Tuesday, July 4, 2017

I Hooked Up with a 48-Year Old! At the Gym! On the Plains!


Plains, July 2017

Four things you need to know to understand how amazing that is:

1. Plains is crowded with twinks and Cute Young Things.  They're everywhere, in the campus gym, at the gay-friendly coffee house, on the street.  You go on Grindr for 10 minutes, and 10 guys who just turned 18 (they claim) are sending you selfies of their aroused penises taken in the bathroom while Mom and Dad are at work.

2. But hardly any gay men over 30.  Every twink and Cute Young Thing, without exception, plans to move to West Hollywood, Chicago, Denver, or Minneapolis.  I can't blame them -- I would too, if it was financially possible.   And very few adult gay men move here for jobs -- if you had a choice of the Plains or a big city, or even a middle-sized city, which would you choose?

As a result, the number of gay men over 30 in town is infinitesimal.  I know two, and they are planning to move to Phoenix.

3. As you get older, the guys who cruise you get younger.

It's a weird inverse relationship:

In your 20s, you get cruised, approached, and asked out mostly by guys 10-20 years older.

In your 30s, mostly guys your age, or a few years older or younger..

In your 40s, it's mostly Twinks, under thirty but grown up, living on their own, with jobs and cars.

In your 50s, it's mostly Cute Young Things, in their late teens or early twenties,  living in college dorms or with their parents


I don't want to know what happens in your 60s.



It makes some kind of sense.  Younger guys typically have the good looks, the muscles, and the sexual stamina, and older guys tend to have the sophisticated style, the money, and the sexual experience.  As one diminishes, the other increases, and you want a good counterpart.

So I'm 56 years old.  Every 18-year old in town is lining up to get into my bed, but on the rare occasions that I meet a guy over 30, he's not interested.

Except for "married (to women)," "discrete," closet cases who don't know anything about the rules of gay culture and will go with any willing mouth.

I can't even remember the last time I was with an actual gay guy over age 30 on the Plains.  Probably in 2014, when Yuri visited and I arranged some hookups for him.

4. This particular gym is low on men aged 20 to 70.  At least in the mid-afternoon, when I go.  A lot of kids (real kids, 12-13 year olds), a lot of elderly retirees, but few others.  So seeing any guy in his 40s is unusual, and meeting one who is gay and interested in going home with me is as rare as meeting a gay Jewish Bushman.

I didn't even see him working out.  It was my running day, and I got there late, when the treadmills are typically taken, so I made a beeline for the first open one I saw, and didn't get off it for 45 minutes.  Then I did some quad, thigh, bicep, and tricep sets, never going into the free weight room.

Just as I was finishing my shower, he came in and chose the shower cubicle across from me -- naked, carrying one of the small workout towels, which means that he expected towels to be provided -- a visitor.  Very tall, with a long, lean physique and a bubble butt.

I dawdled, waiting for him to turn around.  Soon he did.  Black hair, sharp features, a full beard, a very hairy chest, and an enormous penis, easily 4" soft, with low-hanging balls.  I didn't care much for the pierced nipples or the long, slender hands, but otherwise he was hot!

Our eyes met.  He didn't cruise, but he didn't look away in disgust either.

I dried off, taking my time, exaggerating the butt and cock.  He turned off the water.

"The workout towels are surprisingly absorbent," I said.  "I've used them sometimes when I forget to bring my own."

Not the best pickup line, but  a. it marked me as a regular; and b. it broke the ice.

While he was toweling off, I further established that I was an expert on Plains (thus opening the way for questions, like "is there a gay bar in town?").

We walked out into the locker room together.  He was in the same locker bank as me.  Chatting, I learned that his name was Taylor; he was from Minneapolis (figures), he worked as a dean of students at a university (not the University of Minnesota), and he was in town visiting for Independence Day.

Suddenly a twink in a sweaty blue t-shirt appeared and grabbed his shoulder.  "You finished already?  And I thought I was the gym rat."

In his early 20s, my height, very muscular, with broad shoulders and thick veiny biceps.  Rather a long face, short brown hair, a little femme in mannerisms.

I missed him, too?  I really had to spend more time in the free weight room!

Taylor put his arm around his waist.  "This is Austin.  We're here visiting his folks."

Like virtually every twink I've ever seen since turning 40, Austin cruised me -- face, crotch, eyes -- as he reached out a sweaty hand to be shaken.  "Annual 4th of July Barbecue, then fireworks, yawn. It was that kind of dreary stuff that made me want to escape to the Cities. You're not from around here, are you?"

"No, I'm from West Hollywood," I said, outing myself once and for all.

He smiled broadly.  "Wow, impressive!  We've visited, of course, but to live there!  It would be a dream come true."

"Minneapolis is nice, too.  I was just there last weekend for Pride."

"Hurry and shower," Taylor said, a bit annoyed.  "I want to get dinner."

"In a minute, in a minute."  Austin turned to me.  "Tomorrow it's all nuclear family boredom from dawn to dusk, but tonight the Dean and I are going to howl!  You wouldn't happen to know of any our kind of bars in town?  Or dare I hope -- bathhouses."

We ended up going to dinner, then to the gay-friendly coffee house for dessert and live music, and then back to my house.

Austin and I kissed on the couch while Taylor fondled us, and then Austin went down on me while I went down on Taylor -- who turned out to have a very thick Kielbasa when aroused.

We switched position, and I went down on Austin while he was working on Taylor -- average sized, uncut.

Finally we made it up to the bedroom, where Taylor topped Austin bareback while I continued to go down on him.  It took him only a few moments to spurt down my throat ("Go deep!  Go deep!" he murmured.  I didn't know which of us he was talking to).

Taylor pulled out of Austin's butt just before he finished.  Then I lay atop Austin to finish with interfemoral, my penis between his legs.

Afterwards they got dressed and left -- "The family will be suspicious if we stay out all night" -- but not before Austin gave me his Facebook, twitter, snapchat and instagram addresses and said "Text me if you ever get back to the Cities."

Ok, in retrospect, Austin was the one actually interested in me; the boyfriend just came along to be polite.  I'm surprised he didn't sit on a chair and watch tv while we went at it.

But that's a matter of semantics.  No one can deny that I hooked up with a 48-year old.  At the gym.  On the Plains.

See also: I Arrange for Some Muscle-Daddy Hookups for Yuri.

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