12 Teacher Hookups

Lots of kids fantasize about their teachers. After all, who else do you spend a good deal of time just looking at?  Not your parents or friends -- you're interacting with them, or looking at something else.  But teachers stand at the front of the room and talk. And talk. While you look.

If you're lucky, you'll catch a glimpse of their biceps or bulge.

If you're very lucky, you'll see them outside of class, maybe with their shirts off.

If you're very, very lucky, you'll get to do more than look.

Through high school, college, and grad school, I've had over 50 male teachers and professors.  I've had hookups, sausage sightings, or bulge sightings with 15.

Denkmann Elementary School:

1. Mr. Davis (Math).  Everyone thought he was my uncle, and I was surprised myself to find Davises in the world that I wasn't related to.  Black hair, sharp features, and big, expressive hands. Years later, someone told me that he was a fixture at the Hawaiian Lounge, Rock Island's gay bar, so I looked him up.

Washington Junior High:

2. Mr. Barker (Gym and Health).  Short ruddy complexion, wrestler's build, gigantic biceps that strained against the fabric of his white polo shirts, and, when he walked, a bulge that visibly shifted.

3. Mr. Peterson (Science). Black hair, blue eyes, always smiling, always wore a white shirt and tie.  He caught me and Dan drawing a satiric picture, and said "If you have so much free time on your hands, you can stay after school and help me wash test tubes."  Afterwards he bought us hamburgers.  Best detention ever!

Rock Island High School:

4. Mr. Manary (History).  Young, hip, insisted that students call him by his first name, Tall, thin, clean-cut, tight-muscled.  He was the one who made the most homophobic statement I ever heard, years later.

 5. Mr. Blowfish (Speech), pretentious, prissy, sarcastic, condescending  I didn't hookup with him, but years later, I dated his son, Sammy Blowfish.

6. Mr. Hart (Music).  Slim, red-haired, horn-rimmed glasses, with an amazing bulge, led the orchestra, kept hopping up and down, his Kielbasa+++ visible.  He kept pushing me to excel in music, signing me up for contests and competitions.

He even gave me instruction in music theory in a pre-dawn "special class.

Augustana College

7. Dr. Morrow (Music Cultures of the World).  The only black teacher I had to that point, very, very solid, muscular  physique.  I'm not usually into backsides, but whenever Dr. Morrow turned his back to the class, my interest was piqued.

 I was the only white student in the class, so he may have gone out of his way to make me feel welcome.  And he did! He invited me to a concert of Indonesian music in Iowa City, where we had to spend the night in a hotel.

8. Dr. Burton, the muscle bear who held end-of-the-semester handcuff parties at Augustana, but he doesn't really count, since I knew him before I registered for his class.

Indiana University

9. Dr. Singer from Indiana University, who Viju and I competed over, and two more.

10. Dr. Kirtis (Russian Folklore).  Hungarian.  Coolest guy in the world. Invited the whole class over to his house for a pool party, where I saw him in a swimsuit cooking on a grill.  He asked, "Boomer, can I serve you my Bratwurst?" I looked at his crotch and said "Sure!"

University of Southern California

11. Dr. Bertan (Augustan Literature).  Graduate of Harvard and Princeton, spoke in extremely precise English, always wore a suit with a bow tie and carried a briefcase.  Corrected our papers in a precise pen, in red ink.  Impossible to imagine him being intimate with anyone, or even taking his clothes off.  That's what made him attractive.

Long Island

12. Dr. Chester (Sociology of Sport), a former professional wrestler.  I never took any of his classes, but I saw him in the hallway, and at department functions.  One day I saw him in the bathroom,unwrapping his gigantic faculty member, easily a Kovbasa (see My Top 15 Sausage Sightings).

My 10 Favorite Tied-Up Soldiers

BDSM scenes often involve "captured soldiers" being interrogated: "How many in your regiment? We have ways of making you talk."

The problem is, to identify someone as a soldier, he has to be in uniform, or at least wearing camouflage, and in BDSM scenes the bottom is typically naked.  The cock and butt need to be available, and besides, we want to appreciate the male physique.  How can you be naked and in uniform at the same time?

Here are my ten favorite BDSM men in uniform.

1. Camouflage-style pants open to reveal the cock.

2. Camouflage-style hat, khaki pants, and dog tags.  Sculpted physique looks like it belongs to a bodybuilder rather than a scared private.

3. Fully clothed, even the cap in place, but the cock is out for your groping, grabbing, and whatever else strikes your fancy.

4.  An interesting way to strip him out of his uniform.

5.  Nothing but the dog tags.

More after the break.

Getting the Shy Boy in the Third Row into my Bed

Wilton Manors, June 2002

When I moved to West Hollywood in 1985, I joined the All Saints Metropolitan Community Church, and I saw John there every Sunday.  He always sat by himself in the third row.  Eventually he joined the Food Bank Committee, and then he served on the church board, but he still sat by himself.

He was about five years younger than me, a junior at UCLA when we met, short and slim, with ruddy blond hair and blue eyes.  Very cute.

But I never even thought about asking him out.

Maybe it's because I usually dated Asian guys, or  gym rats like the Pentecostal Porn Star and the Thug on my Sausage List.

Or because I never saw him at the French Quarter, the Different Light, the gym, or anywhere in West Hollywood.  He seemed to exist only in church.

But it's probably because John just didn't seem like the dating kind.  He never sat with anyone; he never cruised anyone.  At the coffee hour after church, he was all Attitude, staring into the crowd without making eye contact.  He would talk to you about business, the church's financial goals and Food Bank program, but offered few personal details.

The only conversation we ever had on another topic:  he came up to me one day and said "I hear you work for Muscle and Fitness."

"Just part time.  I'm mostly in it to meet bodybuilders."

"Oh."  He  walked away.

In four years, I probably saw John 200 times, and said 200 words to him.

When I started dating Lane in 1989, I dropped out of MCC.  We attended the gay synagogue, Beth Chaim Chadashim, or the Episcopal Church.

A few years later, around 1991, I was visiting a friend in the San Fernando Valley, and we went to the gym together.  As I walked into the locker room, I saw John!  He was just out of the shower, with a towel around his waist.  He had bulked up a bit, with nice six-pack abs.

"John, how are you!" I exclaimed.  "Small world!"

"Yeah, hi, Boomer."  He caught me sneaking a peak at his rather small endowment, and quickly turned away.

As he got dressed, I got undressed.  I told him about Beth Chaim Chadashim, and he told me about MCC and his job doing some kind of statistical analysis.

Then he said, in a rather odd, stilted voice, "I might go for... um... coffee... um... um... never mind."  And he was gone.

He had been trying to ask me for a date!

I started wondering about John.  What was his story?  Why was he so standoffish?  Or maybe I just didn't express any interest.  Maybe there was a hidden gem at the All Saints MCC that I was too caught up in the big, loud gym guys to notice.

Too late now.  I was in a relationship, and besides, I didn't even remember his last name.

But gay neighborhoods are small.  Sooner or later, everyone you have ever met will show up again.

The years passed.  I moved to San Francisco, then New York, and then Florida, where I shared a house with Yuri and Barney, a former bodybuilder who owned a gym in Wilton Manors.

 Every morning Barney prepared us a bodybuilder's breakfast of egg white omelets, seven-grain pancakes, or oatmeal infused with spinach and kale (try it). On special occasions, cinnamon buns.

All three of us were dating and hooking up, and we often got out-of-town guests, so you never knew who would be sitting at the breakfast table in the morning.

But I never expected to see John!

One morning in the summer of 2002, I came into the kitchen, where Barney was making whey-protein French toast with apple slices and strawberry yogurt.

"Boomer, this is my friend John from Seattle," he said.  "He's here on vacation for a few days."

"Nice to meet you," I said, glancing at the kitchen table, where Yuri was drinking coffee with -- John from West Hollywood!

Not the slim, shy college kid I knew at the MCC.   Nearing middle age, graying at the temples, a little craggy, and heavy muscled, a semi-pro.  But umistakable!

We stared at each other.

"This is my other housemate, Boomer," Barney continued, his back to us.

"Small world," I managed.

"Oh, do you guys know each other?"

"Yeah, from West Hollywood."

"From the All Saints MCC!" John exclaimed.

"Is this one of your church boys?" Yuri asked.  "He's so hot -- did you date him?"

"No."  I sat down next to John, and we hugged.  "I would have liked to, but it never happened."

Over breakfast John told us about being a shy, closeted college student going to his first gay venue, the All Saints MCC, but too self-conscious about his scrawny body and undersized endowment to approach a guy.

Who didn't have sex until 1988, when he was 23.

Who started weight training to increase his self-confidence, found a lover who dumped him for a celebrity, found another lover, and now was immersed in a community of gay bodybuilders and fans in Seattle.

Not bad for a guy who, a few years before, couldn't even ask someone out for coffee.

Oh, and I finally did make it into his bed. Barney did a lot of sharing that weekend.

See also: Wade the Real Beach Boy; The Pentecostal Porn Star and The Thug on My Sausage List

10 Black Guys in Bondage: The X-Rated Version

There are lots of Asian guys into BDSM, but very few black guys, and those few are mostly tops.

 When you're subject to constant discrimination, being followed around stores so you don't steal anything, having people clutch their purses when they pass you on the street, being stopped and searched for the crime of walking while black, going to prison -- one in eight black men in America are incarcerated at some point during their life -- you're unlikely to find being dominated particularly erotic.

I've met only two or three black BDSM bottoms in real life, and even photographs are rare: after years of collecting, I have only about 100 (not counting scenes from movies). Here are my top 10 favorites:

1. My favorite position, spreadeagle on the bed.  I love the look of angry defiance as he tests the leather straps.

2. My second-favorite position, on a chair with his hands tied behind his back.

3. An interesting background picture, glistening muscles.

4.  I don't know why the hands-above-the-head position is so popular with black BDSM bottoms.  This looks like a prison fantasy (notice the tattoos and the bars in the background),but what makes it is the super-sized schlong.

5.  :Sali," probably African.  That looks like the prow of a ship behind him.


More after the break