Monday, September 25, 2017
These are some of the nude photos of Terry Smith's models, "America's Finest Kids." They were all 18 or older when the nude photos were taken.
Joshua, a glam boy with more than meets the eye.
The androgynous Siaha, hard and pink.
Davide, tattooed and shaved.
The deeply religious Matt hols up the ceiling.
Nick playing with himself on the toilet.
Sergei on the beach
The full post is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding
Sunday, September 24, 2017
Plains, September 2017
Bob has to work today, and later he's going to watch his brother play in some kind of sports match, so I'm on my own until 10:00 pm.
Fortunately, the Straight World loves its special events: there are about 15 things going on today.
I figure I'll go to some, and choose a twink from the dozen or so who will no doubt be approaching me with invitations and phone numbers, and bring him home to Bob as a surprise "share." Lately I really enjoy the sight of Bob and another guy kissing.
10:00 am: Library Book Sale.
I can't resist a book sale. You have to sift through a lot of bodice-ripper mysteries and "chicken soup for the soul" books, but you can still come up with some interesting finds, like Kafka's The Trial and Mysterious Wales.
The only book-buyer under 100 is a blond guy pushing a baby carriage. I always find young dads attractive. Not much in the face department, but hot veiny hands and a slight bicep bulge. He'd be fun to unwrap.
He gives me a suspicious glance.
About a dozen tents on a blocked-off street, with vendors selling arts and crafts. Live music. There's a buffed college aged guy in a Superman t-shirt at a tent selling ceramic pots.
"Are you the potter?" I ask.
"No, it's my Dad. He can't be here until later."
He doesn't cruise.
I buy a pot from him anyway, and make hand-to-hand contact as I pay.
1:00 pm: Gym
The YMCA is usually a bust; I typically get cruised only by little kids. Sure enough, a kid who looks around ten keeps staring at me and following me around.
There are two twink brothers working out. Hispanic, which is unusual on the Plains. I try to make eye contact. The older brother ignores me; the younger gives me a suspicious glance.
3:00 Department Picnic
I have to attend, even though I detest eating outside, and I dislike meeting the bored spouses and constantly-texting kids of the other faculty members.
5:00: Bier on the Boulevard
The local Octoberfest, with oompah-music and a lot of fat guys drinking beer. A little bit of beefcake: a buffed, shirtless guy walking his dog and two twinks on skateboards. They ignore me.
Juried art exhibition with 100 works by local artists, awards for 20 finalists.
My ex-boyfriend Dustin is there; I spend the next hour trying to be polite without latching onto him.
I talk to another guy that I know from an antique shop in town.
One of the prize winners is short and very muscular, with a severe military haircut and a scruffy beard. He says that he didn't even know he was entered until last week: his sister entered the piece for him, and gave it a title.
Sister, not girlfriend? Must be gay.
A little flirting, but no hookup, and no phone number for later.
Today has been fun, but frustrating. I really wanted to impress Bob by bringing home a surprise "share."
Besides, being a twink magnet is a point of pride for me. I can walk into any bar, any restaurant, the doctor's office, the subway, and get approached by someone under age 30.
What happened? Am I getting too old?
I haven't had any dinner, so I drop into the gay-friendly coffee house for a grilled chicken sandwich to go. It's deserted, with only one guy ahead of me: a hippie, tall, gaunt, with frizzy hair, a frizzy beard, a big nose, and tattooed hands, swaying a little as he asks the difference between a small and a large. Smells of marijuana. Not at all my type.
After I put in my order, I smile at him and ask "Having a nice evening?"
"Just got off work. Got to grab a veggie burger then go home and crash -- you know, smoke a bowl, watch Netflix."
"You ever see that show Ozark?" I ask. "It's pretty cool. It stars Jason Bateman. I dated his ex-boyfriend back in L.A."
"Really? Bateman's gay?"
"Oh, please, I lived in L.A. for 13 years. I have stories..."
11:00 pm: Matt and Bob are standing naked in my bedroom, fully aroused, kissing. I kneel and go down on Matt -- average size, cut, with a big head -- while fondling Bob. Then Matt pulls Bob onto the bed, straps on a condom, and slides in. I enter his mouth, from the front so I can kiss Matt as he works.
He's 30 years old. That counts as a twink, right?
See also: Elijah Wood Dumps Roger for Jason Bateman
See also: Elijah Wood Dumps Roger for Jason Bateman
Saturday, September 23, 2017
For about a month, Yuri has been dating John Benjamin Hickey, the 36 year old actor who starred in Love! Valour! Compassion! and Finding North, and now plays Clifford Bradshaw in Cabaret on Broadway. Not his usual type -- balding, rather sallow chest, not a gym rat.
Well, he does have one characteristic that Yuri likes.
I think Yuri is star-struck, dating John for his address book rather than his wit, charm, and physique. Who wouldn't accept a date that involved meeting Nathan Lane and Liza Minelli?
Yes, we shared. I'm kind of interested in that address book, too.
When Yuri invites me to dinner at John's house, I assume it will be a standard West Hollywood party, with nudity and oral sex, and guests including aging mega-hunks that I had crushes on in the 1970s: James Naughton, Matthew Broderick, Tom Wopat, and Lou Diamond Phillips.
Instead, there are just four of us -- the fourth, apparently my blind date, is Roger Rees, who I remember as Robin Colcort, Rebecca's crush, on Cheers (1989-1993), and as the Sheriff of Rottingham in Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993).
Not at all my type: I like short, husky, and dark-skinned, and he's tall, thin, and gaunt, with an unattractive long face. I like working-class "regular guys," and he's a sophisticate. I'm a teetotler, and he likes his wine.
But I figure, Rees probably has an address book even bigger than Hickey's.
Besides, to quote a show tune, "In the dark they are all the same."
"I can't tell you how refreshing it is to meet a mature man for a change," Roger tells me, fondling my knee under the dinner table.
"I'm only 38..."
"38, eh? Brace yourself -- the tidal wave is coming. Ever since I turned 40 --er, 40-something [he was actually 56], the twinks have been positively throwing themselves at me. Why, I just broke up with the most obnoxious Cute Young Thing you can imagine."
Great -- he's on the rebound. I glare at Yuri for setting me up with this guy, big address book or not.
"Granted, he was cute, but a pretty face is no substitute for substance."
His hand works its way up to my crotch.
"And he dumped me out of nowhere, when he found someone that he thought would further his career -- Jason Bateman, can you believe it?"
"I dated Jason Bateman's ex..." I say, trying to steer the conversation away from Roger's Cute Young Thing ex. "Porn star, gigantic penis...but nothing compared to the guy I met in Texas."
Too late. Rees has already begun the story.
Roger's first love was the theater, and regardless of how much Hollywood beckoned, he was determined to stay put, in the Manhattan he so dearly loved. He only took the role of Dr. Croft, an evil mad scientist sort who runs an asylum for amnesiac and dying children (in The Bumblebee Flies Anyway), because he could stay in New York, and because he was a fan of Robert Cormier, who wrote the original novel.
He hadn't anticipated a problem -- most of the cast consisted of actors in their teens and early twenties, and age 40-something, Roger was a full-fledged twink magnet. Half the cast wanted to date him! Or at least go down on him in his dressing room. He usually had a rule against dating costars, but some of them were very persistent, such as 18-year old Elijah Wood.
"Oh, I hate him!" I exclaim. "An insufferable kid in gut-wrenching movies like 'Radio Flier' and 'The Good Son.' He manages to drain the gay subtexts from everything he does, even 'Huck Finn.'"
"He took his shirt off in 'Flipper,'" Hickey adds, "Giving the teen dream crowd something to dream about. Not me, though."
"Well, he's a little more mature than that by now," Roger says. "Not much, but a little."
Eventually a cute face and persistence wore Roger down. "Look, I know we have some chemistry together," Elijah said one day, cornering him in his dressing room."Why don't we just admit it?"
Roger allowed a kiss and a grope, but then broke away. Who was this young succubus? "We both have jobs to do here...." he stammered. "We can't let something so mundane as sexual attraction get in the way of our art."
"Well -- the filming won't last forever. What are you doing for Christmas?"
So after the filming was over, Roger agreed to some simple, uncomplicated dates -- a walk through Central Park, a quiet dinner at home. The most public they got was seeing Liza Minelli at the Palace Theater.
Elijah was very, very horny. He wanted to go down on Roger three or more times a day -- even in his salad days, Roger could never have been a match for that voracious appetite, and now his libido was waning. What about kissing and cuddling, just holding each other as the darkness enveloped them?
Then there was the porn -- gay and straight -- the three-ways -- the discussions of women's breasts and vaginal whatchamacallits! Disgusting! Apparently Elijah was into everybody and everything.
"How big was he?" Yuri asks.
"Not very, maybe 5" aroused," Roger says. "And anyway, he was strictly an oral bottom, into giving head but not getting."
"I wonder how he handles it when he's with a woman," I say. Then, embarrassed, I figure it out.
Roger gamely introduced the two, then wandered off in search of more stimulating company.
Awhile later, he saw them still talking. Maybe standing a little too close...but well, nothing wrong with that. Probably comparing notes on the horrors of being child stars, the poor tykes.
Still...was Jason starting to tent?
Roger forced himself to back off and talk to the other guests. When he looked again, Jason and Elijah were both gone!
Very bad form -- you don't abandon your date at a party! Could Elijah be going down on Jason right there? Enraged, he started searching for them. The living room...the parlor...the music room...the kitchen. The master bedroom...
They wouldn't be in the master bath, would they? But...the guest bath was too busy...if they wanted seclusion.
The door was locked. Roger dangled the knob.
"Just a minute!" Eliza called.
Roger was too embarrassed to search the rest of the apartment. He got his coat and left.
Elijah called the next day:
"Sorry to ditch you, but I couldn't let Jason get away. I really need someone who has some ins in Hollywood. Broadway is great, but..."
"That's fine," Roger said, gritting his teeth. "These things happen. You either have chemistry, or you don't."
"So, could we come over later to share? Maybe I could go down on you while Jason is topping me?"
Roger hung up on him.
Roger Rees was a celebrity, and so had nothing to gain by inventing a celebrity hookup. And Elijah Wood has been the subject of countless gay rumors, although he dismisses them as "the fantasies of people with too much time on their hands."
But Jason Bateman hasn't been the subject of many rumors. And I'm actually surprised that the sophisticated, elitist Rees would know the former teen idol, who hadn't yet become famous for adult roles.
By the way, I did go down on Roger before the night was over. About 7.5", uncut. And an even bigger address book.
See also: My Date with Andrew Lloyd Webber
Friday, September 22, 2017
In January 2005, when I was back in Indiana for the holidays, I got a phone call saying Alan, my ex-boyfriend, roommate, and close friend for 20 years, had died of AIDS-related cancer. The memorial service would be held in Norfolk.
I didn't go -- I was too busy, it was too far away, I already had a flight reservation back to Fort Lauderdale, etc., etc. But the truth is, I didn't want to think about Alan being gone. I wanted to him to be in West Hollywood, cruising at Mugi, holding court at the French Quarter, working out at the Holiday Spa, reliving those magic moments, unchanged, eternal.
About two weeks after the memorial service, I got an email from Tarik, Alan and Sandy's boy toy in the 1990s: "Can you come to Ocrakoke? Alan left you something that you have to come here to pick up."
"What is it?" I responded. "Can you just ship it to me."
"His instructions were that you have to come here to pick it up -- actually Norfolk, but since I live in Ocracoke now, I'll keep it for you here."
I had never heard of Ocracoke, so I rushed to look it up. It's an island in the Outer Banks of North Carolina: very isolated, accessible only by boat. Permanent population 900, but a lot of tourists in the summer. Nothing to do but swim, fish, look at wild horses, visit an iconic lighthouse, and go to a weird pirate museum (Blackbeard died there.) Restaurants called the Back Porch Lunchbox and the Sweet Tooth Deli. No gay bars, no gay organizations, 99% white. Not the sort of place that a gay black urban guy would choose.
What was Tarik doing in Ocracoke?
I emailed him back. "Can you tell me what the gift is? Or give me a hint? And what the heck are you doing in Ocracoke?"
"I got a job here. So, Alan asked me to pass out the four gifts that he left to his old friends. They all have to come to Ocracoke to get them. I can't tell you what it is, but I can tell you that Alan picked it out especially for you."
The gift was probably a souvenir of West Hollywood, like a glass from Mugi or a menu from the French Quarter -- something nice, but not worth crossing the country for. Still, I said that I would come during the summer.
"Great! Come during Memorial Day Weekend. Some of the other guys are coming then, too. It will be a nonstop party!"
From Fort Lauderdale I flew to Norfolk, where I rented a car and drove 4 hours to Hatteras. I barely made the last ferry, and arrived at Ocracoke at 1:00 am Saturday morning.
Tarik met me at the ferry terminal. He was in his early 40s, but still black-haired and buffed, with square workman's hands and a couple of new gold earrings. We hugged.
As we left the ferry station, he waved at people he knew. "I'm one of ten black guys on the island, so everybody knows me. It's like being a celebrity."
He drove m to a house on Back Street Road, around the corner from a coffee shop ("mostly gay") and a place called the Flying Melon ("gay-friendly").
"Sounds like quite a gay presence for a tiny speck of land in the Atlantic."
"It's a small community, mostly lesbians -- I know two other gay couples and about six single guys --but it gets much bigger in the summer. You picked a good time to visit -- Memorial Day Weekend is nonstop cruising."
It was a big, airy house with hardwood floors, a piano in the front room, a patio out back. Two dogs padded up to say hello.
There was a naked guy asleep on the sofa.
"We have a full house this weekend -- you know what it's like to live in a resort town! But don't worry, you get your own room. Um...my boyfriend is already asleep, so no sharing tonight -- but definitely tomorrow, ok?"
"Sure," I said, grabbing his butt.
The master bedroom was downstairs ("The owner of the house, and whatever Cute Young Thing he's convinced to come out from the mainland") and four bedrooms upstairs: "our room, the third roommate's room, guest room,, occupied, guest room for you," plus a finished attic, occupied ("I figured you wouldn't want to deal with the horny gay ghost").
He pointed out the bathroom, said "Breakfast is at 8:00," and left me alone.
The room was very dark, with heavy drapes and no night light. When I turned off the lamp, I couldn't see anything at all. Spooky!
A couple of hours later, I was awakened by a hand caressing my chest. The gay ghost? I thought -- no -- this guy was corporeal, with thick arms, a smooth hard chest, and a thick 7" cock. Tarik was much bigger -- he must be one of the housemates or guests.
In a house occupied by four gay men and their boyfriends and hookup, it's not unusual for someone to get up in the middle of the night and end up in the wrong bed, accidentally or on purpose. I started kissing and fondling my unexpected guest, and soon I was going down on him.
"Yeah...like that..." he whispered. "Do that...oh, I'm going to come..."
Afterwards I lay on top of him to do interfemoral. "Wait -- I brought some lube."
When I finished, we lay in each other's arms. Even with my eyes adjusted to the dark, I couldn't make out his face. I went to turn on the lamp, but he said "Well, I should go wash off" and left. I saw the outline of his naked backside as he opened and shut the door.
He never came back...apparently this was a secret mission.
I figured that in the morning I could figure out the identity of my mysterious visitor by process of elimination.
I awoke to the smell of coffee brewing, and the sound of laughter and clattering plates. Downstairs, the owner's twink boyfriend, naked except for an apron, was making pancakes. Other guys drifted out to the deck, where there were scrambled eggs, sausages, muffins, and pitchers of orange and tomato juice. The owner, a burly bear; Tarik and his boyfriend; the asleep on the couch guy; Sandy from Norfolk and his date...and a buffed Asian guy wearing only red jockey shorts.
"It was...you?" I asked tentatively.
"Good morning," he said with a smile, and scooted over so I could sit next to him on the bench. Jonathan Peng Lee, originally from Hong Kong, now a grad student in engineering at UNC Chapel Hill.
When the flurry of eating and gossip died down, Tarik clicked on a glass to get our attention.
"As some of you know, we invited Boomer, Sandy, and Mark here today to pick up the gifts that our friend Alan bequeathed them. We'll start with Boomer. Here's Alan himself to give the introduction."
He brought out his laptop and pushed a button, and suddenly I heard Alan!
"Greetings from the spirit world, Booooomer...." he said in a spooky voice. "I have to get to my date with River Phoenix and Brandon Lee, so I'll make this brief. One of my favorite memories of our time together is when we were sharing that tiny apartment in Japan, and I brought home a trick, who kept jumping into your bed. Well, I recreated that experience for you. I got a Japanese boy to sneak into your bed -- but don't freak out if there's another dick down your throat. I just may pop in to share. Enjoy!"
"Sure, he's great." I turned to Jonathan, who had his arm around my shoulders. "Um...so you're a hustler?"
He grinned. "It pays my tuition. They hired me for the whole weekend, so anytime you want another session, just ask."
I reached down and fondled his crotch. He immediately sprang to life. "Pencil me in for this afternoon."
See also: The Bed-Hopping Boy in Japan
I'm not very patriotic. I grew up in an era where gay people were never, ever mentioned, but by the time I was in college, they were mentioned a lot. Every time I turned on the tv or picked up a newspaper, I heard an elected official screaming that I was an abomination, a cesspool of disease, a depraved psychopath who wanted to destroy society.
Voting was easy: I simply picked the least homophobic candidate. Unfortunately, in presidential elections, the other guy usually won.
In 2000, the staggeringly homophobic George W. Bush beat Al Gore. Everyone watched in horror as gay rights legislation came to a screeching halt, and state legislatures began issuing homophobic proclamations.
In the 2004 election, it didn't really matter who else was on the ballot. We would have voted for Count Dracula. But George W. Bush and his platform of homophobic hatred won again!
A lot of gay people were seriously worried. Not just about being deprived of civil rights -- about round-ups and concentration camps.
We closeted our resumes, stopped going to gay venues, and researched escape routes for when the knock on the door came. Barney moved to Costa Rica. Yuri moved to London. I emailed contacts everywhere in the world to see if they could hook me up with a job. France, Germany, Estonia, Finland, the Netherlands, Turkey....
Even working in a bar in Friesland seemed like a good idea.
Finally in the late spring of 2005, an internet friend named Doc (top photo), who lived in Vienna, told me that they needed someone at the gymnasium (high school) where he worked. I could get a work visa for the summer, and then apply for a permanent position in the fall.
Vienna! That sounded great!
I looked it up in an atlas. A small town of 14,000 near the Polish border. Sort of isolated. But within a six-hour drive of Prague, Budapest, Vienna, Warsaw, and even, if you were so inclined, Zagreb. We would go on a lot of weekend trips.
"What would I be teaching? English"
"Well, maybe English. Sure."
Only after I signed the contract did I realize that it was a vocational school. Students took 2- or 3-year courses in auto shop, cooking, and clothing design, plus the usual history, science, and foreign languages. I would be teaching food service management. Maybe I could ask for an English assignment in the fall, Doc said.
Why food service?
Apparently I told him about working at the Carousel Snack Bar and the Augustana Student Union Snack Bar, for 6 years, but he didn't realize that those were part-time jobs while I was in high school and college, twenty years ago.
Also I may have mentioned that I was taking a cooking class.
Teaching food service management doesn't sound difficult: scheduling, menu preparation, hiring, food safety practices, no big deal. But the students didn't have the academic skills for a regular high school. The boys were loud and obnoxious. The girls were worse. And none of them understood English or German well.
And I had to use their gym -- there was nothing good in town.
And I had to be strictly closeted.
Levoča was in a conservative region of a highly conservative country -- Bratislava didn't even have a gay pride festival until 2011.
There were no gay venues in Levoča, not even cruising grounds, no bookstores with English or German sections, no Chinese restaurants, no museums, nothing to do except watch tv and go to Catholic masses.
At least there was some beefcake at the public pool.
In July, one of the colleges I applied to last spring came through with a job offer. In Dayton, Ohio.
Dayton had three gay bars, weekly "bear parties," lots of Chinese restaurants, an art museum, and a Barnes and Noble.
No contest. At the end of August I flew back to the U.S.
Even with a homophobe in the White House, there's no place like home.
Wednesday, September 20, 2017
Even though my celebrity boyfriend and I dated for only about six weeks, our breakup was devastating -- particularly since he dumped me for my roommate Alan!
For three days I called in sick to work and sat at home in my bathrobe, eating ice cream, watching game shows on tv, and bursting into tears at random moments. I didn't go out, except for work, for over a week, and when I finally hit the bars again, it was in a self-destructive daze, trying to pick up the ugliest, most disgusting sleazoid I could find.
On the second Friday night after the breakup, I padded my crotch with a balled-up handkerchief, went to a sleazy bar called the Rawhide, and propped up the wall. Lots of leering, ugly guys there, but the one who came over was the ugliest of the lot: Tall, super-thin, pale as a ghost, with a long thin face, a thick Tom Selleck porn stash, an...ugh!...tattoo, and two...ugh!...rings. Plus he was smoking!
The only conversation I got from him was: his name was James [not Jim], he was a porn star, and he wanted to f* me sideways with Mr. Big.
Perfect! Getting f* sideways by Mr. Big would be the perfect remedy to our breakup. To seal the deal, I pulled James into a kiss.
Gross! Sloppy, boozy, smoky, and his teeth scraped my tongue.
In 1987, even sleazoids were worried about AIDS, and wanted to date rather than trick, so I suggested that we meet for brunch Sunday morning at the French Quarter. Alan and Peter would be there, and see how pitiful and self-destructive I had become, and feel guilty.
James arrived in a stupid pink muscle shirt that displayed his slim, hairy chest, which was doused -- doused! in cologne. Obviously he wasn't hired to do porn for his physique -- his very tight jeans showed an ample basket. But to get a chance at his penis, I'd have to endure a lot of James. Perfectly gross.
As I waited for Alan and Peter to show up so I could make out with James, we discussed gym routines, porn, poppers, and penises. You should never mention ex-boyfriends during a date, but I did anyway, talking about that last party in detail.
James shrugged. "The bigger they are, the flightier they get." Then: "Hey, you want to meet my ex? He's having a party next Friday night. Bringing you along would make him die of envy."
So James was on the rebound, too? Was I his idea of the sleaziest, ugliest guy possible?
"He's famous, totally closeted, and completely full of himself," James continued, "So showing up with an Iowa farmboy would really stick it to him."
"I'm from Illinois, not Iowa, and I never lived on a farm. So who is this movie star?"
"Did you ever watch Valerie?"
The nuclear family sitcom (1986-1991) starred Valerie Harper (Rhoda) until she left after a salary dispute. Then it became the TGIF classic The Hogan Family. "Sure. But Josh Taylor [Dad Michael Hogan] isn't all that famous."
"No -- David." Teen heart throb Jason Bateman!
"But he's under age, isn't he?" In West Hollywood you never discussed the attractiveness of kids under 18, and you never, ever admitted doing anything with them.
"Hey, hey, hey, none of that!" James protested. "He was 18 when we met -- and let me tell you, he had been around the block a few times! No way anybody can take my cock unless they're experienced."
In addition to his porn work, James worked on set design and painting, and did some acting. He was working on Valerie and very much enjoying the view -- his ex who worked in casting filled every extra slot with a cute gay guy -- but he was still surprised when Jason Bateman, who was always surrounded by girls, approached with a cruisy smile. After apprising that he was of legal age, James invited him out for coffee.
"Sure, I like girls," Jason said. "Who doesn't? But there's one thing I especially like that girls can't give me. Unless they use one of those gross plastic strap-ons. Nothing like the real thing."
Mr. Big started to stir in James' pants. Jason reached down and cupped it.
"So you're into Greek [anal]?" James asked. "That's not safe these days. How about French [oral]?"
"I can get a girl to do that," Jason said with a shrug.
So James put a condom on Mr. Big, threw the tall, slim Jason's legs over his head, and topped him -- his first anal in three years! Jason was tight, and for all his bragging, had never had 8.5 inches before -- but after some initial pain, he got into it. James worked slowly, trying to make it last -- and he knew how! Jason had an orgasm about halfway through without even touching himself.
He left little gifts in Jason's dressing room. He caught himself humming show tunes as he drove to the studio every day ("Strange, dear, but true, dear, when I'm close to you, dear, the stars fill the sky..."). One night he even said "I love you."
That was too heavy for a closeted 18-year old. He gave James the old "It's not you, it's me" speech, said "I hope we can still be friends."
At that moment Alan and Peter came in, so I pulled James into a long, boozy kiss. I took him home and went down on him -- well, it was big, and a penis can't stink of cigarettes and booze. -- but didn't take him up on his offer of anal -- or of attending his ex boyfriend's party.
1. I have heard no other dating or hookup stories involving Jason Bateman, except for one that's really about Elijah Wood.
2. Jason has only been linked with a few women. He married Amanda Anka in 2001.
3. He has played several gay characters, and is perfectly comfortable "pretending" to be gay.
James may have been telling the story to convince me to do anal, but then what would have happened if I agreed to go to the party?
See also: My Celebrity Boyfriend
Monday, September 18, 2017
I'm 34 years old, living in West Hollywood but visiting Alan for a few days. He's back at his sister's house in Norfolk, so I'm staying with my friend Tarik: about my age, short, dark-skinned, very muscular, with a handsome round face, bright eyes, and thick square hands.
We're having a potluck dinner with Alan and a few other guys. I'm hoping to get to "share" later with Shane, a twink with short blond hair, a smooth chest, and a basket that won't quit.
We have barbecued chicken, baked beans, greens, grits, and a fruit salad, but Alan doesn't eat anything but a few strawberries. He looks frail and gets confused easily -- nearing the end, I suspect (actually, he will live another ten years). So I try to cheer him up with the most outrageous stories I can think of about life in West Hollywood: sausage fondlings in the sauna at the gym, my collision with John Stamos' bulge, Lane's four-way with Cesare Romero, Batman, and Robin.
Back in West Hollywood, Alan didn't like celebrity hookup stories: who cares if the guy happens to be in movies or on tv? It's what's inside that counts -- inside his heart...inside his pants! But now he asks for more stories -- maybe they are reflections of his old life, before his HIV diagnosis, when he was young and full of optimism, with a world of infinite possibility in front of him. He interrogates me about any celebrity I have been with recently, and when I run low, what about Lane? Raul? Fred and Matt?
I mention Jeff MacKay, Peter Fonda, and Lost in Space star Billy Mumy. But Alan wants to hear about a teenager: "Let the dead past stay dead. I want to know that there are still gay kids growing up out there, a new generation to carry on when we are gone. Tell me about someone fresh and new."
"I hear that Jerry O'Connell on Sliders is bi," Shane the blond twink says, "And everybody's been in Brandon Call's pants. Some of your well-connected Hollywood friends must have hooked up with them."
Great, now I need a "fresh and new" celebrity hookup story to please Alan AND to impress Shane with the goal of a three-way later. My mind goes blank -- could I create one from scratch?
"Um...well...Joey Lawrence jogs past our apartment nearly every day, and...um..."
Then Tarik chimes in: "That sounds interesting, but I think you should give the rest of us a chance. Did I ever tell you guys that I hooked up with Jonathan Brandis?"
I sigh with relief. Jonathan Brandis was a famous child star (Ladybugs, Sidekicks, It, The Neverending Story). Now 19 years old, he is a full-fledged teen idol, playing Lucas in the sci-fi series SeaQuest (1993-96). He always denies that he is gay, but there are lots of rumors.
There weren't a lot of science fiction fans in the African-American community of Norfolk. Science fiction was for white people, the adults said, to dream about black genocide and a future all-white universe.
Tarik didn't care. He loved science fiction, no matter the genre: books, comics, movies, tv. So much that he went to every convention he could afford. In October 1994, he drove four hours north to Baltimore for Farpoint 2.
Two of the three guest speakers were gay: George Takei (Star Trek) and Jonathan Brandis. Of course, neither were out -- you couldn't be out in Hollywood, and hope for a career. But everyone had heard stories about George inviting particularly muscular fans back to his hotel room at conventions, and Jonathan's preference for black men, with quite a long list of lovers for someone who was barely 18: Don Franklin (his costar on SeaQuest); Geoffrey Owens (Eldon on The Cosby Show); Jaleel White (Urkel on Family Matters)
Jonathan Brandis finally arrived on Sunday, the last day of the convention. In the morning he was on a panel with Wil Wheaton (Wesley Crusher on Star Trek). Afterwards Tarik asked a question, but he didn't get a chance to talk to Jonathan alone.
Next he stood in line for an autograph, but before he got to the front of the line, Jonathan said "Sorry, I'm out of time."
So was Tarik -- it was 3:00 pm already, and he had to leave by 7:00 at the latest to get home in time for work.
At 4:00 pm there was a special presentation, a Star Trek/Seaquest parody, with the Brandis character played by a cute redheaded teenager named Ian Bonds. It was spot-on, and Ian's comedy timing was genius. Afterwards Tarik went up to shake his hand and talk a bit about sci-fi parodies.
Suddenly Jonathan Brandis was beside him. "Hi, I saw your performance -- you do me better than I do!"
Ian laughed. "Thanks, man."
"Hi, I'm Tarik," he said, butting in.
Tarik knew a proposition when he heard one! "Well, I'm free for a couple of hours right now, if you want to give me that autograph in private."
"Oh, I just drove down for the day, and I didn't get a room."
"Hm...and I already checked out of mine"
"I have a room," Ian said hopefully. "We can hang out for awhile there."
When they got to the room, Ian said "Excuse me," and went into the bathroom. Tarik didn't waste any time -- he started kissing and groping Jonathan-- average sized, uncut. Jonathan pulled Tarik's cock out, fell to his knees, and started going down on him.
"Wait -- Ian will be back at any moment," Tarik whispered.
"Surprise -- I'm already here!"
They pulled apart quickly. Tarik covered his crotch with his hands.
"Hey, I'm as quiet as a Hobbit when I want to be," Ian said. "And I eat as much, too. Two guys is just an appetizer." He fell to his knees, pulled Tarik's hand away, and started going down on him while fondling Jonathan. Soon he was working on them both at once. Then they pushed Ian down on the bed, and Tarik topped him while he continued to blow Jonathan.
Tarik pulled out before he came, washed off, and let Jonathan finish taking his load. Then he went down on Ian (about 7.5 inches, cut) while Jonathan was kissing him and beating off.
Afterwards Tarik and Jonathan both had to leave right away. They didn't exchange phone numbers.
Norfolk, June 1995
After dinner, as Tarik is driving me back to his apartment, I say "That story seems a little far fetched, unless those fan conventions are a lot wilder than I imagine."
"Ok, you got me," Tarik said. "I made up everything that happened after Ian got back from the bathroom. Brandis and I just kissed and fondled. But I thought Alan would want to hear about some action."
Ian Bonds is now comedic performer Insane Ian. He is a chunky superfan, cute but straight.
Jonathan Brandis always insisted that the gay rumors were unfounded. He died on November 12, 2003.
Tarik and I never shared the blond twink.
See also: I Visit Alan, Sandy, and Their Boy Toy; Jonathan Brandis
Sunday, September 17, 2017
Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.
Perfect in every way except for the weird haircut.
Does he strike you as a little small?
Or are you so used to seeing this size that 7" seems small by comparison.
I couldn't post this one on the other blog; censoring the penis took up half the frame.
Perfect in every way except for the weird haircut.
Does he strike you as a little small?
Or are you so used to seeing this size that 7" seems small by comparison.
I couldn't post this one on the other blog; censoring the penis took up half the frame.
Here are the 21 most surprising facts about him. At least they surprised me:
1. He's a third generation West Hollywood boy. His grandparents opened a hardware store there in 1938. His parents owned a clothing store and two apartment buildings there. His childhood home was Crescent Heights, near Romaine, around the corner from the French Quarter -- his childhood hangout!
2. He is particularly interested in uncut penises. At Temple Beth El in Hollywood, Gentiles were the enemy, spreading horrible lies about Jews, constantly trying to force them to convert to Christianity. The forbidden naturally becomes attractive, and the uncut penis, the emblem of goyishe depravity, the most attractive of all.
4. He kissed a girl. In 1973, just after he graduated from high school, Lane followed his friend Ari, who he had a crush on, to Israel. But they rarely saw each other and never hooked up, and Lane hated the isolated, heterosexist farm life of the kibbutz. He became depressed and took to drinking heavily. One night he cruised what he thought was a young man in a bar in Tel Aviv. Only after they started making out did he realize that it was a girl!
Lane got on the next plane back to West Hollywood.
See: Lane and the Cute Young Thing of Tel Aviv.
5. He has read every science fiction novel ever published. He spent his 20s and 30s at the Change of Hobbit, a science fiction bookstore in Westwood, becoming a close friend of owner Sherry Gottlieb and hobnobbing with the visiting writers. His first real boyfriend was a science fiction writer who won a Hugo Award in 1977.
6. He invites Jane Fonda to Passover every year. In 1976, when Tom Hayden was running for the U.S. senate, his parents were big campaign contributors, and became friends with his wife Jane Fonda. They began inviting her to Passover every year (although she rarely came). After his mother died, Lane continued the tradition.
See: Will the Bondage Boy Hooks Up with Peter Fonda
7. He made out with his brother. When Lane's father, Aaron, died in 1984, to his surprise, a half-brother showed up for the funeral, a child of an earlier marriage. "Oh, we meant to tell you," Rosa said, "But it was never the right time."
The half-brother was ten years older than Lane, living in Chicago, married with children, but gay, on the "downlow." He asked Lane to give him a tour of L.A.'s gay life, and one thing led to another...
See: Lane has a three-way with his boyfriend and his brother.
8. His father became accepting after he died. Although he lived in West Hollywood for most of his life and had two gay sons, Aaron was rather homophobic, complaining whenever a gay person came into his store, renting to gay couples only after Lane lectured him on tolerance. "I don't care what you do," he said, "But just don't bring any of your 'friends' around here."
A couple of weeks after Aaron died, Lane was in bed in a boyfriend's apartment, when he felt a strange presence. He looked over, and his father was sitting in a chair, in a bathrobe, smiling at him, approving.
9. He has had only one BDSM experience. Lane is into bigger, muscular guys with hairy chests and facial hair, so he started hanging out in leather bars, where a lot of guys are into BDSM. One day in 1986 he agreed to being the bottom in a scene, but the gag tasted awful, and the blindfold irritated his eyes, so he used his "safe word," ended the scene, and never tried again (although when we were together, he sometimes helped me top a guy).
10. He had a trophy boy. Although it's mostly bodybuilders, gym rats, and bears, occasionally a smooth, slim twink caught his eye. In April 1987, Lane began dating Danny, a 19-year old student at L.A. City College, immensely hot but content to do nothing all day but watch Duck Tales, have lunch with his friends, and go shopping. Finally, after a major shopping spree emptied their joint checking account in May 1989, Lane gave him the boot. Two days later, he went to the Zone, hoping for a hookup. Instead he met Boomer.
See: Lane and the Trophy Boy
11. He has a tattoo. Jews are forbidden to get tattoos and piercings, and besides, I find tattoos an instant turnoff. Yet one day shortly after we moved in together, he decided to get a tattoo on his right arm. I think he got it just to spite me.
12. He hooked up with Batman, Robin, and the Joker. In March 1991, Lane had his biggest Celebrity Hookup, with Cesar Romero, who played the Joker on the old Batman tv series. When he told the story, he added Batman and Robin to the mix.
See: Lane's Hookup with Batman, Robin, and the Joker
13. He rarely leaves Southern California. For nearly 16 years, from 1974 to 1990, he didn't leave at all, and even today he only leaves for brief visits to other gay neighborhoods. In 1995 I talked him into a cross-country trip to Rock Island to visit my parents, and that was enough. "Why should I go anywhere?" he always says. "I'm already here."
14. He envied suburban "straight" life. Why would someone who never leaves the gay world envy the lives of suburban straights, with houses, lawns, garden clubs, paperboys, and casseroles in the oven? But Lane did. In 1995 he started hanging out with Tim, a gay cartoonist who had that sort of life. I thought they were probably more than friends, so I introduced the cartoonist to the Cute Young Thing Chazz to distract him.
See: Lane's Bear Boyfriend and the Cute Young Thing
15. He's the only gay man on Earth who doesn't like San Francisco. In 1995, we moved to San Francisco, Gay Heaven. But Lane didn't like it, and soon made an excuse to move back to West Hollywood.
16. He's a closet dancer. Macho leather men aren't supposed to dance, but when I returned to West Hollywood in 2000 for a visit, he and Randall, the Muscle Bear with the Pierced Penis, took me out to a dance club, and he showed some moves (that was the same night I hooked up with the star of the TGIF sitcom).
See: Randall, the Muscle Bear with the Pierced Penis
17. He's a closet bottom. When we were together, he wasn't into anal, or said he wasn't. But when we went to Barcelona, he bottomed for a Catalan guy, and I have it on good authority that he's bottomed regularly for boyfriends and partners since.
18. He disapproves of dating twinks. Several of my friends have discovered that when they hit 40 or 50, the twinks start following them around. That hasn't been the case with Lane. The older he gets, the older his admirers get, and the more he disapproves of dating young guys.
In 2013, I came back to West Hollywood for a visit, and picked up a 20-year old. Lane has been complaining about that ever since.
See: My Date with a Star of "The Wizards of Waverly Place"
19. He's an Episcopalian. I'm not sure how or why, but sometime around 2010, after a young adulthood of vigilance toward attempts at brainwashing him to convert, Lane converted. The Episcopal Church is a pro-gay denomination, heavy on liturgy, with lots of Medieval music playing. He's still culturally Jewish, but for religion, it's Advent, Lent, baptism, the Eucharist, the whole Christian thing.
20. He's a Grandfather. In 2015, he married Ben, his partner of 7 years. Ben was then 65 years old, with two sons from a previous relationship, and three grandchildren. One of them was gay, a new graduate of the the University of Utah with a degree in theater arts.
Maybe that's why Lane disapproves of me dating twinks. He doesn't want me hooking up with his grandson. If only he knew that...well, never mind.
See: I May or May Not Have Hooked Up with My Boyfriend's Grandson.
21. Seven and a half inches, cut. Come on, you know that's the fact you've been hoping for all along.