Tales of West Hollywood: 2018-12-23

Indianapolis, December 2016

I had been looking at pictures like the one below, and reading sext messages, for three months, ever since I met Ryan H., the college track star, in a diner in small-town Illinois. Finally, just before Christmas, I drove into Champaign, and he took me out on a date, which involved meeting his parents, a wrestling meet, a mediocre dinner, hanging out with his friend, but NO SEX.

Three months of anticipation, and I didn't even get to go down on him!

Ryan asked me out on a second date, to a "21 and Under" pizza party in Indianapolis on New Year's Eve.

I never go out on New Year's Eve.

I definitely didn't want to go to a teenage party at age 56.

And I DEFINITELY definitely didn't want to go to a teenage party that results in nothing more intimate than a kiss on the doorstep.

But take a look at that combination of face, physique, and Mortadella+! Maybe there's some way I can talk the conservative Ryan H. into dropping his drawers.

I texted him and offered to take him to a "Real West Hollywood-style Gay Party" on New Year's Eve.

"I've never been to a party with all gay guys before," Ryan said. "Sounds exciting, but I'm also a little nervous. There won't be any drugs, will there?"

"No drinking, no drugs, just some desserts and party games."

Now I just had to arrange the party.

I asked Tyler to be the host. He's the "son" of my ex-boyfriend Fred (actually the son of his roommate): a chef, 33 years old, very tall, with a tight physique, curly black hair, a scrubby beard, a hairy chest, and a cut Bratwurst+.

I contacted the other two gay guys I knew in Indianapolis, Ryan the museum guard and Simon the church organist, but they were both busy.

"I'll take care of the party guests," Tyler offered. But by December 28th, he had managed to get solid commitments from only two of his ex-boyfriends (Jesse and Sandoval), both bears in their 50s.

Tyler likes them older.

Five guys is enough for a West Hollywood-style party, but there should be a mix of sizes, shapes, and ages. Ryan H., at age 19, would be the youngest guy there by over a decade. I needed to get someone close to his own age.

Fortunately, I'm a twink magnet. On December 28th, I got cruised by the waiter in a crazy retro restaurant: Mike, age 23, medium height, on the thin side, with a round face, heavy eyebrows, and short brown hair (top photo). We went out on the 29th (oral bottom), and I invited him to the party.

That made six, a perfect number.

Most West Hollywood Parties begin at 6:00, but since it was New Year's Eve and we would be up until midnight, I picked up Ryan H. at the Sheraton at 7:00 pm, shook hands with his parents, and kissed and groped him in the elevator on the way down to the lobby. Then we drove to Tyler's apartment.

Pre-Dinner Conversation

The usual coming out stories, dates from hell, enormous penises, and celebrity hookups. I told about my date with Michael J. Fox, which impressed the older guys but not Ryan -- he looked away. I started telling about my hookup with Justin, the supersized guy at the gym, but stopped when Ryan picked up a magazine. Bored? Embarrassed?

This was the guy who had been sending me nude selfies for three months.

Dinner

Tyler served a traditional Greek New Year's Eve dinner: a lamb-macaroni dish, a cabbage salad, and vasilopita There was wine, but Ryan, Mike, and I drank Diet Coke. Then he passed out bowls of green grapes.

"Have a mouthful of grapes when the clock strikes midnight," he said, "For good luck in the coming year."

"What if my mouth is already full?" I asked, looking at Ryan. He looked away.

Embarrassed? Was I doing something wrong?

The Entertainment

We played Gay Trivial Pursuit, in teams: Ryan and Mike, and Tyler and his bear friends. I was the moderator. In what year was Stonewall? What gay-themed movie won the best picture Oscar in 1982? What was the name of the first gay character on prime time tv? Which famous American writer was gay?

Tyler's team won easily. Ryan and Mike belonged to the post-gay generation, with mostly straight friends and little knowledge of their history and culture.

The "Guess the Sausage" Contest

Here's where things would get erotic. Everybody had to go into the bathroom and snap a picture of their penis, flaccid, then text it to Tyler, who printed them out.

The one who guessed all five correctly got to spend 10 minutes alone in the bedroom with the guy of his choice.

It's not easy, even if you've been with the guy before. I had been with Mike and Tyler, and I had no trouble guessing Ryan's gigantic Mortadella+, but I got the two bears mixed up.

But Tyler got them all right, and chose to go into the bedroom with -- me!

I dutifully followed him into the bedroom.

"Why me?" I asked. "I'm staying here! We had sex this morning!"

"I know. Why do you think I want some more?" He pushed me to my knees.

"Ok, but we need to do another penis contest. I want to get with Ryan before the night's over."

"Sure, sure." He unzipped. I shrugged and went down on him.

When we returned, Ryan was glaring at me. Had I done something wrong?

The Arousal Contest

For this contest, everybody had to get naked and stand still. The first person to get fully aroused without touching himself or being touched by anyone else won, and could ask anyone he wanted to go down on him.

Older guys and guys who are well hung don't get fully aroused easily, but Mike the Waiter sprang to life immediately. And chose -- me!

"You've already been with me," I protested. "Are you sure you don't want one of these other guys instead?"

"I made my choice," Mike said, grinning. "Rules are rules."

I dutifully followed him into the bedroom, where we kissed and fondled, and he went down on me.

Auld Lange Syne

By this time it was nearly midnight, so we gathered around the tv, still naked, to watch the ball drop on Time Square. I sat on the couch between to Ryan H. and Jesse the Bear. At the stroke of midnight, I grabbed Ryan and kissed him and fondled his Mortadella+. He smiled, pushed me away, and started eating his grapes.

"Grapes for luck in the New Year."

"Right. I should eat my grapes, too. I wonder where..."

At that moment, Jesse enveloped me in a hug and kissed me. He was a good kisser, and I became aroused. I felt someone go down on me -- Ryan, probably.

No, it was the other bear, Sandoval.

Sharing

Desperate, I pushed his head away. "Ok, time for the sharing," I said. "Ryan, you and me, and who wants to join us? Mike?"

"Actually, I'm a little tired," Ryan said. He was pulling on his pants. "It's been a fun party, but I'd like to go home now, if that's ok?"

"Um...sure. Just let me get dressed, and I'll drive you back to the Sheraton."

"The downtown Sheraton?" Sandoval asked. "Jesse and I are going that way. We'll be happy to drop you off."

A few minutes later, Ryan H. was gone, along with the bears, leaving me alone with Tyler and Mike.

Mike grinned. "About that sharing..."

I wasn't really in the mood, but I dutifully went down on Tyler while Mike was going down on me, then bottomed for interfemoral -- Mike on top of me with his cock between my legs, and Tyler topping him.

But all the time, I was thinking of Ryan H., the college track star who I somehow managed to offend.

He unfriended me on Facebook, and he hasn't responded to my texts since that night.

See also: My Christmas Date with the College Track Star.; I Spend the Night with Fred's Son; Cruised by the Waiter in a Crazy Retro Restaurant

I fly as little as possible nowadays, when you're packed into a tiny hobbit-sized seat for 2 hours, there are almost no direct flights so you have to change planes, and the delay and cancellation rate have soared to nearly 50%.

And flights are always overbooked, a practice that would be illegal in any other business. If you buy a theater ticket, that seat in the theater is waiting for you. If you buy an airplane ticket, they may sell your seat to someone else, betting that both of you won't show up and they can get paid twice.

And those endless security lines.
1. Take off your coat, shoes, and belt and pile them in a little gray bin.
2. Take your laptop out of its case and put it in another bin
3. Put everything in your pockets into a third bin.
4. Don't forget bins for your carry-on luggage.
5. And your toiletries, including expensive carry-on sizes of your toothpaste and mouthwash.
5. Follow the orders that the gruff TSA agent barks at you.
6. Collect your stuff and get dressed again.
7. Replenish your water supply with their expensive bottled water.

Sometimes I've just said "forget it," and turned around to go home.

In 2011, University of Cincinnati architectural student Aaron Tobe performed a protest. When he went through security, he took off his shirt, revealing te Fourth Amendment (against "unreasonable searches") on his chest.

He was arrested for "disorderly conduct" and interrogated for 45 minutes about whether he belonged to a terrorist group and whether he was planning to blow anything up. Finally the charges were dropped.

Maybe they just wanted to spend 45 minutes staring at Aaron's chest.

Other people have protested the brutopian TSA regulations by wearing swimsuits or skivvies through security, or by getting completely nude. Airport security is not amused.

In the years following 9/11, I was chosen "at random" for an extra pat-down every time every time I got on a plane.

Every time, without exception.

Eventually I figured it out: I wore a beard, I had a leather jacket, and I traveled light. Terrorist!

The beard came off, the jacket came off, I brought along an extra suitcase, and the pat-downs stopped.

But I'm still chosen "at random" nearly every time for those special scanners that show you naked. I've had my penis on display more often at airports than at bath houses.

Maybe the TSA agents just want to check out my package.

See also: 36 Hours of Cruising at Lambert International Airport