Saturday, April 15, 2017

Survey of Cultural Diversity and Adolescent Behavior

My colleague at Minnesota State University is looking for LGBTQQA people to participate in an online survey about the cultural diversity they experienced as a teenager and its impact on some minor problem behaviors.  

The survey is anonymous, and should take no more than ten minutes.   And it's for a good cause.  

I'm not saying that this guy will agree to date you if you complete the survey.







Or that these guys will ask you to "share." 

But there's always a chance.

Here's the link:

goo.gl/jrtviQ


Men with Tree Trunk Penises

I know it's just a trick of perspective, but I love the photos where the guy's aroused penis stands as tall as a tree trunk,  taking up half the frame.


















And his balls look bigger than his head.















Not too many older guys post them.  Maybe only twinks have the technical expertise.  Or penises that can stand straight up.


















It looks like it's standing next to him.  I expect him to put his arm around it and say "Have you met my little buddy?"


















It wasn't the best idea to use a soda can to demonstrate his length -- they're only about 5" high.  Now, if he was thicker than a soda can....

More after the break.









Friday, April 14, 2017

Sausage Sightings of Men in Kilts

Scottish men and boys have been wearing kilts since the 15th century.  They hang loose around your thighs, traditionally with no underwear, allowing your equipment to flap about freely.

And allowing for lots of sausage sightings, accidentally or on purpose.

I like the ones that are accidental.
















Resting at a Celtic festival.


















The kilt tends to ride up, so you have to be careful.



















Nice balls.




















This is the mother of all accidental sausage flashes.

More after the break.















Wednesday, April 12, 2017

The Demolish Boys Get Naked and Touch Each Other

Rock Island, June 1975

One Saturday in June of ninth grade, we were driving through Moline, the next town over from Rock Island, and we passed a building I had never seen before: a three-story tall tombstone, all skeleton-white, with sinister black windows and odd symbols on the roof.  The sign said "Scottish Rite Cathedral."

"Rite" meant "ritual," and "Cathedral" sounded Catholic, which to Nazarenes meant the epitome of degradation, debauchery, and unbrindled evil.

"Is that a Catholic church?" I asked breathlessly.

"Worse than that," Dad said.  "It's a Masonic Temple.  A secret society, like a club for men.  They go in there to get naked and drink human blood and worship Satan.  And they especially like to drink boys' blood, so be sure to stay far away."

"Secret societies" were on the list of things forbidden to Nazarenes.  But they were near the end of a very long list, and preachers and Sunday school teachers usually devoted their time to more immediate sins, like going to movies or eating out on Sunday.  And I wanted to know more about men getting naked.

This was before the internet, and there were no books on the Masons in the school library, so the only way to get more information was to ask two older boys in NYPS (the Nazarene Young People's Society):  Dave was a member of church royalty, with perfectly cut black hair, perfect teeth, and an athletic physique.  Last summer I got a Sausage Sighting at summer camp: impressive, maybe a Bratwurst, cut.  Terry was slim, with dirty-blond hair almost too shaggy to meet Nazarene standards, an aspiring Gospel singer from an unsaved family.  He backslid every few weeks and had to go down to the altar again, so I got to go up and hug him while he "prayed through to victory."  Hard, tight muscles, warm body.

The next afternoon, during the down time between youth choir and NYPS, they were playing basketball in the church parking lot.  I approached.

"Think fast!" Dave yelled, throwing the basketball at me.  I dodged it -- I hated sports.

"What a dork!"  Terry exclaimed as he ran to retrieve it.  They ignored me to continue their game.

"Um...I was wondering...what do you know about the Scottish Rite Cathedral in Moline?  Dad said they kidnap and torture kids inside."

Dave stopped playing, and grew quiet and solemn.  "Oh, your Dad's right.  You don't want to go near that place.  Terry was trapped by them for awhile, before he got saved."

"The Masons have a special cult for boys called the DeMolay," Terry said.  "That's short for demolish."

"What do they do to the boys?" I asked.

"Oh, all sorts of weird, disgusting things.  Like...they make them drink blood."

"And eat human eyeballs!" Terry said.  "Don't forget the eyeballs."

Dave nodded.  "And they make the Demolish boys run across hot coals. And take off their clothes so everybody can see their wieners."

Terry wrapped his arm around my shoulders and leaned in conspiratorily.  "Then they make the poor scared boys kiss each other on the lips!"

"Bogus!" I exclaimed, although I didn't really think it was bogus at all.

Dave wrapped his arm around my shoulders also.  "That's not the worst of it.  While they're kissing, the Demolish boys have to touch each other down there!"

"Gross!"

"They're having a Demolish Boy meeting Wednesday night," Dave said.  "We may be able to arrange a little sneak and peek, if you're interested."

"If you have a strong stomach," Terry added.  "It's intense."

 "I have a strong stomach! I've been inside a Catholic church before, with the idols and candles and everything!"

I was pretty sure Dave and Terry were putting me on, but there was at least a chance that I could see boys kissing and touching each other down there.  Besides, I would be hanging out with two cute guys.

They insisted that I bring a friend along -- "safety in numbers" -- so I invited Craig from Washington Junior High.

They picked us up at 7:00 pm Wednesday night and took us to Alfano's, the high school hangout, for pizza and more spooky stories about the Masons and the "Demolish Boys."  Then we went to levee and walked around in the gathering darkness.

"Demolay Meetings are always late at night," Dave said.  "The witching hour."

Finally we drove to Moline and parked in a dark alley behind the Scottish Rite Cathedral.  It looked bigger and scarier from up close.  The windows were all dark.  There were only two cars in the parking lot.

"Are you sure there's a meeting?" Craig asked.

"Sure," Terry said.  "You don't think they would advertise it, do you?  They don't want the fuzz breathing down their necks."

 They led us to a side door.  It wasn't locked.  Down a long, narrow hallway.  I heard sinister music playing from somewhere deep inside the building.

Up a narrow stairway to a small room like a dressing room: racks of white robes, a full-length mirror, belts and shoes on little racks.  A small window looked out onto the empty Masonic stage.

"The main ritual area is right down there," Terry said.  "We'll be able to watch the ceremony from here.  But we'll have to keep the lights off and be very quiet, so they don't...."

Suddenly the door burst open.  A Mason!  A tall man in a white robe, his face obscured by a white mask, a sword in his hand.  "What the hell are you doing here?" he exclaimed in a deep rough voice.

We glanced at each other, terrified, not sure what to do.  The Mason was blocking the only way out.  Maybe if we apologized, he would let us go....

"We're sorry...." I began.

"Looks like Satan provided us with some new boys for the sacrifice," the Mason said with a chuckle. He pointed his sword at Craig and me.  "You boys take off your clothes!  Now!"

I was still mostly sure that this was a prank, so I nonchalantly pulled my t-shirt off and undid my belt.  Craig looked uncertain, but took off his shirt, too.

"Come on, be quick about it!  Show me your wieners!"  He turned to Dave and Terry.  "You, too.  You have thirty seconds to get your clothes off, or I cut your head off."

My heart started to race.  Dave and Terry would never agree to be the butt of the joke.   This was real!

"No, don't cut my head off," Dave said, his voice trembling.  "We're sorry.  We'll do anything you want."

"What I want is to see you kissing each other on the lips and touching each other down there.  Now get busy!"

Craig was already naked, his pale, slim body glowing in the fluorescent light, his small penis thickening, partially aroused.

I was getting partially aroused, too, wondering if I would get to kiss Dave and Terry, too, or just Craig?  Would I get to fondle all three of them?

Suddenly Terry started laughing.  "Ok, Joe, we've tortured the kids enough for one night."

The Mason put down his sword and took off his mask and robe -- a high school boy!

Dave put his arm around Craig's shoulders.  "You can get dressed, buddy.  I hope we didn't scare you too much."

Craig shook his head.  "I wasn't scared at all."

"And Boomer!" Terry exclaimed.  "I thought you were a little wuss, but you have nerves of steel! If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually wanted to get naked and kiss Craig on the lips."

"And touch him down there," Dave added with a grin.

By the way, the DeMolay is a real youth fraternity affiliated with the Masons, with about 15,000 members in the U.S.  They do character-building and charity work.   They don't actually require you to get naked and touch each other.

Some famous people who belonged to the DeMolay Society  as kids include Mel Blanc, John Steinbeck, John Wayne, Walt Disney, and Bill Clinton.

See also: I learn about oral sex in the church parking lot; The Sausage Sighting Prank at the Funeral Home.

Sunday, April 9, 2017

Max and I Compete over 10"

Plains, November 2013

Cyrus came to the first M4M party I held on the Plains. He wasn't really my type: in his 30s, pale, very tall and thin -- you could see his ribs -- and so painfully shy that you could never get much conversation out of him, let alone sex.  He was mostly there to watch. But he had two important qualities:

1. An enormous uncut Kovbasa, easily 10".  It came halfway down his leg.

2. He lived right down the hall.  After a year in Philadelphia, where every apartment building for blocks around was occupied by gay men, it was nice to have a landsman nearby.

I started making romantic overtures.  I asked him out to dinner, but he worked evenings.  I asked him out to lunch, but he was busy.

Not interested, or too painfully shy to respond ?

When I went to San Francisco for a conference, I asked him to pick up my mail.

I got back around noon on Sunday morning, knocked on his door, and...Max answered -- in his underwear!

Max was a regular at the evening M4M Parties: a short, chubby, hairy chested bear, balding, jovial, a writer and gamer who spent most of his time at the comic book store down the street.


I didn't remember them ever coming to the same party.  How had they met?  How had they started dating?

"Um...hi...I came to pick up my mail."

"Cy's in the bathroom,  Come on in and wait."

The living room was littered with Dungeons and Dragons game pieces, pizza boxes, books, clothes, and beer cans.  There was a tv show with a Medieval theme playing.

I sat on the couch next to Max.  "So, are you guys together now?"

"Maybe...I'm not sure.  He offered his apartment for our D&D game yesterday, and we were playing all night, and then after the other guys left we sort of sat on the couch, watching Game of Thrones and cuddling."

"In your underwear...."

He shrugged.  "It's hot in here."

My jealousy started raging.  I had been working on Cy for two months, Max just takes one day to shove his way in.  Cy lived down the hall!  He was mine!

Besides, they were completely unsuited for each other.  Ok, they were around the same age, and both into Dungeons and Dragons, but tall and skinny with short and fat -- they'd look like the number 10 walking down the street!

Cy came out of the bathroom, drying his hands on a towel.  His shirt was off.  

"Hi, Boomer.  Your mail is in the kitchen -- I'll go get it."

I stopped him with a hand pressed flat against his chest.  "Wait.  I understand that Max here has declared his intention to become your boyfriend."

He began to blush.  "Well, maybe.  We haven't really discussed anything yet."

"Good, then I have time.  Before I left for San Francisco, I was going to declare my intentions, too."

"Oh, really?  I...um...didn't think you were interested.  You never said..."

Max stood up.  "Hey, I was here first."  He put his arm around Cy's waist and kissed him on the neck.

"You haven't gone out on a date yet -- hanging around the apartment doesn't count." I put my arms around both of them.  "I propose a little contest, like we used to do in West Hollywood.  Max and I will give you our best shot, and you can decide which of us to date."

"It sounds like The Dating Game, that 60s tv show."  Max said.  "It was before my time, of course, but I'll bet Boomer used to watch, when he wasn't grooving out or protesting the Vietnam War."

"Are you trying to imply that I'm too old for Cyrus?"

"I'm trying to imply that you're too old for Methuselah."

Cyrus grinned.  "I've never had two guys fighting over me before.  It sounds like fun."

We each wrote down two questions.  Cyrus read them off, and Max and I had to answer.

Question #1: Where will you bring Cy on your first date?

Boomer:  We'll fly to West Hollywood for dinner at the French Quarter, dancing at the Rage, cruising at the Faultline, and looking at the stars at Griffith Observatory.

Max: We'll fly to San Diego for the Comic Con, then dinner at Lefty's Chicago Pizzeria, and a walk along the gay nude beach.

Question #2: What non-sexual item do you have in your apartment that would make Cy love coming there?

Boomer: 5,000 Gold and Silver Age comic books, including Marvel, DC, Gold Key, Dell, Archie, Harvey, and Charleton.

Max: An X-Box and the latest version of World of Warcraft.

Question #3: What's the longest relationship you've ever had?

Boomer: Lane in West Hollywood, ten years.  

Max: Rudy from the Plains, four years.



Question #4: What non-sexual thing should Cy know about you in the bedroom?

Boomer:  I insist that me and my boyfriend go to bed at the same time every night.

Max:  I sometimes get up in the middle of the night to do work.

Question #5: How out are you, on a scale from 1 (not at all) to 10 (to everybody).

Boomer: 8.  I'm not out to my students in class.

Max: 15. Honey, I'm out to people I haven't even met yet.

Question #6: This is a hands-on question.  How good are you in bed?

I went over to where Cy was sitting, knelt on his lap, and kissed him -- a long, heavy, theatrical kiss.

Then I worked my way down, kissing neck and chest, fondling his stomach and basket, until I got to his Kovbasa.  I went down on him as enthusiastically as I could while stroking his balls and squeezing his nipples.

He wasn't becoming fully aroused.  Well, the big ones take time.  I worked harder.

Suddenly Max came over and dropped his underwear.  Cy started going down on him (average sized, cut, hard to get to with the belly fat in the way).

He became more aroused.  I worked harder.

We all moved onto the floor.  Max and Cyrus lay side by side, kissing.  I pushed my way between them and unzipped, and let them go down on me together.  But they were kissing around my penis.

I backed away and zipped up.  They were still lying in each others' arms, kissing.  I picked up a magazine.

Finally Cyrus looked up.  "You had some very good answers, but I think I'm going to go with Max."

"Yeah, I figured that. So...have I ever told you about the West Hollywood custom of sharing?"

 See also The Teenager at the 40+ Party.