2005), and at the end of my temporary positions in Dayton (2008) and Philadelphia (2013).  10-12 interviews each time, nearly 50 in all.

So I know all the routines.

1. I will be asked about the last game of whatever sports team is popular in my area.

2. I will be told about the hotness of local girls.

3. I will usually be assumed heterosexual, in spite of my resume-full of gay-themed research, although some people will wonder, and ask sneaky questions in an attempt to find out.

4. Others will conclude that I am gay, and hide in their offices when I'm around, lest they be forced to shake hands with a queer.

5. Sometimes they have just invited me to interview so they can congratulate themselves on how liberal they are; I have no chance at an offer.

Those interviews can actually be pleasant: since I have no chance, I can relax, not be "on" all the time, pay more attention to my surroundings.  And it's fun seeing them stumble around the gay issue.

In the spring of 2005, when I was invited to Wilberforce University, near Xenia, Ohio, it was obvious even before I arrived that I had no chance of a offer.  It's a historically black college. 500 students, 98% black.   And affiliated with the homophobic African Methodist Episcopal Church.  No gay student organizations.

No way they're hiring a gay white guy.

So I relaxed, played it cool, and settled in for my free trip.

A very pretty campus, Georgian style, a little run down, but crowded with extremely attractive black men, students and faculty both.

 I insisted on touring the athletic facilities, so I could see some semi-nude student athletes.

Impressive.

It might be fun working here, just for the pleasure of looking at the muscular physiques, and maybe scoping out a few sausages.

There were only four or five non-black students at the college, but they drafted one of them to show me around: Jordi, a fresh-faced German exchange student (top photo).

Ok, so there was some racial diversity on campus.

Now, if I could only find a gay student or faculty member at this small, closeted college.

My jobtalk (research presentation), advertised to everyone on campus, was not on a gay topic -- I didn't want to press my luck.  But it did have "race, gender, and sexual identity" in the title, signaling that there would be gay content to those "in the know."

The faculty hated it.  When I mentioned the increased rate of "downlow" activity among African-American communities, one stormed out, and another said "I completely disagree with your thesis!"
.

But at the reception afterwards, I was approached by a short, compact, rather buffed music major named Clintin.

"Your paper was very insightful," he said, shaking my hand.  "I've noticed that a lot of gay black men refuse to admit it.  They date girls, but then after the date they're in each other's dorm rooms."

Seeing my "in," I asked "Are there a lot of gay students on this campus?"

"I know a few," he said cagily. "But they're closeted, like you said.  They won't even drive to the gay bars in Dayton, 20 minutes away.  They go all the way to Columbus or Cincinnati."

He wasn't going to come out to me!

"Any homophobia on campus?" I asked.

"Not really.  Mostly they just assume that no gay people exist."

But then someone else came over, and he clammed up.

"Come to dinner with us," I offered.  "We can talk about this some more."

We actually couldn't, with five faculty members and three other students at the table at Mariachi's, a Mexican restaurant in Xenia.  But he did manage to sit next to me, so close that our thighs almost touched, and when I dropped my fork, we both leaned over to pick it up, and our hands touched.

At the end of the dinner, when they were looking for someone to take me back to my hotel, Clintin volunteered.

"I live in Xenia, anyway, so I'll be close to home," he explained.

When we were alone in the car on the way back to the Ramada, Clintin finally came out:

"Nobody knows.  You think they would suspect a flute player, but they think all gay guys are fruity little queens, and I'm built like a linebacker, so no suspicion.  I can get away with about anything.  When I was living in the dorm, I even had my boyfriend stay overnight, and no one got wise."

"Yeah, that happened when I was in grad school."  20 years ago!


Don't try this at home!

Never hook up with students, faculty, or staff during a job interview.  Word will get out, and you won't get the job.

But in this case, I knew I wasn't getting the job anyway, and Clintin was the only gay person I knew in the state.

The moment we got into my hotel room, we were kissing and fondling.  Soon I was going down on Clintin's impressive cut Mortadella and fondling his butt.  He threw me on the bed and tried to push my legs in the air, but I convinced him to thrust between my legs to finish.

Then we kissed and fondled until he was ready again, this time oral.

He went down on me until I finished, and then he was ready for his third time.

Finally, around 2:00 am, we exchanged telephone numbers, and he got dressed and left.

In the morning someone else picked me up for breakfast, and I had my meeting with the president, the provost, and human resources before going back to the Dayton airport to catch my flight to Fort Lauderdale.  I didn't see Clintin again.

Six months later, in August 2005, I moved to Ohio to take a job at the University of Dayton.  I got an apartment in Fairborn, a far eastern suburb, got my new driver's license and car registration, joined a gym, moved into my new office, and went to work on my fall classes.

Wilberforce University was only about ten miles away, but I didn't think of calling Clintin.  Surely that night was just a hookup.  Why would a closeted undergraduate at a homophobic college want to date an out-and-proud professor?  Who was 20 years older than him?

Then one day in the fall semester, he knocked on my office door.

"Last spring one of the frats put on a homophobic skit," he explained, "And me and some of my friends protested.  We were put on academic probation, so...guess what?  I transferred here, to the University of Dayton."

"A little more liberal," I said.

"Heck!  A lot more!  I joined the gay student association, and I started a club just for gay music majors -- there are like twenty of us.  We're putting on a drag show fundraiser in October."

"Sounds like you're busy.  Too busy to..."

He grinned.  "Not too busy to have dinner with you Friday night,  Not by a long shot!"

See also: Me and the High School Bodybuilder. 

Sunday, December 25, 2016

20 Uncles, Cousins, and Nephews on My Sausage Sighting List

Many guys have told me that their first inklings of same-sex desire came when they saw a cousin or uncle naked.  Sometimes they even had their first sexual encounter with a relative.

It makes sense -- uncles and cousins live far away, so you don't see them often, and the "mystery" necessary for sexual desire is retained, but there's a familial intimacy that makes sausage sightings much more likely than with strangers.

Here are my top 20 family-member sausage sightings, gropes, and grabs.







My Family

Ken, my brother.  Lots of times.

Terry, my sister's husband.  A bit homophobic, but still, I got a glimpse in the locker room when we stripped down to work out together.














Dad's Family, the Davises

Cousin Joe.  My very first sausage sighting, when I was 7 1/2 years old and went to the bathroom late at night, to see my older cousin there, washing off in the sink.  I saw him again, fully aroused, in high school.

Cousin George.  From South Carolina, exactly my age.  When I went to visit him at age 10, we took a bath together, and slept in the same bed, naked: "only fools wear pajamas."

Uncle George.  His father.  When we went swimming, we all changed clothes in the same room, and I got a good view of his cut Mortadella+ hanging down.







Cousin Phil.  One Thanksgiving evening my brother and I had to share a room with my older cousin.  I got not only a sausage sighting, but a sausage grope and fondle.

Cousin Donnie.  Actually my third or fourth cousin, from Canada.  Grandma Davis brought us out to visit one summer.  I got a good view in a bathhouse at the beach.















Mom's Family, the Praters

Uncle Paul, my mother's youngest brother.  He taught me how to pee "against the wind," and of course had to pull it out to demonstrate.  But I'm sure that the Naked Man in the Peat Bog was one of his friend.

Cousin Graydon, his son.  When he was grown up, I tried to get a sausage sighting, but didn't make it.  But my boyfriend Troy got one.

Uncle Edd.  When I was ten years old, Cousin Buster and I spied on him in the outhouse, hoping to get a glimpse of his "gun."  I saw something else instead.







Cousin Buster.  We spent a lot of time together, so I got several sausage sightings, including one when he was fully aroused.

My Kentucky Cousins.   The summer when I was twelve years old, we went down to Kentucky to visit my Uncle Ell and his family.  My three boy cousins and their two friends and I went skinny dipping in the creek.  Lots of butts.

Uncle Ell.  They didn't have running water in Kentucky, so they took baths by heating water on the stove and pouring it in a bathtub.  Uncle Ell went first.








My Indian Relatives

There was a complicated story that I didn't figure out until I was an adult.  As a kid all I knew was that we sometimes visited Grandma Rani in the Potawatomie Nation.

Cousin Javon.  Grandma Rani's grandson, so my cousin.  During an "enemy interrogation" game, I pulled down his pants and got a sausage grope.

Uncle Clyde.  I had to go to the bathroom while he was taking a shower.  He invited me to come in anyway. A glimpse of his massive penis through the opaque curtain.