Saturday, June 10, 2017

Marcus Hooks Up with One of the Hollywood Squares

West Hollywood,  November 1988

It's my 28th birthday, near the end of my "twink" years, and my friends  are pranking me with oldster gifts:  a VHS tape of Love Finds Andy Hardy (1938), a record of Andy Williams' greatest hits, a cane, a fedora hat.  Then we settle in for a regular West Hollywood party, with dinner and discussions of enormous penises, dates from hell, and celebrity hookups.

One of the guests is Marcus, the first gay person I met in West Hollywood in July 1985: he was working in the film library at Paramount, when I went there to apply for a job.   We went out on one date, until he revealed that he was planning to be celibate until there was a cure for AIDS (he abandoned that vow sometime in 1986).

 He's 32 years old, shorter than me, muscular but a little chunky, African-American with very light skin, freckles, a hairy chest, and a very thick Bratwurst with a huge head.

Well connected in Hollywood, with a lot of celebrity friends, some gay, some closeted, some straight.  Just paging through his address book is an adventure: Peter Barton, Kevin Costner, Michael J. Fox, C. Thomas Howell, Tom Hulce, Ralph Macchio, Dean Paul Martin, Robin Williams.  You'd expect him to have some great celebrity dating stories, but he never tells any.

"Oh, I don't have anybody interesting.  Let someone else go."

But tonight, he came prepared:  "Ok, I'm going to tell you my best celebrity hookup story.  I'll give you some choices, and you have to decide who it was.  Whoever gets the right answer gets to go into the bedroom with me for ten minutes.  But -- whoever gets the wrong answer, I get to go down on them, right here."

That's not much of a penalty, but ok...

Los Angeles, May 1980

Fresh from his theater arts degree at the University of Montana, Marcus was working at NBC as a "production assistant."  His actual job was to look up questions and answers for the game show Hollywood Squares.  (Celebrities sit in a giant tic-tac-toe board, and contestants play by asking them questions: x or a correct answer, 0 for an incorrect one. The fun comes from the "zingers," humorous answers they give before the "real" ones.)

Peter Marshall, the host, took Marcus under his wing, inviting him to lunch, introducing him to people.

"No, we never made it," Marcus announces.  "He's straight, but not homophobic.  But you'd be surprised how many of the guests were gay, and openly cruised the production assistants."

So it came as no surprise when Peter took Marcus aside and said "One of the celebrity guests thinks you're smokin', and wants to have dinner with you tonight.  But it has to be very hush-hush.  No one suspects that he is gay."

Actually, Marcus had always suspected the Celebrity. And he was very hot -- tall, goodlooking, sophisticated -- and, most important in Hollywood, well connected.  He agreed to the date.

They had dinner at the Formosa Cafe, the red-tinted, rather old-fashioned hangout for has-been stars. The Celebrity told Marcus that he had always been attracted to guys, especially guys with extra-large equipment, but he liked women, too, and for the sake of his career he had to keep closeted.

Then they went to the Beverly Hills Hotel, where the Celebrity got them a room -- not a bungalow -- while Marcus waited in the car.  He had to wait 20 minutes, then go in and announce that he had a script for the Celebrity to read.

When he got to the room, the Celebrity was lying naked on the bed -- nice tight physique, hairy chest, very well hung.  Marcus immediately knelt and went down on him, while he stroked Marcus' hair, and said "Good boy, good boy," as if he was a puppy dog -- gross!

After awhile, the Celebrity pulled Marcus out of his clothes, went down on him for a few moments, and then turned him over onto his stomach, lubed up, and pushed into him.  Marcus had only bottomed a few times before, and never with an extra-large guy.  It hurt!  But the Celebrity held his hand as he thrust in and out, murmuring "Good boy.  That's it.  You like that, don't you."

When the Celebrity finished, he pulled out, went into the bathroom to wash up, and returned to the bed.  He refused to kiss.

"You can spend the night, if you want, but I have to be going."  He pressed a telephone number into Marcus' hand.  "This is my private number.  Call me if you would like to get together again.  Maybe we can become regular sex buddies."

Marcus didn't want a sex buddy, especially not a married, closeted one, so he didn't call.

West Hollywood, November 1988

In the Hollywood Squares game, there are nine celebrities arranged on a tic-tac-toe board.  Marcus has their names written on pieces of  paper, and arranged them like this:

First row: Patrick Wayne, woman, Tony Randall
Second row: woman, Tom Posten, woman
Third row: Scott Baio, woman, George Gobel

The room buzzes as we discussed the possibilities.  This is before the internet, so we can't look up anyone.

I have never heard of Patrick Wayne, but Matt says he's the son of John Wayne, and quite buffed.

Tony Randall played the gay-vague Felix Ungar on The Odd Couple (1970-1975), one of the hip sitcoms of my childhood, and a depressed, self-loathing gay-but-we-can't-say-it character in Love, Sidney (1981-83).

Tom Posten is currently playing sardonic handyman George Utley on Newhart (1982-1990), and also played a homophobic stereotype, a lisping, mincing pedophile named Sisson in Up the Academy (1980),

Scott Baio, star of Charles in Charge, is the subject of countless gay rumors, but he is always rumored to be a bottom.

George Gobel, known as "Lonesome George," had a tv comedy show during the 1950s, which, according to Heinz, was full of gay jokes.

As the birthday boy, I get to guess first.  "I'm going to go with Patrick Wayne."

"No, it wasn't Patrick Wayne.  He never even looked at me."  Marcus kneels, unzips me, and goes down on me until I am close to finishing.  Then he jumps up.

"Hey!"

"This is a penalty, remember?  Ok, let's just go down the line.  Heinz?"

"George Gobel," Raul's housemate Heinz suggests.  "I always thought he was gay.  His whole comedy routine was about how much he hated his wife."

"Nope, not George Gobel, although he did a lot of cruising."

Marcus kneels in front of Heinz, pulls out his penis, and goes down on him.  He quickly becomes aroused.  Then Marcus moves on to Raul.

"Scott Baio?" he suggests.  His penis is already out.

"You guys are getting wrong answers on purpose," Marcus says.  "Everybody knows Scott Baio is a bottom."

After going down on Raul for a few minutes, Marcus moves from the couch to the chair.  "You said sophisticated, so that means older," Fred reasons.  "And I'm gonna bet that the handyman on Newhart can't afford a room at the Beverly Hills Hotel.  Definitely Tony Randall."

"That's the one!" Marcus exclaims.  "You're the winner!" He pulls Fred to his feet and leads him toward the bedroom.  "We'll be back in ten minutes."

"Make it fifteen," Fred says.

Was Marcus telling the truth?

In 1980, Tony Randall was sixty years old, which makes one wonder about his virility.  But he did marry in 1995, at age 75, and had two children.  "We had sex often," his second wife, Heather Harlan, told The National Enquirer.  

But: he was married to his first wife, Florence Gibbs from 1938 to her death in 1992.   There's no rumors of him being with anyone else.  People assumed he was gay because of his fey mannerisms, not because of any same-sex romances.

In the 1960s, he gave a scathingly homophobic interview (even for the 1960s), in which he said he saw a gay porn movie: "Disgusting!  Absolutely disgusting!"  He continued: "There's no such thing as homosexuality.  It was invented by faggots."

He became a gay ally later, but still, he doesn't sound like someone who would go out of his way for a same-sex liaison.

But why would Marcus, who knew a dozen gay celebrities, make up a story about a straight one?

See also: Marcus's Beneath the Belt Mystery; My Date with Robin Williams

Thursday, June 8, 2017

The Football Star's Date with Tarzan

Rock Island, June 1972

One day in the summer of 1971, when I was ten years old,  my boyfriend Bill and I were out riding bikes near Longview Park, when we came to a big house "on the register of historic places."  There was an old guy in the back yard, sitting in a lawn chair reading a newspaper.

He had his shirt off!

He was very muscular, with a thick hairy chest, big shoulders, hairy flat abs, and square hands.  Balding on top.  A round open face.

"Hey, I know that guy from church!" Bill exclaimed.  [He was a heathen Presbyterian]  "Hi, Mr. Franck!"

Frank -- like my Dad?

He looked up.  "Hi, Bill.  Who's your buddy?"

We went into the back yard through a little gate, and Mr. Franck stood up and shook both our hands -- not many adults did that!  He told us to call him Sonny -- everybody did, even kids.  He was a teacher at Rocky High, so he would see us both in his biology class in a few years.

After that, the promise of beefcake brought us past Sonny's house quite often.  He was often in his back yard in mid-afternoon, giving us just enough time to gawk at his muscles and get home in time to watch Captain Ernie's Cartoon Showboat.

During the school year, we went on Saturday afternoons.  Sometimes he wasn't there, of course, but often he was, sometimes in back yard, sometimes on the front porch, often with his shirt off, even in October.  He always waved, and talked to us when we stopped.

Once he invited us in for lemonade.  There were pictures of cute, muscular guys all over his parlor.  Sonny must like men with muscles, too!

"Is this your friend?"  I asked, pointing to a teenage bodybuilder lifting an enormous barbell.

"It's me, when I was about your age.  Sports were sort of my bag, back then.  You boys like football?"

"Sure!"  We actually hated football, but it seemed polite to say we liked it.

 Sonny told us that he was an All-American wingback at the University of Minnesota, and then he was a halfback for the New York Giants.

"They're good," Bill offered.  "I like...um...."

"Randy Johnson?"

"Right, him."

Having to hear about football was almost a deal-breaker, but beefcake was hard to find in Rock Island, so we continued to visit Sonny.   We could see his hairy chest, and maybe someday we would even get a glimpse of his shame (his beneath the belt gifts).

No sausage sighting, but the next summer, when I was 11 years old, we biked past Sonny's house, and he was sitting in the back yard, drinking lemonade with Tarzan!












Jock Mahoney, who starred in three movies that we saw on Tarzan Theater on Saturdays: Tarzan the Magnificent (1960), Tarzan Goes to India (1962), and Tarzan's Three Challenges (1963).

Not my favorite Tarzan: too scrawny, with stupid slicked-back hair.  But he had a kid sidekick, a Indian boy named Jai, which allowed for all sorts of role-playing fantasies: "Let's pretend that you're Jai, and the cannibals have tied you up, and Tarzan has to rescue you."

We biked up.  'Wow, Sonny, I didn't know you knew Tarzan!" I exclaimed.

"Come in and sit down, boys," Sonny said.  "I'd like to introduce you to my old friend, Jock Mahoney."

We shook hands.  Tarzan had a strong, pleasant grip.

"How do you know each other?" I asked.  "Did you live in Hollywood?"

"We go way back, long before Hollywood," Sonny said.  "Jocko and I went to Davenport High School together."

A famous actor grew up in Davenport, right across the Mississippi!

"Sonny was two years older than me," Jocko said.  "And a  Golden Boy, a track star, a football star.  Way out of my league, But I eventually won him over."  He leaned in close.  "Always remember this, Boomer: the key is, be persistent.  Show up where he is.  Pretend to be interested in the things he's interested in.  Eventually he'll see the light."

Wait -- this wasn't how friends talked.  Were Jocko and Mr. Franck boyfriends?

"Wrong, as usual!" Sonny exclaimed.  "I noticed you right away.  Why do you think I joined the Glee Club -- because you were in it!"  He turned to us.  "Imagine me, trying to hold a tune!  I may have been older, and an athlete, but Jocko was taller, and bigger.  A lot bigger."

They looked at each other, paused for a moment, and laughed.

At the time I didn't know what he meant.  Now I do.

"Remember the night of the Harvest Dance?" Jock asked.  "We both had dates, but we dropped them off early so we could go down to the Mississippi and..."

"That's a lie!" Sonny exclaimed, but he was smiling.  "Sheer rumor-mongering!  Nobody can prove it happened."

At the time I didn't know what he meant.  Now I do.

"What about after high school, when you grew up?" Bill asked.  "Did you live together?  Boomer and I want to live together in a house."

"Sonny was recruited to play football for the Golden Gophers, in Minnesota" Jock said.  "I went to the University of Iowa,  Then during the War we both joined the Marines, but we weren't in the same unit.  Then I moved to Los Angeles to become a stuntman and actor, and Sonny played for the Giants and later became a teacher."

"Life takes you in different directions, and you can't always be with the people you care about," Sonny added. "But that doesn't mean you lose them.  You can keep in touch, write letters, visit.  And you always have memories."

"Like that night when your folks were out of town..." Jock began, "And I brought over a bottle of tequila..."

"Lies!  All lies!"  Sonny exclaimed.  "Defamation of character, that's what it is!"  And they both laughed.

Were Mr. Franck and Jock Mahoney Boyfriends?

George "Sonny" Franck (1918-2011) was married for 57 years, although I don't remember a wife being present when we visited.  He had four daughters.  

Jock Mahoney (1919-1989) was married three times, and had three children and four stepchildren.  One of his stepdaughters is actress Sally Field, whose son Sam is gay.

See also: Zack Hooks Up with the Prince of Sweden; My Third Grade Boyfriend


Wednesday, June 7, 2017

Nephew Sausage Sighting #5: "Do I Measure Up?"

After my parents moved to Indianapolis in 1995, I stayed with my brother on my visits to Rock Island, so I've had ample opportunity to get sausage sightings of his sons (I only count those after they turn 18, of course).  But a sausage sighting of my sister's son, Joseph, was much more difficult to accomplish.  Here's why:

Indianapolis, June 1996

Every summer my parents celebrate Dad's birthday with a barbecue for their family and friends, held the Saturday afternoon closest to June 6th.  My sister and I always try to plan our summer visits to coincide with them.  This year it should be easy for her, since Mom and Dad have moved to a small town south of Indianapolis, less than 10 miles from Tammy's house.

But she doesn't come to the birthday barbecue.

"Oh, they're busy," Mom says.  "[Her husband] Terry is working a lot of hours at the car dealership."

I call to suggest that we get together for lunch during my visit.  I get the answering machine.

I try again.  She doesn't return my call.  After I fly back to San Francisco, I try a third time.  No answer.

I ask Mom what the problem is.

"You'll have to work it out between you," she says.  "Don't drag me into it."

No birthday card in November.

I stay in San Francisco for Christmas.  I send Tammy a present, but she doesn't send me one.  I call on Christmas Day, but after a "Hi!  How are you?", she makes an excuse and hangs up.

No more contact.  Tammy and Terry and their son cease to exist.

As far as I can tell, they figured "it" out, and they recoiled in homophobic horror.

My family practices a "don't ask, don't tell" policy.  They never actually use the "g" word, or refer to my boyfriends as boyfriends ("This is Lane, Boomer's...um...friend").   Still, after meeting Viju, Fred, and Lane, and hearing about Alan, Raul, Peter, David, Corbin the Gym Rat, Kevin the Vampire, and Michael J. Fox, you'd think Tammy would get a clue.

Apparently not.

Oddly, my brother, the fundamentalist Nazarene,  always invites me to stay at his house, and has no qualms about putting me in the bedroom next to his teenage nephews.  Not a problem.  It's Tammy, the liberal Methodist, who freaked out, who didn't want me around her kid.

Silence.  I hear about Tammy and her family from my mother's weekly telephone calls, but I have no contact.  

Indianapolis, June 2002

Then, after six years of ostracism, Tammy shows up at the 2002 Birthday Barbecue, bearing gifts, asking if I have met "a special guy," chatting and joking as if nothing has happened.

Approaching 40, she has become plump, almost zaftig.

Her husband Terry is bald and buffed, almost ready to become a leather daddy.

And Joseph, age 12, is slim, fey, and theatrical.  He has done some modeling for magazines, starred in a local tv commercial, and now he is starring in a community theater production of The Little Prince.

"Oh, you have to come!" Tammy exclaims.  "It would mean so much to him!"

I hate The Little Prince, and I doubt that the fey, theatrical blond cares very much about a guy he hasn't seen since he was five years old, but I go.

The next day, Tammy invites me out for pizza.  "You have to tell Joseph all about your life in New York!  Didn't you meet a lot of Broadway stars?  And Andrew Lloyd Weber?"

Edinburgh, Indiana, September 2005

I'm living in Dayton, which is only two hours from Indianapolis, so I can visit whenever I want.  Like when my nephew Joseph is singing at a regional glee club competition in Edinburgh, Indiana.

Joseph (never Joe) is fifteen years old, a kinky-haired blond, very fey, swishy and limp-wristed, with that nasal "gay accent" voice.  He wears bright pastel shirts and tight bulging jeans and plastic bracelets.

In spite of his parents' assurance that he is "girl-crazy," he never mentions a girl, but he has a series of male pals.

Definitely gay.

And his parents are always pushing us together, sending us out for pizzas, asking me to pick him up from school, inviting me to all of his recitals, plays, and concerts.

I suspect that they're looking for me to be a role model, showing him that it's ok to be gay.

Without anyone ever saying the "g" word.



Indianapolis, December 2008

Joseph is eighteen years old, still a fey, swishy blonde.  He's a freshman at Indiana University, planning to major in East Asian Languages and theater.

A few days before Christmas, he calls. "Can you come up to the house this afternoon?  I want to ask you something."

While your Mom and Dad are at work?  What for?

"Well, why can't you ask over the phone?"

"No, it has to be in person.  It's private -- I'm a little nervous about it."

I'm nervous, too.  I don't understand what Joseph is planning. Is he just going to come out?  Or does he expect an uncle-nephew sexual escapade?


When I arrive at Tammy's house, Joseph offers me a handshake -- his hand is damp! -- then sits me down on the couch. next to the Christmas tree.  We're sitting very close together.  I put the cat on my lap and start petting her to get my mind off my crotch.

"I'm kind of nervous," he says.  "It's...well, you know, I've never done it...you know, sex...before."

Uh-oh.  He is planning on sex!  

"You're an expert on this sort of thing, so...um...I need your honest opinion."

Before I can respond, he drops his pants, displaying an average sized cut penis and rather small balls.

I stare, very uncomfortable.  I certainly don't intend to go down on Joseph.  His parents trust me around him!  But...are they pushing us together?  Do they expect something to happen?

"What...um...are you showing me your cock for?"

"I might have a chance to have sex next week, on New Year's Eve, and I was wondering, am I big enough?" Joseph says.  "I mean, you've seen a lot of cocks.  Do I measure up?"

Um...I could judge better if I could see it aroused.

No, I don't say that!

"Don't worry, dude, you're totally hot.  Any guy would be glad to go out with you."

"Or any girl?"

"Huh?"

"My date's with a girl.  We've been going out for a couple of months now, and she said on New Year's Eve she wants to go all the way."

Joseph is straight?  Or maybe bi?

Oh well, at least, I got a sausage sighting.

See also: Is My Nephew Gay?; and The Best Friend of Terry the Homophobe

Sunday, June 4, 2017

The Satyr's Hookup with Sylvester Stallone


Upstate New York, August 2010

Troy, my boyfriend for the last year, has finally agreed to move in, and we're having a "housewarming" party to celebrate.  We invite his college friends Micah and Jordan; the Rich Kid and the Rapper from the Gang of 12, and their dates; and my ex-boyfriend Chad, who of course has to bring his housemate/Daddy, the Satyr.

The Satyr is a tall, husky, bearded bear, 62 years old, with an enormous Kovbasa++++ beneath the belt.  But I don't like him -- he's imperious, theatrical, sneaky: he has a manipulative relationship with Chad, and he tried to keep me and Troy from dating.  For what reason, I don't know.

Besides, he stifles my standard conversation topics at gay parties.

Enormous penises...he has the biggest I've ever seen.

Dates from hell -- there aren't any worse dates than our weird night in October 2008.

Celebrity hookups -- he claims to have been with everybody.

When he was a teenager, hustling in Times Square, his clients included Robert Redford, Peter Fonda, and...Christopher Isherwood. When he was a camera man in Hollywood, he dated Tom Selleck, Rob Lowe, and John Travolta, who flew him down to Cabo for a wild weekend with Tom Cruise.

I'm sure the Satyr is making all of this up.  I lived in West Hollywood for 10 years at about the same time, and met a lot of celebrities: Michael J. Fox, Richard Dreyfuss, Robin Williams, Christopher Atkins -- but I never dated any superstars.

Time to call his bluff.  "Details!  You have to tell us the whole story.  Date, location, who you were with, what he was wearing, how hung he was..."

The Satyr glares at me, but says "Sure.  I'll tell you about my first gay sexual experience, with Sylvester Stallone."

"Great!"  I've heard a lot of celebrity dating stories about Stallone, the Italian Stallion, the star of the Rocky and Rambo series, so I'll be able to spot a fib a mile away.


Manhattan, January 1970

The Satyr (then named Sparky) was 22 years old, living in Spanish Harlem, taking acting classes at CUNY and trying to make ends meet anyway he could.

Through hustling, of course -- his extra-large equipment made him very popular among a certain type of closeted queen (shown is porn star Rick Donovan).

He hadn't "come out" -- acknowledged that he was gay.  He was always "the trade" -- the one who gets the blow job.  In those days, the trade thought of himself as straight.

He also waited tables at a strip club, swept floors at an illegal gambling den, read Tarot cards, did astrology, and translated Japanese for the Consulate General of New York ("I was born in Japan, before my mother -- well, that's another story").

Through the New York occult community, Sparky met Morton Lewis, who had directed a few films on astrology and the paranormal.  He needed a camera man for a new hippie love fest film that his brother was bankrolling.  It wouldn't take much work -- just three sets, a bedroom, a living room, and an exterior to be shot in Central Park.  Two days max.

He neglected to mention that it was going to be a softcore porn, but Sparky wouldn't have minded anyway.  It was a job in the industry!  Anyway, he could easily ignore the women's naked bodies and concentrate on the men.

"Wait -- you said you didn't identify as gay," Troy protests, "But you liked looking at men."

The Satyr shrugs.  "It was 1970.  Gay people were criminals in the State of New York, and psychopaths, according to the American Psychiatric Association.  It took a lot to admit it to yourself."

The movie, Party at Kitty and Stud's, would star newcomer Mike Stallone, a very massive bodybuilder type with thick black hair, dark droopy eyes, a sensual smile, and a strange, slurry way of speaking.  He was beautiful!  Sparky was instantly hooked.


He struck up a conversation with Mike at lunchtime.  They had a lot in common.  Similar childhoods: Mike's mother was a professional astrologer, and his father was a hair stylist.  An interest in the occult.  Determined to make it in the business, scrounging around for any job they could find.  Mike's latest was cleaning out the lions' cages at the zoo.

"I was completely broke, man, sleeping in the bus station.   It was either take this job or rob somebody."

"You should try hustling," Sparky said.  "With your physique and dick, you could earn some primo bread."

"I'm not queer, though," Mike said with a smile.

"That's ok, you don't have to be.  A mouth is a mouth, right?  It's the guy going down on you that has to be queer."

Mike didn't actually have sex with anyone on camera, but he had to be aroused a lot, on both days, through multiple takes.  By the second day, he was having trouble keeping it up.

In one scene, he had to be a gigantic shaft ready to plow into one of the actresses.  Morty wanted Sparky to film him approaching slowly, and stopping just before he touched her vagina.  But Mike couldn't stay hard long enough.

"We're going to have to shorten the scene," Morty said.  "Unless somebody wants to be a fluffer -- go down on Mike until he gets hard. Ladies, I know it's not in your contract, but..."

Before any of the actresses could respond, Sparky said "I'll do it!"

Everyone stared.  No one admitted to being gay in 1970, at least not in public.

"Hah, hah, big joke!" one of the actors said.  "Like you'd really go down on a dude!"

Sparky's face was burning with embarrassment and fear -- would Morty fire him?  Would Mike beat him up?   He tried to concentrate on that beautiful body, and more -- Mike's painful childhood, his determination, his passion, his pride.

"His penis..." Micah adds.

"Of course.  The penis is the doorway to the guy's soul.  A blow job is very spiritual."

"I'm serious," Sparky said, his voice trembling a bit.  "I'd love to help out."

"Let's cut the clowning," Morty said.  "Ladies..."

"No, let him do it," Mike said.  "It takes a lot of guts to admit you're queer, especially among you Neanderthals. I'm game."

Morton shrugged.  "Just get with it already.  I've got a movie to make."

"Come on, buddy," Mike said softly.  "Let's see what you got."

So Sparky knelt in front of the nude Stallone.  He had never gone down on a guy before, but he had received many blow jobs, so he knew what to do.  Soon Mike was an iron rod.

"That's enough!" Morton exclaimed.  "You want to get him hard, not have his baby."

Flushed with erotic excitement, Sparky returned to his camera, and they filmed the scene.

He "fluffed" Mike twice more before the day ended.

A few months later, Mike -- now named Sly -- got his big break, a starring role in Rebel (1970).  And Sparky moved to California, where he got a job as a camera man.  They never had sex again, they didn't even stay friends, but still, it was the defining moment of Sparky's life.

Upstate New York, August 2010

"Reading between the lines, it's kind of a sad story," Troy says.  "The guy you came out for wanted nothing more to do with you."

"But it was never about Stallone," the Satyr says.  "I liked him, sure, and he had a great physique, but it was about being true to myself.  It was the moment when I could finally stop lying to myself and say 'I am gay.'"

"My defining moment came with John Travolta," I tell them. "Picture it: the summer of 1978.  A sallow 17 year old..."

See also: Lane's Hookup with Batman, Robin, and the Joker; the Sylvester Stallone post on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.