Tuesday, December 26, 2017

Lane on the Plains: Twinks, Daddies, Cowboys, and a Rabbi

Plains, June 2017

"It's not fair," I told David.  "Since I left San Francisco, you've been out to visit me four times.  Since he moved to London, Yuri has been out to visit me four times.  But Lane won't leave West Hollywood.  I always have to fly out to visit him."

"What's wrong with West Hollywood?"  David asked.

"Nothing -- I love it there.  But it's a long, expensive flight, and Lane has more money and more free time than I do.  He should do some of the visiting."

When I met Lane in 1989, he was 33 years old, and he had only been out of Southern California twice, to visit relatives in New York and spend a year on a kibbutz in Israel.

"Why should I go anywhere?" he always said.  "I'm already here."

During the seven or eight years we were together, I convinced him to go on trips to Europe and two road trips across the United States, but after we broke up, he had a relapse.  For the last twenty years, he has only left Southern California once, to get married in his partner's home town of Salt Lake City.

"What you have to do is sell the Plains," David said.  "Give him some overwhelming reason to come here -- other than seeing you, that is. What is he interested in?"

#1. He likes a strong Jewish presence. But there are like 400 Jewish people in the whole state, two synagogues, one full-time rabbi.

"Ok, don't stress the Jewish angle.  Anything else he's passionate about?"

#2. Science fiction.  He's read every science fiction novel ever written.  But there aren't a lot of sci-fi bookstores on the Plains.

"Anything else?"

#3. Leather/bears/motorcycles.  There's a motorcycle rally in Sturgis, but not until August.

"Well, what about men?"

"#4. Older guys, beefy Daddy types.  But they're in short supply on the Plains.  I can go on Grindr and get ten twinks in an hour, but...

#5. Thai, Indian, and Vietnamese food.  

Both a rarity Finally I hit on it .  #6: Mount Rushmore!

"The great stone faces that Cary Grant climbed at the end of North by Northwest?  What's so great about them?"

"I don't know, but we missed them on our road trip in 1995 -- the highway was too packed to get through -- so it might be a big enough draw to get him out here."

It worked -- a promise of a trip to Mount Rushmore got Lane on a plane.  He came during my week "off" between Indianapolis and Amsterdam.

Thursday

Lane arrives at 4:30 pm -- alone..  He's 61 years old, balding, eyeglassed, but more buffed than when we were together, with thick hairy arms, a bulky chest, and a full beard.    I take him to dinner a place that serves Ethiopian food on weekends, and then to the gay-friendly coffee house for dessert.

"I didn't arrange for any sharing," I tell him.  "Since you and Ben are married, I figured you are monogamous."

He grins.  "Well, actually, we've been bringing in third guys, sort of like when you and I were together.  And when we're traveling, a close friend can substitute.  So if you have a friend you'd like to introduce me to..."

"Well, guys our age are in short supply here on the Plains.  I know a lot of twinks, but..."

To my surprise, he says: "Sure, no problem, I can handle being a Daddy.  As long as he's not young enough to be my grandson."

So I go on Grindr and arrange a hookup with a physical therapy major named Dack: short, slim, smooth body, kind of feminine, rather small penis.  Into kissing and anal (but Lane and I talk him into going down on us).

He's 19, young enough to be Lane's grandson, but in the heat of the moment Lane doesn't mind:  "Wait until I tell Ben!  He thinks 40 year olds are kids, and I went down on a 19 year old!"


Friday

We drive to Rapid City, South Dakota, and see the 19th century Norwegian stave church, the Berlin wall exhibit, and the art walk downtown.  At Mitzi's Books on Main Street, Lane buys a rare first edition of Logan's Run, the 1967 dystopian science fiction novel that was adapted into a 1976 movie. (#2: Science Fiction).

We have dinner at a Vietnamese restaurant (#5: Vietnamese food), work out in the hotel gym, and then go cruising.

Rapid City has three gay-friendly mixed bars.  We go to the Brass Rail, which looks like a straight bar except for the complete lack of women and guys hugging and kissing.  We end up going home with a black guy who asks us to call him "Daddy," although he's only in his 40s, tops (#4: Daddies).

Oh, well, he has a reasonably buffed physique, a hairy chest, and a massive Kielbasa.  A little too into nipple play, and an anal top, but he settles for me going down on him while he goes down on Lane.

Then we go back to our hotel.

"This has been a great day!" Lane exclaims.  "I can't wait to text Ben.  Imagine -- a 1967 first edition of Logan's Run!"

Leave it to Lane to find a science fiction novel more impressive than a Kielbasa.

Saturday

Mount Rushmore is 23 miles from Rapid City, but the traffic is bumper-to-bumper due to construction, an accident, and summertime crowds. So we give up and backtrack to Deadwood instead.

It's an old gold rush town, full of Wild West lore -- and Jews!

 In the 19th century, it had a large Jewish population, including Blanch Colman, who became the first female lawyer in the state, and Sol Star, who became a state senator (played by John Adams on the tv series Deadwood).  One third of the buildings on Main Street were owned by Jewish merchants (#1: A Jewish presence).

We tour downtown and then go to Mount Moriah Cemetery, where Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane are buried.  It has a "Hebrew Hill" with over 80 tombstones.

There's also a small synagogue, one of three in the state.  We missed Shabbat services last night, but the student rabbi meets us for dinner at the Deadwood Grille.  He's in his 30s, handsome, with black wavy hair.  We don't hook up, but there are a couple of cute guys working out shirtless in the hotel gym.

"A synagogue in the middle of nowhere!" Lane exclaims.  "That rabbi really had some guts to take a congregation way out here!  I guess he did it for the history."

Sunday

We have breakfast, go to the St. John's Episcopal Church in Deadwood, and then drive over to Sturgis, the home of the annual bike rally.

On other days of the year there's not a lot to do, but we see the Sturgis Motorcycle Museum and have lunch in the Loud American Road House before heading down to Mount Rushmore again (#3: Motorcycles).

Bumper-to-bumper traffic again.  We stop at the Reptile Gardens and then go on Grindr, and find someone interested in hosting on a ranch on Rockerville Road, about 20 miles away: Steve, in his 30s, who works as a paramedic and rents out the ranch.  He travels to Europe every year, and has also been to Israel, Egypt, Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia.

A husky, scruffy bear with a hairy chest and belly, thick hard hands, and a cut Bratwurst (#3: Bears).  And he does ride a motorcycle.

I go down on him while he's going down on Lane, and then I finish with interfemoral.

By the time we say goodbye, it's too late to go to Mount Rushmore, so we drive back to Rapid City.

"I can't wait to tell Ben that I hooked up with a real cowboy!" Lane exclaims.

Monday

It's time to drive back home.

"Sorry we never got a chance to see Mount Rushmore," I say.

"Oh, I can always see photos.  I got science fiction, Vietnames food, a Jewish community, a Daddy, a rabbi, and a cowboy.  I'd say that's more than enough for one visit."  He pauses.  "So, tonight, do you know any twinks we could hook up with?"

See also: 21 Surprising Facts about Lane; Why You Should Visit Sturgis, South Dakota Next August.


Sunday, December 3, 2017

Steven Hooks Up with George Maharis in Judy Garland's Dressing Room

Another email celebrity hookup story:

Hollywood, September 1963.

In 1963 my ex-boyfriend Steven was a 21-year old Cute Young Thing, newly arrived from Georgia with aspirations of becoming a great director (he ended up in human relations). This isn't him, of course, but it's close to his look in those days, before he hippied out: thick brown hair, Clark Kent glasses, flawless skin.  This guy's dick is a little smaller.

Steven's first job in the business was as a production assistant on The Judy Garland Show (1963-1964) at CBS Television City, which as you remember is that gigantic pillbox on Fairfax.  Judy Garland was 41 years old, well past her heyday at MGM, and though she could still draw a crowd of middle-aged gay men, the younger generation found her insufferably square -- and way too pushy.

They didn't have the term "sexual harassment" back then, but everybody knew that there were two people in Hollywood that you should never be alone with: Liberace, who would grope you as soon as talk to you, and Judy Garland.

Garland didn't like twinks or Cute Young Things, but there was no man over 30, stage hand, dancer, or guest star, who was safe from her grabby hands and open-mouthed kisses. She had no sense of decorum: she would grab your crotch while saying hello.  Even in front of the camera: the studio audience noticed that she was fondling the guest stars, and the president of CBS [Michael Dann] had to tell her to tone it down.  

It was a major problem.  She didn't care if you were married or single, into her or not, if her husband Sid Luft or one of her kids was in the room.  She liked the gay men the best: a challenge, I guess.

 George Maharis, the gay but closeted beefcake star, signed on for a September 1963 episode [air date October 20th].  He had just been kicked off Route 66  due to the gay rumors (ironically replaced by his own ex-boyfriend Glenn Corbett), and he needed the exposure.  He could show off his comedy and singing talent to a new audience, maybe get a sitcom, like his gay friend Jim Nabors (Gomer Pyle, USMC, 1962-1969).

But he didn't realize that Judy was so grabby.   When they met, she greeted him with a full-body hug and an open-mouth kiss.

He backed off in shock, but she said "I know a lot of women have tried and failed, but I have something they don't have.  Clout.  I can make one phone call, and you'll have your own show next season.  We'll put it on right after mine -- won't that be cozy?"

As they rehearsed, it slowly dawned on George that Judy invited him on the show with the explicit goal of "showing him her trailer," code for getting him in the sack.

Steven, the very cute, friendly-but-not-grabby production assistant, invited him out for a drink and confirmed his fears.  Jerry Van Dyke was supposed to be a regular, but when he refused "the trailer"  -- he was happily married -- he was canned.

Bobby Darrin tried to refuse too, but Judy threatened to use her clout to get him black-listed.

"Fortunately, she hasn't laid a finger on me," Steven said. "She's not interested in young guys.  I suspect she doesn't want to compete with Liza [her daughter, 17 year old Liza Minelli].  Hey, maybe you should start dating Liza -- that might make Judy back off."

George shuddered.  "Out of the frying pan, into the fire.  I've never been with a woman before -- I don't think I could perform, regardless of whether it's Liza or Judy or Marilyn Monroe."

"Me, either," Steven agreed.

"But my career is on shaky ground, with the gay rumors.  It couldn't take a k-o from Judy's clout."

Steven touched him on the shoulder.  "I can take care of it.  The key is to make her think she's rejecting you, not getting rejected.  And I know how.

The next day, before the filming, Judy grabbed George's arm.  "You've been putting me off all week, but today you're definitely getting a tour of that trailer," she said, not kind or flirtatious but with a forceful glare.

"Oh, I've been looking forward to it," George said, patting her hand.  "But could I bring a friend along?  My friend is a big fan, and would love your autograph."

"I don't do trios," Judy said sternly.  "I couldn't possibly share you with another woman."

"This is a man."

"Oh -- well, that's different.  I had no idea that you were that sort of fellow, Georgie.  It makes men considerably more charming, don't you think?"  All smiles. Judy told her assistant "Leave us be for an hour," and led George away.

"So, who is this mystery lover?"  Judy asked.  "Glenn Corbett, I hope?"

"It's a surprise."

 When they arrived at the trailer, Steven was already there -- one of his jobs was to restock the fridge with snacks.  Before Judy could speak, George rushed up and kissed him.  Steven wrapped his arms around his waist and grabbed onto his butt.

"This is your friend, I take it," Judy said dryly.  "Isn't it close to his bedtime?"

George began fondling Steven's penis.  He immediately started to tent.  "I'm 21, Ma'am.  Big fan."

"I can see that, Junior.  Shouldn't you be out somewhere, trying to win a boy scout merit badge?"

Steven laughed.  "Very funny, Ma'am."

"The old chestnuts are the best, aren't they?" George asked.  He began to nuzzle Steven's neck.  "Timeless, like an old bottle of wine."

"It was my Grandma who got me into your work..."  Steven continued.

"Grandma, huh?"

 George pushed him into another kiss.  Steven tore his shirt off, putting his smooth, slim twink chest on display.

"Um...she used to baby sit me, and she let me watch your old movies on the late show.  From when she was a little girl.  They were fascinating, like a time machine taking me into the distant past...."

"Oh, yes, Hollywood in the old day.  Orange groves and dinosaurs."

George fell to his knees, unzipped Steven's pants, and started going down on him.  Steven grabbed his head and thrust into his mouth.

"George said you wouldn't mind...if I tagged along," Steven murmured between thrust.  "I like old ladies...I mean, ladies..."

That was enough for Judy.  She swung about abruptly and headed for the bedroom.  "Include me out, kiddies."

"Are you sure?" George called.  "I don't mind...."

"And be sure you clean up after yourselves.  I don't need any teenage jizz ruining my carpets."

The taping went on as usual.  Judy did nothing to hurt George's career: he worked steadily through the 1980s.  But Steven was fired the next day.

Steven stayed friends with George Maharis for many years,but they had lost contact by the time we started dating in 1992.

They're lucky that the "remind Judy of her advancing age" strategy worked.  What would they have done if she agreed to a bisexual menage-a-trois?

See also: Get Your Beefcake on Route 66.

Sunday, November 26, 2017

The Florida Cowboy with the Footlong

Sebring, Florida, February, 2004

A Saturday morning.  Yuri bursts into my room at 6:00 am.

"Time to get up!" he exclaims.  "We must go soon.  Jake has many plans for us today."

"Jake...what?  Who?"  I murmur.

"You made me go with the sleazoid Jauvier last week, so now it is my turn.  I told you before, remember?  Jake, I met him on the internet?  We will visit today, and stay the night, and share."

"The whole day and night?" I complain.  "I just inflicted Jauvier and Victor on you for a couple of hours."

"Sure, but it takes three days to get the smell of his odekolon out of my room."

"Well -- can I at least see a picture of this guy in advance?"

"No.  It will be a surprise."

Gulp.  Yuri knows all of my turn-ons...and turn-offs.  Is he going to fix us up with the date from hell?

Worse...a cracker.  A Florida cowboy

After breakfast and the gym, we drive two hours north from Wilton Manors, to the redneck center of the state, to Sebring, a small town of 10,000 known primarily for its racetrack -- it hosts a 12-hour long Grand Prix every year.

"Maybe Jake will take us to a race tonight." Yuri says with an evil grin.  "But he will probably want to go to a basketball game.  You like basketball, yes?"

Turn-off #1: Sports nut 

When we arrive at Jake's house, he's in the front yard, doing some sort of yard work with his shirt off.  He's in his 40s, with a long, angular face, deep-set haunted eyes, and a goatee.

Turn-offs #2 and #3: Long faces and goatees.

He has a respectable physique: tall, muscular, a little pudgy around the belly, hairy pecs.  But nipple rings and several tattoos spoil the effect.

Turn-off #4: Tattoos.

We go in the house, say hello to Jake's teenage daughter Charity and drink lemonade.

Jake came out about eight years ago.  He and his wife are divorced, but they're still on good terms.  They have joint custody of Charity, who stays with him every weekend.

Turn-off #5: Men who were married before coming out.

I catch Yuri's eye and glare.  He smiles.

"Will she be here tonight?" I ask, scandalized.  You can't have a date overnight with a teenager in the house!

"Oh, no, she's got a sleepover at her friend's house.  Tonight it will be just us men."



After our lemonade, we walk out to Jake's alpaca ranch.

Jake and his co-owners raise alpacas mostly for their wool, but tourists like to drop by and pet and feed them.

Alpacas are cute, like small, cuddly llamas, but they smell bad and make a weird screaming noise.  And they're so starved for affection that the moment we enter their pasture, we are mobbed and almost nudged to death.  "Pet me!  Pet me!" they scream.

"Don't scare them," Jake warns.  "They spit."

There's a souvenir shop, a petting zoo for the kids,  and a little museum of alpaca history, beginning with when they were first domesticated by Peruvian Indians about 6,000 years ago.

"Have you been to Peru?" Jake asks.

"Um...no.  I've been to Colombia."

"Manchu Piccu is the trip of a lifetime.  Very spiritual."

Yuri nudges me.  "Spiritual!" he whispers.  "You like guys who are religious, right?"

Next Jake suggests horseback riding, but I have been on horses only twice in my life, so I opt for a nice, safe hike instead.

Of course, hikes take twice as long.  And with the blazing Florida sun and sauna humidity, I'm soon soaked, sunburned, bug-eaten, and exhausted.  I just want to go home -- my own home -- and go to bed.

Turn-off #6: Outdoor nut.

We go back to Jake's house to shower, apply itch cream, and change clothes.  Charity says goodbye as she rushes off with her friend, and Jake takes us to dinner at a place called the Cowpoke's Watering Hole.

It looks like a tiki bar, but serves cajun grub, like crawfish and alligator tail, plus steaks and seafood.  And there is live music playing.

Turn-off #7: Country-Western Music

"This place is really hopping on Tuesday nights," Jake says.  "That's when ladies get their drinks half off.  A lot of romance in the air, let me tell you."

Turn-off #8: Discussions of Feminine Beauty

"Let's make this a male-only zone," I suggest.  "No discussions of ladies or feminine charms, just a night of raw masculinity."

Jake nods.  "I get you.  Shall I ask the band to play 'It's Raining Men'?"

When Jake leaves to "hit the head," I tell Yuri, "Ok, you've got your revenge for Jauvier.  Can we just go home?"

He frowns.  "Why?  Jake is nice, right?"

"No, he's been a perfect gentleman. But he's got 8 of my top 10 turn-offs.  Besides, I'm tired, I'm sunburned, I'm freaked out by the rednecks.  I just want to go home."

"But Jake spends the whole day with us.  It is rude to go away now.  And it's a long drive, and I'm tired, too."

I sigh.  "Ok, we can spend the night.  But do we have to share?  No way Jake is my type."

"No, it's ok.  Jake and I will go to the bedroom, and you will sleep on the couch."

We go back to the house for a "nightcap" -- whiskey for Jake, beer for Yuri, soda for me.

Then Jake says "Well, we don't need these clothes anymore, do we, boys?"  He rips off his shirt, right there in the living room, kicks off his boots, and fumbles with his belt.

"Boomer is too tired," Yuri begins. "He is not..."

Jake's pants come down.  He unwraps an enormous, super-thick Kovbasa+, one of the biggest I've ever seen!

Yuri and I both stare for a moment.  Then he continues.  "Um...Boomer is too tired.  He is not into..."

"Not into what?" I exclaim, cutting him off.  "I'm into anything you can throw at me!  Jake, put on some more Waylon Jennings, and let's get this party started!"

Turn-on #1: Super-sized beneath the belt.

See also: Yuri and I Share the Boy Toy and His Daddy; My Top 10 Turn-Offs; and The Worst Date in Florida History


Tuesday, November 21, 2017

My Date with Jack the Vacuum Cleaner

Wilton Manors, December 2002

Grocery store employees aren't exactly fantasy hookups.  They don't come to your house, and when you see them at work, they're sliding your canned goods over scanners while a dozen people wait behind you.

Besides, the checkers are mostly women, and the baggers are mostly high school boys.  Not much to work with.

But take another look at the college-age boys and young adults, in their shortsleeved shirts, biceps straining over industrial-sized crates of lettuce.  They develop a lot of upper body strength.

Besides, you're there at the same time every week.  There's lots of time to cruise.

And you're out, as openly gay as you can get without a sign, two guys pushing a single shopping cart, or a single guy buying vegetables, fruit, and lean meats, with no Hamburger Helper or Hot Pockets in sight.

In West Hollywood, we had the gay Safeway, on Santa Monica a few blocks down from the Rage. 90% of the customers were gay.

In Florida we had the Publix, down the street from Rosie's Bar and Grill.  A lot of heterosexuals, but enough gay people that we could be open without fear of homophobic harassment.

My housemates and I ate most of our breakfasts and dinners together, and Barney did all of the shopping.  So I only went to the Publix when I wanted something not on his list, like soda or snack foods.

I was always impressed by the number of cute guys working there, but I didn't go often enough to get to know faces, let alone cruise anyone.

So it came as a surprise one day in early December 2002, when I went to the Publix to get Christmas candy, and a guy stocking cereal said "Hey, you're one of Wade's friends, aren't you?  I've seen you here with him."

Wade was a recent graduate of McGill University in Toronto who worked in a hotel.  We dated for a few weeks last summer.  He and Yuri had become friends, so he was around the house a lot, and sometimes we "shared."  I couldn't remember when I had been in Publix with him -- maybe one night when he came over for dinner.

But I smiled and said "Yep.  I'm Boomer."

"Jack."

We shook hands.  He was a beach boy, in his 20s, about my height, with dark-blond curly hair, a round face, a rather muscular physique, and big hands.

"How do you know Wade?"

"He dated my boss, the Giant.   I was sad that they broke up...they seemed really good together."  He paused.  "So...um...I have to get back to work, but maybe we could get together later?  I get off at 7:00."

"I'm busy tonight, but how about the weekend?"

We exchanged phone numbers, and I finished my shopping and went home.

And immediately called Wade for the dish on Jack.

"I met him through the Giant," Wade told me. "Super nice guy.  A little closeted -- he still lives with his conservative Mom."

"How long did you date?"

"Um...just the one time.  He was nice and all, but...."

"Not big enough beneath the belt?"

"Oh, it's not that.  He's got a nice body.  It's just...I'm really into older guys, for one thing, and for another, we weren't compatible in bed."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want to say anything negative, and turn you off.  He's a really nice guy.  You'll see."

How mysterious!  I was definitely going out with Jack now!

On our date, we had dinner at Rosie's, and then went cruising at the Manor.  Jack told me with a grin that he grew up in Harlem -- it's a very small, very conservative town on Lake Okeechobee, in central Florida:  "Nothing there but a bar and a Pentecostal church.  My dad went to one, and my mom went to the other."


The two eventually divorced, and Mom and Jack  moved to Fort Lauderdale.

Jack continued going to a hardcore fundamentalist church,  planned to become a preacher, and enrolled at Pensacola Christian College.

He dropped out during his difficult coming-out process.  He had been working at Publix for two years, and intended to make it his career.

We spent a lot of time comparing notes about our fundamentalist childhoods, and talking about the passages in the Bible that are used to promote homophobia, even though they have nothing to do with gay people.

So far so good.  He was very cute, and we had a lot in common.

Then we went into the bedroom.

Nice physique, average beneath the belt gifts, kissed like a vacuum cleaner, using suction to pull my mouth into his.  Not terribly pleasant.

I pushed him away.  We fondled for a bit, and then he went down on me.

Like a vacuum cleaner.

The suction was so great that it hurt.

"Not so rough!" I exclaimed.

"Sorry." He fondled me for a bit and then tried again.

Again, like a vacuum cleaner.  I let him work for a few minutes, and then pulled his head away.  It was hard to dislodge him.

Do you have to be trained in oral sex?  I never received any instruction except "watch your teeth."

"Here, let me show you how."

I went down on him.  He finished almost instantly.

"Ok, now you try."

Like a vacuum cleaner.  I dislodged him, and we went to sleep.

The next day my penis was sore, and there was blood in my urine.  The doctor told me that small capillaries had burst due to the over-energetic oral sex.  Not serious, but rather frightening.

And no more dates with the Vacuum Cleaner.

See also: Wade the Beach Boy; Wade and the Giant; Picking Up the Checker in the Grocery Store

Monday, November 13, 2017

Heterosexual for a Day

Remember "What do the Simple Folk Do?" from Camelot:

What do the simple folk do
To cheer them when they're feeling blue?
When they're beset and besieged, the folk not noblesse obliged,
How do they manage to shed their weary lot?

In West Hollywood, it was easy to cheer up when you were feeling blue: buy some books, look at art, have lunch at the French Quarter, go cruising at the Gold Coast.  But West Hollywood is 2000 miles away, and I'm surrounded by heterosexuals.

What do you do on gloomy Saturdays in November, at the start of the "Ho Ho Ho" madness, when all of the melancholy songs are playing but it's not even your birthday yet, and your 5K running speed is down by 5 minutes, and West Hollywood is 2000 miles away and you're surrounded by heterosexuals?

"How do hetero men spend their Saturdays?"  I ask my boyfriend Bob, who is 19 years old and has lived in the Straight World his whole life.  He writes me out a list, then leaves for work.

It sounds like a fun game: see how the other half lives.  Spend a day as a heterosexual, doing everything that hetero men do.


9:00 am: They work on cars.

You mean, like, open the hood and stuff?   In gay neighborhoods we walk or take the subway.  I know how to put gas in those car things, and steer them, and that's it.  But maybe I could get an auto mechanic to do something, like change the oil.

Score!  The guy at the Jiffy Lube is in his 30s, short and buffed, with a round face and square workman's hands.  And he squirts things with lube all day....









10:00 am: They hunt things.

Like, um...cuddly bunnies and such?  I've never once in my life held a gun, but I can certainly hunt.  How about antiques?  I can look for some additions to my beefcake art collection.

Score!  "A Surf Boy Tiki Mug" from Orchids of Hawaii, a restaurant supply company operating out of the Bronx during the tiki craze of the 1960s.  An evil Dennis the Menace.

Besides, there;s a hot father and college-aged son at the Antique Mall, scoping out some antique model cars.  I make eye contact with the son, and get a cruisy smile.






11:00 am:  They play baseball.

I would prefer to avoid having projectiles hurled at my head.  But working out the gym is the same thing, nght?


1:00 pm: They have lunch at Five Guys Burgers and Fries

I would gain ten pounds just walking into that joint. Fortunately, there's a Jersy Mike's next door, which not only has turkey subs, it has some cute college boys for me to exchange witty banter with.











2:00 pm: They shop for tools.

Kitchen supplies count as tools, right?  I go to Cooks Plus and buy a frittatta pan.









3:00 pm: They drink beer and watch the game.

Diet Coke will have to substitute for the beer, and I can't watch sports on tv -- I only get Netflix.  But I happen to have some old bodybuilding contests on DVD.  Will the 1985 Mr. Olympia, with Lee Haney, do?'














6:00 pm: Bob comes home and cooks dinner (frittattas).  

"How did your day as a heterosexual go?" he asks.

"Great!  I worked on cars, hunted things, played sports (if bench pressing counts), had lunch, shopped for tools, and watched a game.  There's just one thing on the list I didn't get around to.  I thought of it after you left this morning."

I show him the last thing that hetero men do.

"I'm totes up for that!  After dinner and some making out, that is.  We can't do it until about 9:00 anyway."

After a day of beefcake and cruising, I'm up for more than making out.  I go down on Bob while beating off, then push him onto the floor for interfemoral, with him on top.

Then we watch tv until it's time for the last item on the list:



9:00 pm: They go out to try to pick up babes.

Preferably babes with handsome faces, hard smooth chests, and gigantic penises.

See also: Searching for Twinks on the Plains


Saturday, November 11, 2017

5 Shirtless and Nude Photos of Chuck Connors

This is the uncensored photo of Chuck Connors,
or someone who looks like him, from Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.



















Compare with this picture of Chuck in his baseball days.






















Here's another photo, reputedly of Chuck doing porn during his baseball days.














Chuck also played basketball for the Boston Celtics in 1946.  Notice the big difference in facial structure.













You probably don't need a nude photo of Chuck anyway.  There are plenty of semi-nude photos floating around the internet. He was shirtless a lot on The Rifleman
















And with Doris Day in Move Over, Darling



















There are even some candids.








Wednesday, November 8, 2017

The Sons of Two Famous Actors Hook Up with Tarzan

This story comes from Zack, the ex-boyfriend of Drake the Teddy Bear Artist, who apparently heard it from Gordon Scott:

Rome, june 1964

Jim Mitchum, son of action-adventure star Robert Mitchum (Night of the Hunter, Bandido, Thunder Road), was 22 years old and making his own name in Hollywood, appearing in Westerns, comedies, and dramas, often as a second banana or buddy-buddy.

He dated girls, of course -- was there any way around it? -- but everybody except his father knew that he liked men, even his little brother Chris (an undergrad at the University of Pennsylvania).  In fact, he seemed to get cast deliberately in vehicles overloaded with hunks with similar proclivities.

That's how he got most of his boyfriends: Harold Lloyd Jr. in Girls' Town (1959),  Jimmy Lydon in The Last Time I Saw Archie (1961), Vince Edwards in The Victors (1963).

But Jim was after bigger game.  He wanted Tarzan.

Not Johnny Weissmuller, the Tarzan of his father's generation, middle-aged and paunchy, with ridiculous hair.  The Tarzan Jim saw as a teenager in the 1950s, when his hormones were kicking in and his erotic fantasies were in high gear:  Gordon Scott, cowboy, lifeguard, fireman, bodybuilder, and Lord of the Jungle.

Scott played Tarzan in five movies (1955-1960).  From three different studios, speaking a jungle patois or perfect English, but they all had one thing in common endless beefcake shots of the  6'3", 280 lbs of broad-shouldered, hard-torsoed, bicep-bulging, loincloth-bulging man-meat.

Have you ever in all your life seen a chest like that?

When Jim "came out"in 1959, he found out something else: Scott was a Friend of Dorothy!  He tricked with Scott's former lover Robert Walker, and heard about several others, including Sal Mineo, Brandon DeWilde, Marlon Brando, and Drake.

Jim heard two more important facts:

1. Tarzan wore nothing under his loincloth.

2. He was hung to his knees.

Unfortunately, he was no longer in Hollywood.  His Tarzan franchise ended, he had moved to Italy to star in sword-and-sandal peplums: Maciste contro il vampiro, Il gladiatore di Roma, Il colosso di Roma.  

Jim was just barely beginning to negotiate the heavily closeted gay community of Hollywood; no way did he have the time or money to cruise in Italy!

Then -- it was fate!  Kismet!  Sergio Corbucci cast him in Massacro al Grande Canyon, a spaghetti western about a boy avenging his father's death.  They would be filming in Rijeka, Yugoslavia, and Trieste and Rome, Italy.

When he arrived in Rome, Jim had his agent call Gordon's agent, claiming that he wanted to talk about a new African adventure movie his father was producing (Mister Moses, 1965).  They arranged to meet for lunch at a taverna near the Ponte Sisto.

Gordon was bearded for a role and deeply tanned by the Italian sun, but he was still amazingly buffed, the Tarzan of Jim's adolescent fantasy.  It didn't take much -- a hand brushed across the knee, a few names dropped of common lovers -- to get an invitation back to Gordon's villa for a dip in the pool and, no doubt, a tryst in the bedroom.

But when they arrived, there were two other people lounging by the pool: Natalie Wood (Rebel without a Cause, Splendor in the Grass), and that weasel David Niven!

The son and namesake of actor David Niven, a year younger than Jim, and everything Jim hated.  They grew up in the same neighborhood in Pacific Palisades, but Jim was a regular fellow, going fishing and watching football on television.  David -- never Dave -- was busy exchanging bon mots with Noel Coward, dancing with Fred Astaire, and sunbathing with Princess Grace. He wore an ascot and reeked of perfume.  He was a flamboyant, elitist, foppish, priggish sissy.

But there was a more pressing problem.  How could Jim maneuver Gordon Scott into bed with two other people in the room?

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Wood," Jim said with a bright smile, then. "Hello, Dave.  I didn't know you two were an item."

"Oh, yes, for a year now.  We met through Sal [Mineo]."

Sal Mineo was gay, one of Gordon's ex-lovers.  He had dated Natalie as a beard.  Did that mean....

Before he could imagine what it meant, Gordon was rubbing David's shoulder.  "So we're all acquainted. Great!  Jim wants to talk to us about a movie his father is working on."

David eyed Jim up and down, and an evil smile flashed on his face.  "Sounds delightful."

Gordon turned to Natalie.  "Do you mind?"

"Not at all.  You men go ahead and do whatever it is that men do." Natalie returned to her magazine.

Gordon wrapped his arm around David's shoulders and led him into the house, while Jim stood, agape.  David was gay, Gordon's lover?  But...that meant...

Gordon's head appeared in the doorway.  "Coming, Jim?"

That meant to get to Gordon, he'd have to bed the insufferable fop!

Well, anything for a peek under Tarzan's loincloth....

The tricking wasn't all bad.  Jim had to go down on David's small pink cock for a few minutes, to be polite, but then he got ten minutes with Gordon's gigantic Mortadella+!  Plus he got to turn onto his back for Gordon to plug him.  He didn't even mind David beating their cocks off together to climax -- the stench of his perfume was soon overwhelmed by man-sweat and cum.

But the one who gave Jim his telephone number and asked to get together again was...David.





Did Zack Get It Right?

Zack didn't remember the name of the celebrity kid that shared Gordon and Jim's bed.  I chose David Niven Jr. on the basis of a photograph of the three of them together.

Gordon Scott definitely preferred the company of men, and was widely rumored to be gay.  He was married twice, and had two children.

James Mitchum has been married twice and has four children.  I'm not familiar with any other gay hookup or dating stories about him.

David Niven Jr. was a "confirmed bachelor" until he married at the age of 51.  The marriage lasted for five years.

Monday, October 30, 2017

Bob and I Hook Up with a Saint

Plains, October 2017

The problem with living in the Straight World is, there are so few open, out gay men over 30 around that you have to be friends with them even if you don't like them.  And I can't stand Boyle.

He's in his 40s, tall, homely, with long gray hair, a skinny physique, and multiple rings, tattoos, and beads.  He reeks of cologne, incense, and pot.  He says "Namaste" instead of "Hello," and talks in platitudes like "Why be normal when you can be unique?"

We got off on the wrong foot when we met at a diversity event, with a Spanish chorus.  I translated the lyrics for him.  Turns out he spoke fluent Spanish and had worked in Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, Bolivia, Peru, and Chile.

It got worse.

Me: I go to Montreal as often as I can.  Great museums, great restaurants, and the best bathhouse in the Western Hemisphere.

Boyle: What a coincidence!  I go to Kangiqsujuaq in Nord-du-Quebec as often as I can.  I'm a liaison with the regional government for tribal rights.

Ok....

Me: I'm going to Los Angeles for spring break.  I'm invited to an Oscar party.

Boyle: I'll be spending spring break in Bangladesh, teaching tribal communities how to recycle plastic refuse into clothing and jewelry.  

Ok....


Me: I'm quite a world traveler, too.  I've been to Russia, Japan, Thailand..

Boyle: Thailand, really?  What did you do there?

Me:  Um...sightseeing and hookups...

Boyle: I worked with a nonprofit helping rescue victims of human trafficking.  

Grr...there go, my heart's abhorrence, go, water your damned flowerpots, do!

Me:  Um...I walked in the AIDS Walk.  

Boyle:  I worked with Richard Gere to place Tibetan refugee children with foster families.

I give up.  Candidates for sainthood, this way, please.

Me:  I'm...er...I'm dating a 20 year old.....

Boyle:  I know!  Isn't it annoying.  The twinks  just won't let up.  Night after night, call after call.  I mean, they're cute and all, but one of these nights I've just got to get some rest!

Me:  Um...er...I have a big dick?

Aside from his regular job in Student Services and his humanitarian work in India, Bangladesh, Mongolia, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, Vietnam, Borneo, and impoverished countries too numerous to mention, Boyle is writer, with two books of poetry that have won regional awards, and an artist, sewing things onto photos of dour-looking Brahmin and big-eyed refugee children. The other night he had an opening of several dozen of his horrible mixed-media works, and Bob, the economics major who is thinking of switching to art, insisted that we go.

He fell instantly in love with the aging hippie: "He's so spiritually aware!  A citizen of the world!  I'll bet he's a vegan.  Do you think he'd be up for sharing?"   

No way!  I wasn't going to let the Saint steal my boyfriend!  I needed a distraction,

"I don't know -- I don't know anyone who has dated him," I said, truthfully.  "But there's a guy who hangs around him a lot.  Over there -- he looks like a young, thin Harvey Fierstein.  Maybe they're dating."

"Well, let's go talk to him."

He turned out to be an aspiring artist, a fan of Boyle's work, but not personally acquainted with him.  And straight.

I looked around for another candidate.  Most of the people at the reception were women.  The few men, older, wilted, looked like they had been dragged along by their wives.  

Suddenly I saw a cute twink, black haired, rather feminine, bulging pants, standing with an older hetero couple - had he been dragged there by his parents?

A distraction for Bob, and a twink for me.  Perfect.

"I think that might be Boyle's boyfriend," I lied.  "He brought his parents with him to the reception.  Isn't that sweet?"

Bob shrugged.  "I'm not into younger guys, but if it will get me into Boyle's bed, I'm all for it."

"Or not.  We could just share him by ourselves."

"I suppose. Let's go talk to him."

"I'd better go alone.  Twink magnet, you know."

I waited until the boy wandered off by himself, then approached. 

Langdon turned out to be a junior at West High School.  He didn't actually know the Saint, but he had heard his parents talk about him.

A junior?  Probably sixteen years old.

There was no one else at the reception who was male and not attached to a woman, so I had no choice: if I didn't let Bob share the hippie, he'd probably seek him out on his own.  So after the Saint's  platitude-filled speech, Bob and I approached and asked if he was doing anything after.  He was going to dinner with six of his female friends and their husbands.  But after that he was free....

He appeared at my house at 11:00 pm.  While Bob ushered him into the living room, I went to the kitchen to get some drinks.

When I returned, the Saint and Bob were on the couch, kissing,

"Mind if I join in?" I asked.

Without looking up he grabbed me and shoved my shoulder down.  I knlt in front of him.

This will work out fine, I thought as I spread his legs and unzipped him.  Boyle might be a world citizen, a saint, a poet, and an artist, but there's one area where I have him beat.  


His cock, already aroused, sprang up into my face.

Bigger than mine.

See also: Remy the Jerk





Thursday, October 26, 2017

10 Thing You Should Know About Dating Bodybuilders

Lately I've been getting a lot of soft, slim twinks, but when I lived in gay neighborhoods,  I was heavily invested in the bodybuilding subculture, and more than one bodybuilder ended up in my bed, as a date or a hookup.

Here are some tips on how to meet, date, and hookup with a bodybuilder.

1. There aren't a lot around

Many people lift weights -- strength training is an essential component of physical fitness.  A small percentage, maybe about a third of the guys at the campus gym and a tenth of the guys at the YMCA, get some mass and definition, through dedication, proper form, and genetics.

But the bodybuilder is striving for competitive-quality muscle size, definition, and symmetry.  There are three or four who work out at the campus gym, and maybe two at the YMCA.

2. But they are available

Bodybuilders spend their lives being touched, fondled, judged, evaluated, looked at, and lusted at by other men.  A few are homophobic, but the majority have no qualms about getting down with a guy, even if they prefer women for romance.












3. Most are in their 20s and 30s.

Teenagers typically lack the time and stamina for bodybuilding, and after 40, you're fighting an uphill battle.  Muscle doesn't turn to fat -- that's a myth -- but as your metabolism and activity level decline, if you don't watch your eating habits, you will add fat.  Many former bodybuilders are pleasantly plump in their 50s and 60s.











4. You need to be knowledgeable.

They have devoted their lives to learning how the body works, how the muscle groups can be trained, how to achieve their optimal mass and definition.  If you don't know anything about muscles except that they're pretty, you will be unlikely to catch their attention, and if you do, you'll have nothing to talk about on your date.












5. You need another selling point.

They talk about muscles and fitness all day.  While you should be knowledgeable, you must have another selling point, something that makes you stand out in the crowd: a face, a penis, a sense of humor, creative or intellectual accomplishments.  I go with celebrity hookup stories or being multi-lingual.

More after the break.



L

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