Friday, February 17, 2017

Sleeping with a High School Boy in St. Louis

St. Louis, May 9th, 1985

7:00 am


After 210 execrable days of teaching bonehead English to redneckes in Hell-fer-Sartain, Texas,  I finally managed to escape.   I've been driving all night, except for a couple of hours sleeping at a rest stop, so I'm quite a zombie.

 And I'm angry and frustrated, after watching someone masturbate through a glory hole, but not being allowed to get any of the action.

Time for breakfast.

I get off Interstate 55 in a neighborhood south of downtown St. Louis and stop at the Mississippi Mud House, the only gay-friendly restaurant in St. Louis, according to my Gayellow Pages.

It's not entirely gay: there are heterosexual couples, some businessmen in suits, and a scattering of college students.  Actually, I don't see anyone who sets off my gaydar.

Except for a cute guy about my age sitting by himself at one of the little tables: tall and slim, with thick sandy hair, dark eyebrows, and pink lips.  Wearing blue jeans and a pink polo shirt.

Maybe I struck out last night, but this time it's a sure thing.

 I try to make eye contact, but he won't look up.

Who cares?  My discretion has vanished.  When my order arrives, I pick up my plate and coffee cup and plop down in the seat across from him.

"Hi! I've had a rough night. Can I join you?"

He smiles. "Sure."


His name is Dwight.  He's 17 years old, finishing his junior year in high school, with a job lined up as a life guard during the summer.  He comes to the gay coffee shop almost every morning before on the way to school, hoping to meet someone, but he never does.

"You haven't been with a guy before?"  I ask.

"No.  I guess that's pretty lame, isn't it?  But there's no gay kids at school, none that are out, anyway, and I'm too young to get into the bars, so this is the only place to go."

This is the homophobic 1980s.  There are no gay student groups, no youth groups.  The adults try their best to keep children from even knowing that gay people exist.    

"No, not lame at all. I haven't been with many guys myself."

Suddenly I get stage fright.  Do I have what it takes to be this guy's first time?  I haven't showered or brushed my teeth for 24 hours, while driving in the hot Southern sun, and I'm so tired I might not be able to perform adequately.

Besides, Dwight is too young and too thin for me -- I like guys a few years older than me, in their 30s, with some muscle mass, something to hang onto.  Somebody like my first boyfriend, Fred.

But I deserve something after last night's debacle, and after 270 dreadful days in Hell-fer-Sartain.  I'm going home with Dwight.

He has class in a few minutes, but he plays hookey to show me the sights of St. Louis -- the Arch, which I've already seen, the Anheuser-Busch Brewery (which I hate), the Art Museum (which he hates), and McDonald's for lunch.

I think he's stalling on purpose.

12:30 pm

It's after noon when we finally get to a two-story square brick townhouse about five blocks from the gay-friendly coffee house.

Dwight leads me into the small, unkept living room and then up an old wooden staircase to the bedroom he shares with his younger brother:  two unmade twin beds, two desks loaded down with textbooks, toy cars, action figures -- this guy still plays with toys -- a poster of Rob Lowe on the wall.  His family doesn't know about him, of course, and they're oblivious to his same-sex interests.  "I could join the cheerleading squad at school, and they'd think it was to meet girls!"

I sit on the bed, and draw Dwight down next to me.  He looks away.  "I'm kind of nervous.  Let's start slow, ok?"

"Sure, no problem.  We'll cuddle, and take it from there."

We lay on the bed.  I take my shirt off.  Dwight doesn't.  I take him in my arms, try to kiss him but get his cheek instead.  Our legs intertwine. I should be getting aroused by this point, but I don't.  He lays his head on my chest.

"This is nice," he says.  "Just being here, together, with our arms around each other.  Romantic, you know?  Could we just lay here for awhile?"

"Sure, no problem."  I hold him tighter, and close my eyes.

2:30 pm

The next thing I know, Dwight is shaking me and whispering "Boomer, wake up!"

I open my eyes.  "What's up?"

"It's 2:30!  Mom will be home soon.  We got to get out of here!"

I quickly dress.  I insist on stopping in the bathroom, in spite of Dwight's protests.  He practically pushes me down the stairs and through the living room.

"Sorry we didn't get to do anything.  Are you going to be in town for awhile?  Maybe I could come to your hotel?"

"No, I'm due in Rock Island tonight.   My parents will probably be waiting with a 'Welcome-Home' poster and party favors."

"Ok, well..."  He opens the door.  "It was nice cuddling with you, anyway."

"Yeah."  I close the door again and grab and kiss him.  He puts his arms around me.  I get aroused, and  feel a Bratwurst+ pushing against me.  I fondle him briefly, then say goodbye and push through the door.


Always leave them aroused.

I get back in my car, get lost once, and then hit the I-67 north for the last six hours of my trip home from Hell-fer-Sartain.

Hey, we didn't exchange telephone numbers!

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

12 Valentine's Day Dates, Hookups, and Boyfriends

My least-favorite holiday is Christmas, but Valentine's Day comes a close second: a corporate-controled paeon to heterosexual desire, with millions of male-female couples paraded out to proclaim that their emotional bond is the most important thing in the world, the meaning of life.

And therefore you should spend money on maudlin cards, boxes of gut-busting candy, and dead flowers.

In gay neighborhoods it was ok, but in the straight world, same-sex couples who try to participate get stared at in restaurants, laughed at at the flower shop, jeered at the candy store.  Or at least they feel hideously out of place amid the cooing boys and girls.

And God forbid you're single!

Here are the highlights of Valentine's Day seasons past, some ok, some bad, some horrendously bad.

Not counting childhood, when everybody in the class got a valentine from everybody else, regardless of gender.

1. My First Gay BarValentine's Day, 1983. At Indiana University, my friend Viju talks me into driving up to Indianapolis.  I've never been in a gay bar, or any type of bar, before, and I'm blown away by the light, color, and camaraderie.  Nothing like the dark, sleazy, leering gay bars they show on tv.

2. T, the Thug from Catch On.  Valentine's Day, 1986.  There aren't a lot of black men in West Hollywood: if you want to meet them, you have to go to Jewel's Catch-One.  Alan and I go, and get cruised by a thug wannabe named T.










3. My Celebrity Boyfriend.  Valentine's Day, 1987.  The Celebrity and I have only been dating for about a month, and he says he wants to go "all out" for Valentine's Day.  I wonder what a famous ex-teen idol considers "all out."  A thousand doves swooping down from a helicopter?  A life-sized box of candy?  Sharing Scott Baio?  Turns out to be him on a heart-shaped blanket.

4. A Boy for Valentine's Day.  Valentine's Day, 1990.  I'm dating Lane, and still thinking of that "sharing Scott Baio" thing.  I don't actually pick up Scott Baio, but I get a nice substitute with Raul's friend Dominic, a cute Mexican twink.  While Lane and I are having dinner, Raul lets Dominic in the house, where he puts on a Cupid outfit and hides in the bedroom.  






5. The Estonian Word for Valentine.  Valentine's Day, 1998.  Yuri and I are both dating Jaan, the Estonian mountain climber, and we both want to impress him.  We plan a three-way date involving Estonian food, Estonian music, Estonian everything, until Jaan gets sick of it and kicks us both out.

But there's a nice side effect to gay dating: if the guy you both want rejects you, you can always spend the night with each other.

6. The Boy Who Cried Fabulous.  Valentine's Day, 2005.  What could be worse than to be dating the annoyingly cheerful, annoyingly upbeat Florian on hearts-and-flowers day?  Nothing.  A 5-pound heart-shaped box of candy, a dozen roses, a card two feet square with a horrible pun, and a teddy bear with a heart-shaped bib reading "I Wuv You."   He doesn't even love me, he wuvs me.



7. The Great Trick-Off of 2007.  I'm back in West Hollywood for a job interview, and Lane suggests that we hit the bars.  On Cupid Day?  It will be all depressed single guys.

"Precisely," Lane says.  "We can spend the night tricking, like we did before AIDS -- pick someone up, bring him home, do him, kick him out, back to the bar for the next guy."

"But we were Cute Young Things back then.  I'm 46!"

"So what?  I'm 51!"

8. The Asian-American Family Valentine Dinner.  Valentine's Day, 2009.  I'm dating Chad, who is second-generation Korean-American.  He invites me to dinner with his family, which turns out to be like a Korean Thanksgiving: tons of food, relatives you only see once a year, and innumerable questions about the new guy Chad is dating.




9. The Guilt Trip. Valentine's Day, 2010.  I'm dating Troy, a newly-graduated French major who says "Oh, I hate Valentine's Day.  Let's not celebrate at all."  Fine with me.  Until February 14th, when I awaken to candy, flowers, expensive jewelry, and dinner reservations.  Fooled you!

10. I Become a Creepy Old Guy.  Valentine's Day, 2012.  #9 is probably the reason I hate Valentine's Day now.  I insist that we don't celebrate.  At all.  We go to a bathhouse instead, the River Club in Albany, where I become a Creepy Old Guy.








11, The Youngest Guy I've Ever Dated.  Valentine's Day, 2015.  A 22 year old theater major.  Fortunately, we start dating too close to the Day to celebrate it.

12, My Ex-Student Naked in the Locker Room.  Valentine's Day, 2016.  A 19-year old political science major who wants to become a lawyer.  Our first date is the night before.  I wake up, go down on him, give him a bagel, and kick him out.

I get to spend The Day alone in my apartment, doing course prep, downloading porn from the internet, and watching The Walking Dead.  

Best Valentine's Day ever!

L

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