Friday, July 21, 2017

Gay Dating Stories with Tony Dow

When I lived in West Hollywood, everybody had a favorite celebrity dating story, told at parties and to impress first dates.   I often heard about current stars, like Rob Lowe, Matthew Broderick, Tom Cruise, Tony Danza, and Sylvester Stallone, and occasionally stars from previous generations, like Tony Curtis and Tommy Kirk.

But never anything about Tony Dow.

In retrospect, this seems strange. Tony Dow played Wally, Beaver's teenage brother in the iconic nuclear family sitcom Leave It to Beaver (1957-1963).  He was a gifted athlete who had no qualms about displaying his physique on camera.  He was the first crush of countless thousands of Baby Boomer boys, giving them their first inklings that same-sex desire and romance can exist.

He was very visible in the 1980s, playing a middle-aged Wally on a continuation of the series, The New Leave It to Beaver.  And he has remained visible since, playing endless parodies of Wally and the Beaver, acting, directing, writing, being interviewed, forging a new career as a sculptor.  He has remained a quiet, calm presence throughout our lives.

Sure, he is probably straight -- married from 1969 to the present, with no gay rumors to speak of (although the Bisexual Alliance has him on a list of 150 bisexual actors).  

But that never stopped guys from spinning a hookup story out of a chance meeting.  Why were they so reticent?

I shot out emails to all of my West Hollywood, San Francisco, and New York friends, asking if they or anybody they knew had a story about dating or hooking up with Tony Dow.  I got a few leads.

1. Rich Correll and Harold Lloyd Jr.  Will the Bondage Boy had a friend named Jason, who dated Rich Correll during the 1970s.

Born in 1948, so three years younger than Tony Dow, Correll played Beaver's best friend Richard on Leave It to Beaver.  They were best friends in real life, too. Later Rich became a writer and director, known for Hannah Montana, The Suite Life of Zack and Cody, and other Disney channel teencoms.

"Did Rich Correll ever date Tony Dow?" I asked via email.

"That story never came up, but Jason did tell me that Rich dated [silent film star] Harold Lloyd's son as a young teen.  He was an anal bottom and liked rough trade: he wanted Rich to beat and strangle him. Then one night he had a stroke, which he never recovered from.  That's why Rich refused to do S&M."

Harold Lloyd Jr., born in 1931, was indeed gay, and into rough trade.  The other details work out.  But this story didn't get me any closer to Tony Dow.

2. Tommy Rettig

Tom Rettig (back) was born in 1941 and  acted steadily through his childhood,notably in Lassie (1954-57).  He and Tony Dow became friends in the early 1960s, and starred together in Never Too Young (1965-66).

Tom and his wife Darlene were deeply involved in the youth counterculture: drugs, rock music, protest, free love. They were both bisexual, and often brought in third partners, both male and female.

 After a drug bust in 1976, the couple split up.  Tom became a motivational speaker and author.  He moved into the computer industry in the early 1980s, becoming a recognized expert in dBase and FoxPro.

In 1989, he was living in Marina del Rey, near Venice Beach, where, according to my ex-boyfriend Troy in Upstate New York, he met the 25-year old Maury, the ex-boyfriend of the Satyr.   Maury had never heard of him, and didn't want to hear about Lassie, which Tom found refreshing.   They dated for about three months: Tom was an oral bottom and very affectionate in bed, but Maury couldn't handle his attraction to men and women both.

"Well, did Tom Rettig hookup with Tony Dow when they were teenagers?  Some youthful experimentation on Tony's part?"

"I don't know -- the Satyr never mentioned that.  And he's gone now, so there's no way to ask.  I don't remember Maury's last name."

There's a post on Tommy Rettig on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.

3. Christian Osmond

On The New Leave It to Beaver (1983-1989), many of the original cast members reprised their roles.  Ken Osmond returned as the officious Eddie Haskell, his sons played by his real-life sons, Eric (born 1971) and Christian (born 1974).  Christian appeared in only 10 episodes; he decided that he didn't like acting, and trained to become a veterinarian ("Dogs treat you better than most people.")

Infinite Chazz's friend Riley met him in 2004, when he brought his dog in for vaccinations.  Christian was very buffed, with short blond hair, a short beard, a gleaming smooth chest, and an enormous Kielbasa.

At first Riley thought he was related to Donny and Marie Osmond, but soon he heard about The New Leave it to Beaver.  During dinner, Christian told him about growing up gay in the household of conservative actor-turned-cop Ken Osmond.

"Did Christian mention Tony Dow?" I asked.  "Cruising guys, bringing a boyfriend to the set, helping him come out, anything?"

"Nothing that I remember," Infinite Chazz replied.

4. The Physique Photographer

Many people don't realize that Leave It to Beaver was not a big hit during its first run -- kids liked it, but adults regularly switched the channel to Perry Mason or a Western.  And since Tony Dow was under 18 for all but the last few episodes, his paycheck went directly to his parents.

He spent the years 1963-1965 scrounging around for guest spots on second-rate tv shows, always broke, with debts mounting.

Glenn Corbett, the bisexual actor who would soon star in Route 66 , made extra money posing for physique magazines -- displaying muscular guys, naked except for posing straps, for a closeted gay audience.

He gave Tony the telephone number of a photographer named Jim, one of Randall the Muscle Bear's friends, who ran a magazine called Tomorrow's Man.  One afternoon Tony went up for a shoot under the name "Tony Williams," flexing by the pool in a small posing strap.

Unfortunately, Tomorrow's Man ceased publication before the photos could be published, and they were subsequently stolen by one of Jim's tricks.  Chances are they are still lying in a dresser drawer in a house in West Hollywood, waiting to be discovered and posted on the internet.

"But was there a hookup?  With Glenn Corbett, or with Jim the Photographer?"

"Jim didn't say whether they hooked up or not," Randall replied.  "It wasn't a celebrity dating story, it was a 'don't trust a trick' story."

There are no more leads.  No one, it seems, has dated Tony Dow, or fantasized a chance encounter into a story to tell at parties.

Gay celebrity dating stories aren't just gossip.  They reveal something insightful about the speaker -- the romance or sexual encounter helped him to come out, to understand himself and his place in the world.

Maybe there are no stories about dating Tony Dow because he helped guys understand themselves in other ways , by playing Wally Cleaver, by displaying his 1960s physique, by being a quiet, calm presence throughout our lives.

See also: Who Is Tony Dow's Boyfriend

Thursday, July 20, 2017

Bob Hooks Me Up with the Wrong Guy

Davenport, Iowa, July 2017

That's the last time I let Bob, the19-year old economics major, arrange a hookup for us.  On the way east to New York, he somehow found the most disgusting guy of all time, and on the way back, he got the wrong guy!

We stayed overnight in Rock Island again, and went to the Figge Museum of Art, across the river in Iowa.

I had never been there before.  It opened in 1997, after my parents moved to Indiana, and on the rare occasions that I returned to the Quad Cities, there wasn't time for much sightseeing.

The second floor had galleries devoted to Spanish Colonial art, Haitian art, Grant Wood, and contemporary art.  The third floor was devoted to a corn maze, and the fourth floor to a collection of black dolls.

Some of the galleries had a nice view of the Mississippi.

No beefcake art to speak of, although I did notice a surprising number of Cute Young Things and twinks among the patrons.  A lot of cruisy smiles and up-and-down glances going on.

I found out why when I heard a lot of raucous noise from downstairs, and left Bob in the Haitian Art gallery to investigate.

The downstairs exhibition room was full of people, very cute college-age boys in grey t-shirts with "Metro Arts" logos, some girls, a few kids, very well dressed adults mingling with glasses of wine and little sandwiches.  Some were already sitting on folding chairs facing a stage.  There were t-shirts for sale, and tables of snacks.

Was this a private function?  In my t-shirt and jeans, I looked more like one of the college boys than an adult.

I milled about, pretending to belong, trying to find someone alone, not in a group, to pump for information.

No luck.  Some of the teenagers were in groups, doing voice exercises and giving each other encouragement.  Some were talking to groups of adults.  No one was alone.

As usual, I got cruisy glances from the twinks, suspicious glares from the adults.

Then the program began: it turned out to be the showcase of the Quad City Metro Arts Summer Youth Program.  Thirty college students from all over the Midwest were selected for the five week program, where they worked on projects ranging from public art to graphic design to comedy improv.

The adults were parents, friends, and community leaders.  Later I discovered that the mayors of both Davenport and Rock Island were there.

First up in the showcase: a comedy improv with three performers.  I milled about, taking photos.

Soon Bob joined me, drawn by the noise. I apprised him of what was happening, and we watched in silence for a few minutes.

My eyes were drawn to a father and son standing alone, with no mother.  Gay?

 Dad was in his 40s, with a rugged face, salt-and-pepper hair, and a tight frame. Son was probably 15, wearing a gray Metro Arts t-shirt, with dark wavy hair and an orange baseball cap, texting furiously on his cell phone.

I am always attracted to guys in business suits.  Maybe because they are designed specifically to hide the physique and bulge, so trying to imagine what he looks like with his clothes off becomes exciting.

And fathers, guys who are nurturing and domestic, yet obviously were naked, intimate, and aroused.

Bob nudged me.  "You like him?"

"Sure, he's hot. And definitely gay.   But I can't get him to make eye contact.  He's too busy concentrating on the show."

"That's funny, I'm getting some major perv from him."

"Maybe you're more his type.  And...there he goes."

The improv show ended, and father and son walked up to shake hands with one of the performers.  All three headed back toward the room with the snack tables.

"Didn't you say that the museum was the best place to pick up guys?" Bob asked.  "Why don't you go after him?  We could have a three-way tonight."

I glanced around, embarrassed to be discussing three-ways so openly.  "I'm not even sure we're supposed to be here, so I want to keep a low profile.  And how do you pick up a guy in front of all of his relatives?"

"No problem.  I'll take care of it. Be right back."

Before I could protest, Bob walked off toward the snack room.

The next showcase began, five artists talking about how they painted murals by the river.

Bob was gone a long time.  I began to get annoyed, and walked back to find him.  He met me.

"It's all set.  They're going to a place called Wise Guys Pizza after the showcase, and we're going to meet them there.  I guess it will be a whole big group.  But if I'm going to hook up, I need to shower and brush my teeth.  Could we go back to the hotel first?"

We crossed the bridge into Rock Island, showered and shaved and hung out for a bit, and then drove across the bridge again to Wise Guys Pizza, far away on the north side of town.

 There was a group of gray-shirt Metro Arts teens occupying a booth, looking at the menu.  Bob waved.

No parents.

Where's the hot Dad?

A teenage boy with dark wavy hair and an orange baseball cap slid over so we could join him.  Bob let me sit next to him.

He hooked us up with the wrong guy!  The son, not the father!

I could have hooked up with a twink on my own.  I wanted Bob to be my wing man in picking up a hot Dad.

It's not Bob's fault -- I'm dating a 19 year old, I get cruised by twinks all the time, and last week when he hooked me up with a teenager, I didn't object.  What would you conclude?

The boy - Ethan -- wasn't 15, he was 20, entering his junior year at Western Illinois University,and totally into hooking up. Smooth, solid physique, 5" cut but easily aroused.   Although he was mostly an anal bottom, he allowed me to go down on him while he went down on Bob, and then do interfemoral in a side position while Bob slid against his butt.

Bob is turning into rather more an anal top than I anticipated when we started to date.

A nice hookup, but not much different from the ones I get on the Plains.  I wanted the father.

See also: Nude Wrestling in Fond du Lac.

Nude Photos of John Davidson

John Davidson (not the actor) was "everyone's favorite model," even though he only worked for about six months.

"Butchie" (nobody called him John) was born in Bronxville, New York in December 1945, and grew up near Baltimore, Maryland.  After graduating from high school in 1964, he moved to New York and puttered around, making money by hustling and modeling. His first professional photos were taken by Walter Kundcziz's  Champion Studios.

In March 1965, Butchie joined the Marines and was sent to L.A. for a 12-week boot camp.  He found time to model, too, posing for Pat Milo, Spartan Studios, and Bob Mizer of the Athletic Model Guild.

He got a USMC tattoo, and he also may or may not have befriended Tony Dow, the 20-year old actor who previously played Wally on Leave it to Beaver.

Mizer said that Butchie was "one of the liveliest, most energetic models we have ever had," and  filmed him eight times, giving him starring roles in The Improvident Immigrant (with his Marine buddy Al Emonds, who he brought along for the day), Vicious Guard (where he did a jail-house card game scene with Pat White), Gladiator and the Slave, and The Sassy Seaman and the Officer.

He also put Butchie on the cover of the June 1965 issue of Physique Pictorial.

The secret symbols Mizer used reveal that Butchie was Greek passive (an anal bottom), French active (into oral), "a ball" (fun to work with), and "an experienced hustler."

In June 1965, Butchie shipped out to Vietnam, but he never made it.  While on shore leave on the island of Okinawa, he contracted  Japanese encephalitis from a mosquito bite.  He died on July 4th, 1965, only 19 years old.

But he managed to cram a lot of great experiences into those 19 years.

The Tony Dow connection is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Nude Wrestling in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin

Rock Island, July 2017

It's the morning after the most disgusting hookup ever.  Bob the 19-year old economics major and I are at having egg white omelets and fruit cups at the Quad Cities Pancake House.

"So, what's on the schedule for today?"  Bob asks.

"Chicago, about three hours from here.  We'll hit a couple of the museums, spend the night, and then drive on to Cleveland tomorrow."

"Would you mind if we take a little side-trip first?  I have a cousin I haven't seen since we were kids.  It's a couple of hours out of the way."


"Fond du Lac, Wisconsin."

4 hours out of the way!  But this is Bob's trip, too, so he should have a say in the itinerary.  Besides,  I have a history with Fond du Lac.

During my senior year in high school, although I was still Nazarene, I became obsessed with all things Catholic.  I read The Seven Story Mountain and The Dark Night of the Soul, learned to say the Rosary, and even went incognito into a Catholic Mass. I didn't actually convert, but I was considering it.

 And I considered applying to Marion College in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin.

One day in January 1978, Dad drove me up for a tour.  I remember a vast snow-covered campus with round white buildings, pristine, pure, as quiet as a cloister.

You could feel the presence of God everywhere.

I imagined living in an austere dorm room, all white, empty except for a bed with white covers, some statues of saints, and a shelf of contemplative classics: the Little Flowers of St. Francis The Cloud of Unknowing.  Of walking among buildings of brilliant white other-worldly splendor every day, en route to my classes in medieval philosophy, Catholic theology, Ecclesiastical Latin, and Koine Greek.

Saying the rosary, walking the Stations of the Cross, going to Novenas, blessing myself with holy water before daily Mass.

Spending every day in communion with the Divine.

I decided to go to Augustana instead, but ever since, Fond du Lac has remained entrenched in my mind as a place of peace and serenity, as close as you can get to heaven in this life.

"Could we go to a Catholic Mass while we're there?" I ask.

Bob blinks.  "Well, it's Wednesday, and I'm not Catholic, but...ok, if you want.  I'll text my cousin."

On the four hour drive to Fond du Lac, Bob tells me more about Cousin Tark (short for Tarkington).  He's older than Bob, a big brother who used to babysit him and sneak him into R-rated movies, until he went away to college in Wisconsin, and then got a job in Fond du Lac.

"Was he cute?" I ask.

Not an athlete, but big and tall, with a thick beefy chest and nice biceps.

"Any sausage sightings?"

"Man, we used to wrestle in the nude.  I remember it getting hard once!  Really big -- and thick!  Man, that thing was like a beer can!"

 A beer-can penis somehow seems out of place in a world of quiet contemplation.  Surely trivial matters like sex fade away when you are in the presence of the Divine.

Fond du Lac, Wisconsin

We arrive in Fond du Lac at around 2:00 pm.  Tark doesn't get off work until 5:00 pm, so we go to Lakeside Park and walk along the lake.

I try to imagine how different my life would have been if I had gone to Marian, and stayed in Wisconsin, instead of going to Augustana, then Indiana University, and then West Hollywood.  Would I have been to 10,000 daily masses by now?  Said the rosary 20,000 times?  Spent my life in quiet contemplation of the Divine?

Next we go to St. Paul's Cathedral.  No Mass is going on, but I bless myself with holy water and light a candle in front of a statue of the Blessed Virgin, while Bob texts on his cell phone.

Then Marian College itself, which is a disappointment: an Erbert and Gerbert's sandwich shop in the student union, a jazz concert coming up on Friday, a sports team called the Dockspiders, and "A Beginner's Guide to Star Wars" in the student newspaper.  Hardly contemplative or otherworldly!

At 5:30 we go to Joe's Fox Hut, a rather scary dive bar next to the army induction center, with a Schlitz Beer sign out front.

The server takes us into a dark, dismal room with country-western music blaring, and hands us menus: pizza! corn dogs!  garlic bread!

Nothing healthy on the menu.  Even the chicken breast comes with french fries and cole slaw.

Suddenly a very tall, chubby guy with short hair and a reddish-brown beard sneaks up behind Bob, motions for me to keep quiet, and grabs him.  Bob yells.


Bob hugs him.  "Hi, Cousin Dweeb. This is my boyfriend, Boomer."

Tark slides into the booth next to me and shakes my hand.

"Cousin Dork, you're all grown up -- sort of.  You're still scrawny -- and dating your professor!  How did you pull that off?"  He nudges me.  "I'll bet the little guy gets all A's, huh?"

"He's not actually in any of my classes."

"Well, there's always next semester."

He orders a sausage-mushroom pizza with mini corn dogs on the side, and tells us about his job as an auto detailer.

"It's great -- they bring the cars right to my house, and I do the work in my driveway.  No overhead.  Sure beats working in a stuffy office all day -- or teaching a bunch of whiny brats."

"True," I say.  "But some of those whiny brats are cute."

"I heard that.  Man, if I was a professor, I'd be inviting every gal in sight for some extra tutoring in my office.  Maybe a little oral exam, huh?"

I don't like him.  In a world of quiet contemplation, all he can think of are corn dogs and oral sex.

Eventually his girlfriend Diane joins us: a music professor at Marian specializing in jazz history.

Jazz?  Not Gregorian chants?  

We go to a place called the Backstage Bar and Grille to drink beer (soda for me and Bob) and listen to live music, more pop than jazz.  Loud!

Then we go back to Diane and Tark's house to drink more beer, listen to more music -- loud! -- and play with their dogs and cat,.  Finally it's time for bed: they put us up in an upstairs bedroom with race car posters and stuffed animals.

Bob and I strip down.  "They seem nice," I say.

"Yeah.  He's changed.  A little fatter, but still like a big brother.  And I like Diane...they've been together two years, but I never met her."

We start kissing and fondling.  Bob pushes me down onto the bed.

I look up to see Tark.  Grinning, naked.

He motions me to keep silent.  Bob is kissing my chest.  Suddenly Tark grabs him from behind.

"Nude wrestling!" he yells, dragging a giggling Bob to the floor.  "Rowdy Roddy Piper versus the Dynamic Dork!"

No, we didn't have sex.  But I did get a sausage sighting of his beer-can penis.

Yes, that makes up for the absence of quiet contemplation in Fond du Lac.

Monday, July 17, 2017

The Most Disgusting Hookup of All Time

Rock Island, July 2017

When I go home to Rock Island, I usually do quite well with hookups.  Being the new guy in town, I get approached a lot, I have the "I grew up here!" conversation starter, and in the absence of gay bars there's a lot of old-fashioned cruising going on.  But earlier this week, when we stopped in Rock Island on the way to New York, I had the MOST DISGUSTING HOOKUP OF ALL TIME.

I blame Bob, the 19 year old economics major I met at the dentist's office a few weeks ago. He was with only one guy before me, but quickly warmed up to the idea of sharing and hooking up.

He had never heard of gay dating apps, and was eager to try out Grindr, so I promised that on our night in Rock Island, he could arrange some hookups for us.

We got to our hotel about 6:00 and had dinner with my brother at Harris Pizza.   I couldn't resist posting a picture of the pizza (the highlight of the evening).

Then I went to the gym while Bob got to work on Grindr, with the profile name "visiting" and nude pictures of us  both to share.  When I returned, he had the hookups arranged.

"I invited two, in case one doesn't show up, like you taught me," he said. "One for you, a teenager."

I'm actually more attracted to guys in their 30s.  I just go with the twinks and Cute Young Things because they approach me all the time, and there aren't a lot of "regular aged" guys on the Plains.   But I wasn't going to tell that to Bob the 19-year old, especially when he was so proud of himself.

"And one for me," he added.  "Old, muscular, hairy chest, big cock."

Sounded like Bob's would be more my style.

Little did I know.

9:00: Chris the Teenager

Chris the Teenager (yes, we carded him) arrived ten minutes late.

Bob got a few of my tastes wrong:

I like them short.  He was very tall, like 6'5".

I like them muscular or husky, not chubby.  Chris had a ton of soft belly fat, and those big womanly breasts that I find a turn-off.

I like them well-hung.  He had maybe 4.5".

But I shouldn't complain -- Bob did his best.

Chris wasn't bad at kissing, and he let me go down on him while he was going down on Bob.  But then he lay on the bed with his butt in the air, whispering "Do me, Daddy."

No way.

"Let me try!" Bob.  "I've never topped anyone before."

Bob has an uncut Bratwurst, about 7", which should be big enough to pass through the fat of Chris's butt cheeks.  But he couldn't find the hole!  Finally he rubbed off against Chris, a sort of reverse interfemoral, while Chris was going down on me.

Then Chris said he had to go home, since his parents didn't realize that he had borrowed their car.

Not a very satisfying hookup, but I told myself, "Wait for Bob's guy.  In his 40s, muscular, big cock.  A bodybuilding bear!"

10:00 Sid the Illustrated Man

The guy who showed up was in his 60s, with a long, ugly face and an obvious toupee.  He introduced himself and immediately lay down next to Bob, who was still naked, ran his finger over his cock, and put it in his mouth!


"I think it's lube," Bob said.  "I tried anal on a guy before."

"Well, it's still delicious!"

Ok, major turn-off.  No way I was kissing this guy now!

But he was Bob's hookup, so I had to be polite. I helped him undress.

Very thin, smooth, hairless body covered with tattoos, including spiderwebs, Madonnas, a dagger, a gay pride flag, a skull -- I lost count.  Disgusting.

But a cock is a cock.

I started going down on his 6" cut cock, while he lay there, squeezing his nipples, his tongue out like a puppy dog.  Disgusting.

When I moved away to let Bob have a turn, Sid ran his finger over the prelube on his own cock and ate it!

Beyond disgusting -- nauseating!

Bob fondled his butt.  Was he thinking of doing anal again?

 I slapped Sid's butt, and he moaned "That feels good!"

Soon Bob and I were slapping him on the legs, arms, abs, chest, and cock, everywhere but his balls (which he said were sensitive), while he beat off, moaning and squeezing his own nipple and sticking his tongue out like a puppy dog.

Soon he spurted -- and, of course, ate it!

We got him dressed and out of there fast.

I needed a shower.  I have never been so disgusted by a hookup in my life.

Bob didn't like him either: "That guy was way too kinky!"

But this morning he asked if he could spank me.

See also: What Not to Say During Sex; A Hookup with Brothers at the Dentist's Office

Sunday, July 16, 2017

Alan's Friend Has Sex on the Beach with Tom Selleck

You have celebrity hookup stories about Brad Pitt, Leonardo DiCaprio, Mark-Paul Goesselaer, Tony Curtis, even Groucho Marx.  Why not one about Tom Selleck, one of the beefcake icons of the 1980s?

He certainly seems like a good possibility. Born in 1945 in Detroit, Selleck began his career as a model, and moved into acting while attending the University of Southern California.  He wandered around the studios for several years, doing guest spots as pretty boys and hunks -- you can see him nude in Coma (1980).

 His big break came when he passed up the role of Indiana Jones for Magnum, P.I. (1980-1988), about a sardonic private detective.  Magnum lives in Hawaii on his rich friend's estate (in his absence), and has carte blanche to use all of his fancy toys (apparently they are very close).

Magnum has a couple of scoobies (Roger E. Mosley, Larry Manetti), and butts heads with the officious, gay-coded but heterosexual Higgins (John Hillerman), who comes with the estate.

I never saw it, but I heard a lot about Tom Selleck.  His feminine mannerisms, short-short pants, hairy chest, and Castro Clone moustache set off everyone's gaydar, making everyone believe that he was "one of us."

In spite of his two marriages (to Jacqueline Ray from 1971 to 1982, and to Jillie Mack from 1987 to the present).

In spite of (or maybe because of) his 1991 lawsuit against a tabloid for printing a story alleging that he was gay.  He wanted damages of $20 million -- that's either extreme homophobia, or an extreme attempt to stay in the closet.

In spite of his interview in The Advocate in 1997, in which he protests that he is straight, and yells that "It's not anti-gay to say that you aren't gay."

Um..gee, Tom, when you say it so vociferously, and so expensively, it kind of is.

I heard a lot of Tom Selleck hookup stories in the 1980s.

Here's an example, from Sam, one of Alan's friends.

Two summers ago (1985), just after Gay Pride, I was in Hawaii on vacation with my ex, and of course we had to go cruising on the gay beach, hoping for some surfer hunks.  Instead we saw Tom Selleck, Mr. Magnum P.I. himself, coming out of the surf.  We cruised him; he cruised back.  He walked toward a secluded spot in the rocks.  We followed.  When we got there, he had his trucks off -- he was already aroused, and working on it.  Gigantic 9", thick around like a beer can.  

Well, I dropped to my knees and started working on it, while my ex fondled Tom's butt.  He bent over, so I had Tom's hairy, moist chest over me, his shaved crotch in my face.  My ex pulled a condom from his fanny pack -- one of the pre-lubed kind -- rolled it over his 8", and pushed it into Tom.  He grimaced a little but didn't say anything.  As my ex slid in and out, Tom spurted down my throat.  I stood up and tried to get him to go down on me, but he refused. 

After my ex finished, he wiped off on Tom's butt and put his shorts back on.  We tried to kiss Tom, but he refused.  He just said "Thanks" and ran off into the surf.

There are four problems with this anecdote, and others like it:

1. No detail.  It's sex only.  There's no romance or excitement, nothing to make it interesting, to turn an incident into a story.

2. It can't be verified.  There's a year, but no other details.  Alan's friend didn't say which beach it was, what it looked like, what day of the week, no way to determine if the incident actually happened or was a fantasy.

3. The 9-inch penis.  As many short-short photos can attest, Tom is not well hung.

4. The subject can't be reliably identified.  The guy never said or did anything that implied that he was Tom Selleck, and half the guys in gay neighborhoods in the 1980s had a hairy chest and a Castro Clone moustache. Is this Tom Selleck, Gregory Harrison, or gay porn star Al Parker?

Most likely Alan's friend had sex on the beach with an anonymous guy, and since it was Hawaii, extrapolated the rest.  Most likely Tom Selleck is...gulp...hetero.

But then, why would a hetero sport the stereotypic Castro clone look for so many years, if he didn't expect people to mistake him for gay...a lot?

See also: Detective Adventurers of the 1980s

Saturday, July 15, 2017

A Gay Connection at a Gas Station in Rural Illinois

Rural Illinois, July 2017

On our way back from New York, we stop at a travel plaza: a Sinclair station with a giant dinosaur outside.  I haven't seen one since I was a kid.  It gives me a weird feeling of going into the past, being dislocated in time.

Something important is about to happen.

While Bob is getting gas, I head toward the convenience store.   A family is just leaving, walking toward the Subway sandwich place next door.

Mom wears a veil, like the Blessed Virgin in art.  I briefly wonder if the family is Amish. Are there Amish people around here?

The teenage son smiles and says "Hi."

I'm so surprised that I stop and stare without responding.

He is wearing an orange t-shirt with a sports team on it and short black pants with a bit of a bulge.  He's tall, a little chubby, deeply tanned,with short black hair, dark eyebrows, flawless smooth skin, and square workman's hands.  He's holding a cell phone.

 The store is huge, selling food, souvenirs, DVDs, auto supplies, even coats and jackets.  There's a fountain in the middle.

I pace around, pretending to look at the merchandise.  The clerk eyes me suspiciously.  I pick up a banana to buy so he won't think I'm shoplifting.  My mind is racing.

I should have said "hi" to that boy.

What for? You're cruised by a hundred twinks a day.  You should know the difference between a cruise and being friendly.  That was just being friendly.

Friendly, at a gas station in rural Illinois?

He's not even hot.  Kind of cute, but not beautiful, certainly not the "supreme beauty" that you remember forever.  And no athlete...he had a little belly on him!

This is close to where Ryan H., the college track star, lives.  Maybe he knows him.  That could be my in.

Who says he lives near here?  He could be from anywhere.

Yes, but....

What were you planning to do?  Pick him up in front of his parents? Go down on him in the bathroom?   Mutual jo in your car, while Bob watches?

No, but...

Get his phone number, exchange selfies for six months, and then drive 500 miles back here for a date with him?

No, was rude to just stand there.  

It's a gas station in Illinois!  He'll get over it!

I want him to know that he has a kindred spirit, that he's not alone.

Not alone in what?  He's probably straight!  And if he does happen to be gay, how would he know that you are?  He probably thinks that you're Bob's father.  If he's given you a second thought, which no doubt he hasn't.

I should have said hello.

Bob has finished getting gas and parked the car.  He goes into the convenience store to use the restroom and buy some snacks.  I walk around to the Subway and look in the window.

Feeling very much like a perv, I watch the family ordering.  The teenage son splits from the group to look at the rack of chips, trying to decide on one.

I walk into the Subway and head toward him, planning to pretend to browse among the chips and fruit and strike up a conversation.  But as I approach, he decides on Cool Ranch Doritos and turns back toward his family.

As we pass each other, he smiles and says "Hi."

I smile back and say "Hi."

I look at the chips for a moment, take one last look at the boy, and leave the Subway.  Bob meets me.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"No.  I'm satisfied."

Who cares that we never dated, or hooked up, that we never really even met?  We shared a moment of joy.

Bob and I return to the car and drive off into rural Illinois.

I've had dates and hookups with men of all types, from bodybuilders to chubs, from teenagers to grandpas.  I've gone down on dozens of men.  I've had dozens of men go down on me.

 But an experience that I will cherish for the rest of my life is saying "Hi" to a cute guy at a gas station in rural Illinois.

See also: A Glimpse of Supreme Beauty at a Rest Stop in Iowa; Picking Up a College Track Star in Front of My Brother.

Friday, July 14, 2017

13 Guys in One Night at Bath House in Cleveland

Cleveland, July 2017

On the way back from New York earlier this week, we stopped in Cleveland.  I wanted to go to the Flex Club, a great gay resort/bath house.  Bob didn't want to go, but he said it was ok if I went by myself.

It's hit and miss.  Sometimes I can wander around the video room, the dark room, the leather room, and the saunas for two hours and get completely ignored by everybody and everything.  Sometimes I'm very popular.

I think of a night at the Flex Club as a success if I meet five guys in two hours.  But the other night, I was with 13!

1. Within a minute of going upstairs to the video room,  I was kissing a red-haired twink with a scrawny body but an enormous Mortadella.

2.That wasn't unusual: I tend to attract twinks.  So I still didn't know if this was going to be a good or bad evening.

A few minutes later, in the dark room, I saw a very handsome, hairy-chested guy in his 30s with someone else, so I joined in.  The second guy left, leaving me with Hairy Chest.  When I got on my knees, I saw that he was wearing lady's panties.  Weird, but a cock is a cock.  About 6".

3-5.  I sat on a bunk in the dark room, and an older black guy approached.  Big cock, one of those giant hernias.  He brought his two friends and "ordered" them to pull it out and let me go down on them.  Nice physiques, big cocks.

6.  A young bear lying on a bunk wanted to kiss and do interfemoral.

7. His friend, a chub in his 40s, joined us.  He went down on me.

8.  I started talking to an older guy in the leather room, and told him I was going to the dark room.  He followed me, but on the way I passed the room of someone I liked better: in his 30s, glasses, smooth chest, enormous penis.  He turned out to be a biology teacher.

More after the break

Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Nude Photos of Dads and their Adult Sons

The two best accessories for attracting men are puppies and kids.  There's something undeniably sexy about a guy being a father to his son.  He is participating in the innocent world of childhood, yet he's obviously been sexually active, he obviously has a penis.  Maybe it's the juxtaposition of innocence and experience, the domestic and the erotic.

When the kids have grown up into attractive adults, the sexiness is compounded.  Two guys overbrimming with erotic energy, yet with a nurturing, domestic bond.  And if you get some sausage sightings, you can see if the son inherited his father's penis.

Not too many fathers and adult sons would be willing to see each other nude in the United States, where we have a Puritan hangup about nudity.  But in Europe it's commonplace for fathers and sons to strip down together, go to saunas or the beach together, drink beer togther.

I've never had any erotic interest in my own father.  The familial bond precludes erotic desire.  But I fantasized about my friends' dads when I was in junior high and high school.  A lot.

More after the break.

Tuesday, July 11, 2017

I Pick Up a Boy and His Daddy at an Airport in Montana

Helena, Montana, April 2013

In the spring of 2013, desperate to get out of Philadelphia, I sent out a lot of application portfolios, but being obviously over 40, with 13 years of temporary "visiting faculty" jobs, plus a resume-full of gay-themed research, made me less than desirable as a candidate.  I only got three interviews: a women's college somewhere in eastern Pennsylvania, a Catholic college in Montana, and a public university on the Plains (I took the Plains).

My flight to Helena, Montana gave me a 2-hour layover in Denver.

I don't mind layovers.  The Denver Airport has an artwalk with some of the most interesting public art in the U.S., plus a nice view of the mountains and a nice breakfast place.

Plus airports are great for physique watching: an endless variety of businessmen in suits, college boys in t-shirts and short pants, hot dads balancing their toddlers on their knees.

Helena Airport, on the other hand, is tiny, with a single lobby and a single restaurant, Captain Jack's Bistro and Bar.  Pictures of cowboys, pillars that look like trees.

After my interview, they took me to the airport at 3:00 pm for my 5:00 flight, even though I had my boarding pass and was through security in about 30 seconds.  Nothing to do but get on my laptop and look out at the dark clouds rumbling overhead and wonder if I was going to make it to Philadelphia.

Not a lot of beefcake to watch: a couple of high school athletes, a middle-aged cowboy with a nice basket.  Otherwise all women, kids, or elderly people.

And a twink: tall, slim, with weird wavy hair, a bearded oval face, prominent eyebrows, and those big round earrings, wearing a white button-down shirt and red jeans with a nice bulge.  Rather feminine, flaunting about with his carry-on.  I noticed that it had a rainbow flag on it.

My first gay guy in Montana, and he's not closeted!  Too bad that he's not my type.

Even though there were lots of empty seats, he plopped down next to me.

"Going to Denver?  Yeah, I guess we're all going to Denver.  I'm off to visit my sister in Tucson -- she just had a baby.  I haven't seen her in almost a year.  My name is Jacob."

"Congratulations," I said.   "My name is Boomer."

He grabbed my arm.  "Oh, I bet there's a story behind that."

"Three of them, in fact."  I don't usually make conversation in airports -- there's little point -- you'll both be flying off in different directions in a few minutes.  But -- the only gay person in Helena, Montana!   "I'm going home to Philadelphia.  I was here for a job interview."

"Oh,  Boomer, I hope you get the job.  I'd love to show you the sights!  Did you get a chance to see Cruse Avenue?"

"Cruise Avenue?  Is that the gay neighborhood?"

"No, silly!"  He slapped my shoulder.  "It's a great street that overlooks downtown and the mountains, so you can get a birds' eye view of everything! Oh, and I'd take you to the Holter Museum, and the 4J's -- that's our best casino, not like Las Vegas, but it's fun!  And if you like dancing, they have country-western line dancing at the Rialto."

"Boys dancing together?"

"Sure, whatever you want.  We're open minded in the Big Sky Country."

Did this guy work for the Tourist Bureau?  "I'm really more into classical music."

He grabbed my arm again.  "Babe, you're in luck.  My Daddy is one of the performers at the Montana Early Music Festival. That's why he's not going to Tucson with me --they're performing at St. Peter's tonight.  That's the Episcopal Cathedral downtown."

Daddy?  My ears perked up.  Adults did not refer to their parents as "Daddy," so Jacob was outing himself as the bottom in a fetish relationship that was about control rather than BDSM.  "So, how long have you and your...daddy been together?"

"About three years. I don't call him Daddy all the time, of course.  I call him Mike on campus and to his ex-wife.  She's not very accepting -- she thinks we're just roommates.  But most people in Helena couldn't care less.  It's live and let live up here."  Suddenly there was a rumble of thunder, and it started to pour outside.  The clouds were so dark they were almost black.

Jacob reached out and stroked my knee -- very open for an airport!  And how did he even know I was gay?   "It looks like we might be going to that concert after all."

About fifteen minutes later, our flight was indeed cancelled, so I was stuck in Helena overnight.  I could call the college and have them get me a hotel room, but whenever I've done that, I haven't gotten the job.  Besides, Jacob was already calling his Daddy to arrange for me to spend the night.

I wondered what Daddy looked like: older, of course, and an anal top, but...a stern leather master?  A cigar-chomping bear?  A hard-drinking, tattoo-covered redneck?

Well, it wouldn't hurt to meet him, anyway.

I got Jacob's full name and number, and emailed them to Troy in New York -- just a precaution -- then followed him to his car, clinging against him under his umbrella.

We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant -- he grabbed my knee under the table while I ate my arroz con pollo with guacamole, and briefly held my hand.

 Then we went to the Rialto, the country-western gay bar.  Deserted at 6:00 pm on a rainy Thursday night -- but we managed to find a secluded corner for kissing.

"I'm going to be servicing two Daddies tonight," Jacob murmured, running his  hand over my chest.  "One for each end.  Oh, I can't wait.  I hope you're as hung as my Daddy is."

"How hung is he?" I asked.

"Well, let's just say we grow them big in Montana!

We got to the concert just as it was starting. Jacob ushered me into one of the first rows and pointed to the choir.  "That's Mike," he whispered.  "Isn't he hot?"

"He sure is!" I said, although I didn't know exactly which of the elderly, portly singers he was referring to.

I'm not a big fan of Renaissance music, but the concert was interesting, mostly through the incongruity of hearing it in Montana, looking at a row of middle-aged bears and wondering which was the "daddy" of the twink beside me.  The husky, white haired baritone?  The chubby tenor?  The elderly, eye-glassed bass?

Afterwards Jacob led m up to the stage, past all of the middle-aged bears, to....another twink?

Mike was a professor of music at the college, slim, eyeglassed, blue-eyed...and in his mid-30s.  No more than five years older than Jacob!

This Daddy-Boy relationship was obviously not based on age.  Was it based on penis size?

Back at their house on the oddly-named Flowerree Street, Mike revealed a slim, firm, hairy chest and an uncut, average sized penis.  He was mostly an anal top, but agreed to let me go down on him.

Then Jacob went down on me while Mike topped him.

In the morning we went back to the airport for our flight to Denver.  They gave me their phone number, and said if I got the job, we would get together.

I didn't get the Montana job, but the Plains is only 900 miles away.  I might drop in sometime

By the way, Jacob, the bottom. had a Mortadella+. Go figure.

And I still don't understand how he knew I was gay.

See also: 36 Hours of Cruising at Lambeth International Airport.