Why Infinite Chazz Broke Up with the Ginger Boy

West Hollywood, June 1994

We gave Chazz the nickname Infinite because he was infinitely hung, with at least a Mortadella, and because he was infinitely attractive.  Every guy in sight cruised him.  He would go out to the bars and come back with six telephone numbers.

We met when I was working at a camp for juvenile delinquents, but we didn't become friends until February 1994, when he was 20 years old, taking classes at Cal State Fullerton and working at Disneyland.

For the next two months, he drove up to West Hollywood nearly every Friday or Saturday, whichever day he had off, to go to dinners, parties, and Shabbat services.

He was a big hit at parties, where he usually won the "biggest penis" or "most easily aroused" contests.

He always shared our bed, unless he was out on a date.

In April 1994, a week or two after Passover, Infinite Chazz started dating Kris, a 19-year old aspiring actor, fresh out of high school in New Jersey.

"He's super-hot, and super-talented," Chazz gushed on the telephone. "He's only been in town six months, but he's already been in some movies and tv shows."

"So, you've been on three or four dates," I pointed out.  "When do we get to meet him?" It was customary to introduce the prospective boyfriend to the friends on the second date, to get their approval.  Barring that, the fourth or fifth date -- to share.

So the next weekend they had us over for dinner at Kris's terrible one-bedroom apartment on DeLongpre, just south of Sunset in Hollywood.

Kris was a ginger boy with a bright open face and a wide mouth.  Good for kissing, able to accommodate the biggest of Kovbasas.

But Chazz didn't invited us to share!

Too soon?

During the month of May, I saw Chazz and Kris often.

They came to Shabbat services at Beth Chaim Chadashim, followed by dinner at the French Quarter.

No sharing afterwards.

I had lunch alone with Kris while Chazz was at work.

No sharing afterwards.

They came to our friend Jason's party in mid May.  Kris won the "biggest penis" contest, beating out Infinite Chazz by a full inch when they were both aroused.  As his prize, he could invite anyone he wanted into the bedroom for 10 minutes.

He chose Chazz.

Still no sharing!



This was becoming awkward!  It was ok to wait a couple of weeks, but it had been over a month!  Not offering to share was unforgivably rude, like saying "You're not good enough for us!"

"Maybe Kris is HIV positive," Lane suggested, "And doesn't want to spread the virus around."

"Then he should say something!" I complained.  "And besides, we'd be having safe sex."

"Well, maybe they're monogamous."

"No sex outside the relationship?  The old heterosexual 'wife as property' model?"

"It's not very common, but it happens," Lane said.

"Ok, but they still should say something, apologize and explain, not give us the air!  It's just rude.  I'm about done with Chazz!"

"Maybe it's not Chazz's fault.  Maybe it's Kris.  He's newly out, after all, and he hasn't lived in West Hollywood long.  He doesn't know the rules.  Weren't you the same way, when you first moved here?"

So I gave Chazz another chance.  On Memorial Day weekend, we invited them to a barbecue, and hinted strongly that we should spend the night together.  But...nothing happened.

Kris was starring in a low-budget car-chase film called Smoke and Lightnin, and in June he invited me to a cast picnic as his "date."  A boring, heterosexist, outdoor affair, the monotony broken only by a nice sausage sighting of Christopher Atkins.

And by Kris saying: "Let's find a secluded spot and make out."

This is it!  I thought.  After two months, it is finally time to share!  

We didn't find a secluded spot during the picnic -- Christopher butted in -- but afterwards we went to the Rage, the twink bar, where we would be meeting Chazz after work (they didn't checked ids, if you were  cute).  We found a dark corner and kissed and groped.

But when Infinite Chazz arrived, we hung out for a bit, then had dinner at the Greenery and browsed at the Different Light, and went home.

No sharing!

A few days later, Lane and I left for Spain.  When we returned, I called to invite Infinite Chazz and Kris to lunch.

"Kris is still on location in Florida," Chazz explained.  "And anyway, we're not boyfriends anymore, so you'll have to invite him separately."

"You broke up? Why?"

"The oldest story in the book, Dad: I found out he was unfaithful.  Someone caught him in the act, and told me, but he didn't deny it."

"Sex with other guys!" I exclaimed, pretending to be horrified.  So they were monogamous after all!

"Oh, no, sex would be ok.  We had an open relationship, like you and Lane.  But I had a basic rule: no romance. No falling in love."

"And..?"

"He and this other guy were kissing!" I imagined Chazz's face contorted with disgust.  "Can you believe it?"

Suddenly I realized that I had gone down on Chazz a dozen times, but never kissed him.  It was the most intimate of activities in the gay world, far more intimate than oral or anal, often reserved for one's boyfriend.

So...that day at the Rage, Kris and I jumped past the "play" of simple erotic contact to romance...

"I don't know who the other guy was," Chazz said softly.  "My friend didn't recognize him, and Kris wouldn't say.  But if I ever find out..."

Gulp!

"So I have a question," I said.  "You were dating for two months.  Why didn't you ever invite us to share?"

"Why, were you into it?  You're always talking about how much you like black guys, Asians, Hispanics, swarthy Mediterranean types like Lane.  I didn't think you liked redheads.  I didn't want to put you on the spot."

See also: A Sausage Sighting of Christopher Atkins