Saturday, January 14, 2017

A Public Encounter on an Elevator

Photo: Michael Stokes Photography
Montreal, August ____.

Tommy was 22 years old, tall and very slim with short black hair, a smooth chest, nicely developed legs, and a rather small penis.  He was a political science major at Ohio State University, on the debate team and the swim team, visiting Montreal for the International Political Science Association conference..

This was his first professional conference, his first time in Canada, and his first time staying in a gleaming multi-story hotel!

Tommy was gay but not out.  He had never been in a gay bar or bathhouse.  He had only been with a few guys.  But he fantasized -- a lot.  

He liked older guys, in their 40s and 50s.  Uniforms of all sorts: cops, firemen, priests.  Businesmen.  Professors.  Politicians.  And especially bodybuilders.  Maybe not scary-massive, like Arnold Schwarzenegger, but big enough to be impressively masculine, to take charge.

He had never told anyone, but his favorite fantasy for alleviating morning wood involved going down on his middle-aged but still muscular political science professor in his office, with people walking by in the hallway a few feet away.

That afternoon Tommy was on his way to the lobby to go to a session on "Race, Ethnicity, and the Politics of Coalition Building."  Wearing a suit, because he mistakenly believed that everyone would be wearing suits, and he brought no other clothes.

12th Floor:  Tommy got on and pushed "Mezzanine."

5th Floor, the floor with the health club and pool: the elevator doors opened, and his Fantasy Guy got in!

Tommy froze in place, staring open-jawed.  It was like a dream!

In his 40s or 50s, tall, broad-shoulder, thick hard biceps, He was wearing a blue t-shirt, damp with sweat, that displayed his massive hairy chest.  His blue athletic shorts displayed a visible bulge.

Fantasy Guy smiled as he brushed past Tommy to push the button for the 20th floor.

"Oh, we're going down," Tommy said.

"Darn.  I was going up, back to my room."  Very sexy deep voice.  "I can't very well go to the bars looking like this."

He must be gay!  And so open, out to a complete stranger!  

"Certainly not,"  Tommy said.  "You have to shower"

Their eyes locked.

Start a conversation!  "Are you here for the political science conference?"

"Just a vacation," Fantasy Guy said.  "First time in Montreal?"

Before Tommy could answer, the elevator stopped.

3rd floor: A crowd got in.  Tommy and Fantasy Guy were pushed together, chest to chest.

"Sorry," Tommy said.  His hand accidentally brushed Fantasy Guy's crotch.

"Oh, no problem.  I don't mind close quarters at all.  His hand was on the bar at the back of the elevator, against Tommy's back.  

Mezzanine.  Tommy's floor!  Most of the people got off.  Tommy stayed.

Lobby.  The rest got off.  No one got on.  Fantasy Guy watched quizzically as the elevator doors closed.
"Weren't you going down?"

Tommy hit the button for the 12th floor.  " forgot my wallet."

Fantasy Guy pushed the button for the 20th floor.    

They were now alone in the elevator, but they didn't move to separate sides.  Fantasy Guy pushed Tommy's hand onto his crotch.  A beautiful uncut Mortadella+ sprang up through his gym trunks.  Instinctively Tommy dropped to his knees and went down on it.

15th floor:  The elevator stopped, and the doors opened.  Fortunately, no one was waiting.  Fantasy Guy pulled Tommy to his feet.  They kissed.

20th floor.  Wordlessly they walked down the hall to Fantasy Guy's room.

They fell onto the bed, and Tommy pulled up Fantasy Guy's  shirt to kiss and lick his chest.  He moved down to his firm belly, to his huge bull-balls, and finally returned to the Mortadella+. Meanwhile the muscle bear's massive hand was fondling Tommy.

Fantasy Guy quickly undressed Tommy and went down on him.  It was a little embarrassing to have such a super-hung muscle guy pay attention to his rather small, cut penis -- but also incredibly erotic.  He would have finished in a few moments, but Fantasy Guy had more in mind.

He pushed Tommy down onto his back and entered between his legs.  Chest to chest, crotch to crotch, the Mortadella pushing masterfully against his balls.  Tommy had a thunderous orgasm.  He barely noticed when Fantasy Guy spurted against his crotch and then collapsed onto him.  They lay in bed, kissing and talking, for a long time.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" Tommy asked.

"Sadly, no.  I've got an early flight.  But let's exchange numbers -- there will be lots more vacations."

Tommy kept the number, but he didn't call.  He didn't really want to.  He wanted this memory to be perfect.

Now you have to guess who the Fantasy Guy was.
A. Boomer
B. Alan
C. David
D. Yuri

Some hints:
a. I'm a college professor.
b. Alan was an uninhibited former porn star.  He loved Montreal, and visited as often as he could.
c. David likes hooking up in public places.
d. I lived in Ohio for three years.
e. Yuri and I lived in New York, a short drive from Montreal.
f. We're both uncut.

Answer after the break.

Friday, January 13, 2017

The Music Major's Top Turn On

Plains, January 2017

First day of the semester.  A day of anticipation and dread.  Will my new classes be a pleasure or a pain? Which students will be eager to participate?  Which will be taciturn?

But today I'm feeling a little off:  I got no sleep last night, and somehow I pulled a muscle doing bicep curls, of all things.

Plus I'm teaching an overload this semester, so it's class nonstop all morning, with no breaks.  I have to dash out to get lunch and eat it in my office during my office hours.

It's exactly noon, and very crowded at the Student Union Food Court.  I get into the line at the Grille for my regular lunch of chicken, vegetables, and a fountain drink.

The line moves sideways, cafeteria-style.  The guy next to me turns and smiles.

"It's my first time here.  Is it any good?"

He's a student, taller than me and rather stocky, wearing a brown sweater and jeans, but no coat.  Reddish-brown hair, short reddish-brown beard, blue eyes.  Reminds me of Alan the Pentecostal Porn Star, my friend in West Hollywood..

"Sure.  I eat here almost every day.  The grilled chicken and brown rice is pretty healthy."

"I'm Wagner[not his real name].  I just started in the graduate school."

This is weird.  You don't speak in line except to complain about the weather, and you certainly don't introduce yourself to someone you'll be standing next to for only about 30 seconds.   You stare at the food, or look at your cell phone.

He's from Bemidji, Minnesota, studying for Master of Music degree, concentration in music theory.

That's why he isn't wearing a coat -- the Performing Arts Building links directly to the Student Union.

He gets my name, my department, where I'm from (I say California), and where there's a good coffee house in town.  Curt, one-word answers.

I'm turned off by his over-friendliness.  Is it that weird "Minnesota nice"?

Wagner's order arrives.  He pays as I give my order.  I expect him to vanish, but he waits for me to finish, and then asks "Where are you sitting?"

Walking away, I tell him.  "I have to get back.  Office hours."

"Ok...nice chatting," I hear in the distance.

I'm starting to feel guilty.  The poor guy probably doesn't know anyone, he's in an unfamiliar city far from home on the coldest day of the year,  he reaches out, and gets Attitude.  I should have been nicer.

It wouldn't hurt to have lunch with him....

I turn and go back to the cafeteria.  There are rows of tables in the front, and some booths in the back.  Wagner is sitting at one of the booths, with three other guys....

He looks up quizzically.  I wave and go through the side door.

Ok, not lonely.  Was he cruising me?

I get cruised by twinks all the time -- I was cruised in a crazy retro restaurant in Indianapolis a couple of weeks ago, and ended up with a New Year's Eve date --  but usually it's the soft, cuddly, passive types.  Wagner is a bit older, stockier, bearded, aggressive.

Besides, I can't attract men with face alone, at least not recently.  My physique draws the attention, and today I'm wearing a bulky coat that hides everything.

I return to my office. Office hours, class, gym (lots of shirtless guys playing basketball!), snack, class.

At 8:00 pm I'm finally ready to go home, have dinner, watch Netflix, and fall asleep.  The route that involves the least amount of time outside in the cold goes through the Student Union and Performing Arts to the north parking lot.

Besides, you can usually find some cute theater majors hanging around in the Performing Arts lounge.

And music majors?

I go into the lounge, pretending that I want to buy a soda from the machine.  Sure enough, there's Wagner, sitting by himself, working on a laptop.

"Hi!" he exclaims, scooting over so I can sit next to him.  "How was your day?"

Almost exactly 24 hours later, Wagner is in my bedroom, going down on me.  He has a firm physique with big nipples and a belly, very furry -- there's even hair on his shoulders.  Nice tongue action.

When I finish, we climb into bed.  I wrap my arms around him.  He lays his head on my chest.

"You have the most spectacular chest I've ever seen," he murmurs.  "You must go to the gym every day."

"Just about."  I move to go down on his very thick beer-can of a penis.   "Question, though.  When we met, I was wearing a bulky coat, so you couldn't see my physique.  What did you find attractive?   Are you into older guys?"

"Well, yes, but that wasn't it.  I get approached by older guys all the time.  Most of them are just pathetic, so needy."

"So...just out of curiosity."

"Your voice," he says.  "Great basso profundo.  I figured you for a music professor."

That's a new one.  

"Most gay guys go to the ballet to cruise bulges," Wagner continues.  "I go to the opera to cruise voices."

 I do have a deep voice, but I can't hold a note.

Fortunately, he doesn't ask me to demonstrate.  My mouth is occupied elsewhere.

See also: Cruised by the Waiter in a Crazy Retro Restaurant; First Day of Class Beefcake and Bulges.

Gay Panic and the Obnoxious Roommate

Long Island, September 1997

When I first started out in grad school in New York,  I couldn't live in Manhattan right away: everything there was frightfully expensive, $900 to sleep on someone's couch, $1000 for a walk-in closet in someone's bedroom.  So I moved into a graduate student apartment near the campus on Long Island: four bedrooms, a bathroom, and a living room-kitchen area.

You were assigned roommates. Mine were all heterosexual: Huang, a slim Taiwanese guy who talked on the telephone loudly at 4:00 am; a beefy Turkish guy who mostly stayed in his room, and Max from Brooklyn.  Cute, rather muscular, and THE MOST OBNOXIOUS PERSON ON EARTH.

1. He played VERY LOUD rap music all day and all night. He would leave the apartment with the music still blaring from his room.

3. He smoked -- in a nonsmoking apartment -- got drunk every night, and had the annoying habit of calling everyone "Negro," when they weren't black.

For that matter, it was annoying to hear Black English coming from a white guy: a'ight, I axed her, word, I'm a bust a cap, chill out, peace out.

4. He brought girls into the apartment to spend the night, and in the morning  they walked around in bras and panties.

5.  When there were no girls, he invited eight male friends over, to smoke, drink, call each other "Negro," have LOUD discussions of the "tits" on various "honeys," and eat all of the food in the refrigerator, including my food.

6. He never cleaned anything. Imagine this place with a dozen plastic bags full of decaying leftovers, piles of dirty dishes, 23 magazines, 16 beer cans, three pizza boxes, and miscellaneous shirts, pants, and underwear.

7. Once he went home for the weekend, and forgot that there was an open can of tuna fish in his room.  We thought somebody died in there.

8.  He put a pot of water on the stove to boil and forgot about it.  Three hours later, the water had boiled away, and the pot was on fire.

9. He walked around wearing only a towel.

Well, that part was ok.

But I wanted this guy out!  I called management, but they said that being loud and messy was not grounds for re-assigning him.  Now, if he asked for a re-assignment himself....

Why would he do that?

"Well, maybe if he was uncomfortable with you.  You know, if you were a homosexual or something."

Gay panic!  The perfect roommate repellent!

I staked out the living room until Max walked past wearing only his towel, talking on his cell phone to someone: "Naw, her tits ain't nearly as big as her sister's...."

I ripped his towel off, revealing his penis -- very impressive.

He slammed his cell phone shut. "Yo, Negro, what up?" he asked in surprise.

"What up is, you're really hot," I said.

Any second now he'd run shrieking to his room, slam the door, and call management to request a new apartment.

Any second now...

He grinned.  "Thanks, man."

"Um...I like them big.  The bigger the better.  There's not a guy alive I can't handle."

"Glad you like the view."  He swung his hips a bit, then retrieved his towel.  "Any more than that, and I'd have to charge."

Time to bring out the big guns.  I lay my hand flat against his chest.  "You want know, get together sometime, like on a date?"

Asking a naked straight man for a date!  Any moment now, he'd run away screaming...

"Naw, naw, sorry, man, I ain't play like that. It's all good, though.  I got a homie that be into dudes.  Whyn'cha give him a holla, yo?"

"Um...sure, that would be great."

He wrote the number on my notebook, then turned and sauntered to his room, leaving me in a stunned silence.

Obnoxious but not homophobic.

See also: Why My Nickname is Boomer; Trapped in a Dorm with Kids

Tuesday, January 10, 2017

David's First Gay Sexual Experience, at a Gas Station in Arkansas

Of all the hundreds of coming out stories I've heard, David's is the most remarkable.  A conservative Baptist minister in small-town Arkansas, married with children, figuring it out on his 43rd birthday, with not a hint before!

Fort Smith, Arkansas

Dave was born on January 6th, 1953 (Three Kings' Day) in Memphis, Tennessee.  When he was five years old, his family moved to Fort Smith, Arkansas.  He had an idyllic childhood, swimming in Creekmore Park, buying comic books at Coleman Drugs, having sleepovers with his friends from Sunnymead Elementary School..

"Sleepovers?  Lots of opportunities for seeing guys in their underwear, cuddling with them, maybe some groping?"

"Not that I remember."

In high school he started dating girls, but prided himself on treating them "like a gentleman," rejecting even a good-night kiss.  He often double-dated with his best friend, Steve.

"I'll bet you couldn't wait to drop the girls off so you and Steve could..."

"Not that I remember."


At the University of Arkansas in Fayetteville from 1971 to 1975, Dave majored in Classical Studies and became competent in Latin, Greek, and German.  He first became aware of same-sex desire when he translated Virgil's Eclogue 2:

Corydon the Shepherd was in love with beautiful Alexis.

How could Corydon be in love with Alexis, when they were both boys?

The professor explained that the ancient Romans sometimes practiced "the unnatural vice."

"A little frisson of recognition?"  I ask. 

"Nope.  I don't remember feeling any strong emotion about it.  It was just something weird that the ancients did."

In college he kissed a girl for the first time.  It was ok, but he didn't see what all the fuss was about.

New Orleans

From 1975 to 1977, Dave studied for his M.A. in Latin at Tulane University in New Orleans.  His master's thesis was on Ovid's Metamorphoses.

"Lots of same-sex practices in there!" I exclaim.  

"Sure, I read about Zeus and Ganymede, and Hyacinth and Apollo.  But it was all way-out, exotic stuff, with no connection to my world at all.  

"Well...what about New Orleans?  The French Quarter, one of the hottest gay neighborhoods?"

Sometimes he and his friends went to the French Quarter to gawk at the  "fairies,"  They were all outrageously feminine, swishy, drag queens, with no connection to his world at all.


David thought about going on to a doctorate in Classics, but worried about the job prospects.  Instead he spent 1977-1980 at the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville, getting his M.Div. His research project was on the interpretation of the Koine Greek of the New Testament.

"What did you think about the so-called homophobic passages in Romans and Colossians?"

"I don't remember thinking anything at all," David says.  "I took all of my examples from the Gospels."

In order to get a church, you needed a wife, so Dave got engaged to Karen, a girl from a local church.  They waited until their wedding night to have sex.  It was ok, not disgusting or anything, just sort of mechanical.

"Did you fantasize about guys while having sex with your wife?" 

"To be honest, I didn't fantasize at all.  My body did all the work.  I was planning out my next sermon, or wondering what we were having for dinner tomorrow night."

Conway, Arkansas

In 1980, Dave and Karen moved to a church in Poplar Bluff, Missouri, and in 1983, to a much bigger church in Conway, Arkansas.  Karen got a job as a high school English teacher, but quit when she became pregnant.

The 1980s was a period of rampant homophobia, but Dave didn't berate gay people in any of his sermons.  In fact, he started the first AIDS buddy program in Arkansas.

The first gay man Dave met was a guy whose partner of ten years was dying of AIDS.  He couldn't figure out why God would punish them for falling in love.

"So, realizing that gay people aren't monsters -- that helped you come out?"

"No, but it put me at odds with my congregation in my fellowship.  I was criticized as too liberal, as not really a Christian.  Someone wrote 'fag lover' on my office door."


In 1990, Dave and Karen moved to a church in Fayetteville, near the University of Arkansas.  It was slightly more liberal, with many more cultural activities.  They started going to concerts and the theater, including The Nutcracker every Christmas.

Dave found himself noticing the bulges and butts of the hot ballet dancers.

"Men are beautiful!  Why didn't I ever realize that before?"

When he turned 40, worried about his health in midlife, he joined a gym, and started doing cardio and weight training.  He looked at the other guys, stripping down in the locker room....

He wanted to touch them, to kiss them, to feel their butts and cocks against him.  Sometimes he became aroused just thinking about it.

His fundamentalist roots kicked in. Could hanging around with gay men be "turning him" gay?

"You can't turn gay.  You are or you aren't."

"That's what my friend at the AIDS Foundation said.  He told me that straight guys sometimes find themselves attracted to men.  It doesn't mean anything.  It's who you love that counts."

And he loved Karen.  He liked hanging out with her, discussing old movies, playing with the kids. He didn't even mind the sex.  It was warm and comfortable, like sleeping under a quilt on a cold day.

January 6th, 1996 was Dave's 43rd birthday, a Saturday.  He and his family celebrated with brunch (his favorite meal) at the Cracker Barrel.  They gave him presents.

He spent the afternoon in his study, working on his sermon for the next day, "New Beginnings."  It was going to start with the story of Saul on the road to Damascus, who had a transforming vision of Jesus Christ and became Paul.

At 3:00 pm he drove to Planet Fitness to work out.  On the way he stopped at the Shell Station to get gas and a Gatorade.

The most beautiful guy in the world was sitting behind the counter.  In his twenties, with thick, almost shaggy black hair, a scruffy beard, deep soulful eyes, and a bewitching half-smile.  He was wearing a red t-shirt that accented his slim, tight physique.  His name tag read "Shawn."

Dave stared open-mouthed.  Shawn smiled.

"Will that be all?" he asked, pointing to Dave's Gatorade.  He didn't have a Southern accent.

"'s my birthday," he stammered.  "I'm 43."

In retrospect, not the best pick-up line.

"Well, happy birthday!  I'll have to give you a present.  What would you like?"

"I'd like to kiss you," Dave admitted.

This wasn't a gay neighborhood.  It was redneck, homophobic, Bible-belt Arkansas.  But Shawn said "Sure."  They went into the restroom and locked the door, and Shawn wrapped his arms around Dave, and they kissed.  It was a long, deep, eager kiss.  Their bodies and cocks pressed together.  Shawn lifted Dave's shirt to feel his chest, unzipped his pants to work on his very hard Kielbasa.

"What about Shawn's penis?" I ask.

"Nice.  But it was mostly about the kiss."

It took only a few minutes for Dave to spurt into Shawn's hand.  He washed off in the sink and said "Well, I better get back to work."

Dave caught his arm.  "Can I see you later?"

Shawn smiled.  "Sure thing, babe.  I get off at 7:00.  But I didn't get your name."

"It's David."

"I was Dave for 43 years.  I don't know why I said David.   Except that Shell Station was my Damascus Road."

See also: David's Top 20 Hookups and One-Night Stands; a Glimpse of Supreme Beauty at a Rest Stop in Iowa.

Monday, January 9, 2017

Topped by the Twink Next Door

Plains, January 2017

The day after I got back from Christmas in Indianapolis, a new guy showed up on Grindr, 200 feet away!

I've met about 20 of the 100 or so people living in this apartment complex, and half of them are LGBT.  Unfortunately, none of them have become friends.
1-4. Two lesbian couples.
5-6. A standoffish gay couple
7. A sleazy bisexual fetishist
8-9. A couple of downlow guys with girlfriends
10. Jimmy who I had 1 date with
11. A college guy who just contacts me for "booty calls."

So I was thrilled with this new possibility!

It was a blank profile, suggesting someone who is heavily closeted, or too new to have uploaded a photo yet.  But I didn't care -- 200 feet is 200 feet.

He told me that his name was Abel  (English pronunciation, not Spanish).  He had just moved out of his parents' house into his own apartment, with two straight roommates.  He was a student at the university and a delivery driver for a pizza place.

A college boy!  Even better.

So I invited him over to "say hello."

Here's what I wish he looked like.

No such luck.  So young looking that I had to card him (19 years old).  Tall and skinny, with weird braided hair, a nose ring, dangling earrings, an ultra feminine swish, a high-pitched girly voice, and a weird dazed look.  Wearing white pants and a pink button-down shirt.  Smelled of marijuana.

We chatted.  He looked especially nervous, like he was ready to bolt.

Maybe Abel was thinking the same thing I was: not my type, but so close!

Finally he said "Could we go in the bedroom?"

Oh well, 200 feet is 200 feet.

I reached over and groped him.  Already aroused through his swishy white pants.   Had he been aroused the whole time?

We went into the bedroom.  I leaned in for a kiss, but got rebuffed.

No kissing?  But that's my favorite thing....

He sat up in the bed and pulled it out.  Very long and thin, like an iron rod, with a nice head.  Shaved pubes.  Small testicles.  I went down on him.

"Can I top you?" he asked.

"I'm just into oral."


I went down on him again.  He moaned, shivered, and spurted.

30 seconds, tops.  I was still fully clothed.

Still, a penis is a penis, and Abel's was 200 feet away.  And maybe I could talk him into kissing later on...

He texted me the next day: "Can I come over?"

This time we went directly to the bedroom.  I tried to kiss him, but he pulled away.  He sat up on the bed and pulled out his already-aroused iron rod.

I went down on him.

"Can I top you?"  Abel asked in his swishy Marilyn Monroe whisper.

This again?  "No condoms, no anal," I told him.  Besides, I didn't fancy being topped by Marilyn Monroe.


"Could we take our clothes off?"


We both got naked and lay on the bed together, side by side.  Smooth chest, not muscular, innie belly button. I put my arms around him and drew him into the interfemoral position.  He stared into space, not looking at me.

Not terribly erotic, although he did finish while I was inside him.

"See, there's lots of things you can do besides anal."

"I guess."

Abel texted me the next day.  "Can I come over?"

Ok, the third time.  He's comfortable with me.  This time we'll kiss!


A little nudity, a little fondling, "Can I top you?" he asked hopefully.  "I brought a condom and some lube."

"Oh, all right!"  I said.

He turned me over on my stomach, then had me bend over the bed, then into a weird uncomfortable doggy style, and started to push.

And push.

Having not been topped in three years, I'm rather tight down there.

I had him lie down on the bed and tried to sit on it.

Ok, this time it went in, but it hurt!

I jumped off him and ran into the bathroom.

"Are you ok?"  he called.

I came back with a wet washcloth, pulled off the condom, washed him off, and went down on him.

He spurted a few moments later, thanked me, and left.

The next day Abel didn't text.  I saw him on Grindr, a couple of miles away.  Apparently he started looking outside the apartment complex for guys interested in being topped by a swishy twink.

Oh, well. There are 80 people in this apartment building who I haven't met yet.

See also: Who Topped Me in Barcelona?; Topped by a Vietnamese Twink.