Nude Photo of Jack Dempsey

Jack Dempsey (1895-1983) was the most famous boxer in the world during the 1920s, world heavyweight champion from 1919 to 1926.  His fight against French boxer Georges Carpentier on July 2, 1921, dubbed "The Fight of the Century," was the first sporting event to receive live radio coverage.

He retired from boxing in 1927 and capitalized on his fame to lend his name to a series of business enterprises, including casinos and restaurants.

He was married four times and had three children, but, according to rumor, was a hit at the "homo parties" in Hollywood in the 1920s.

And there's a nude photo.

The face looks like him.  The body is a little more defined, but he is younger, in his late teens or early 20s.

It may be from the German movie Weg zu Kraft und Schonheit (1925), which used nude models, including Johnny Weissmuller and Jack Dempsey, to illustrate Roman sports, gymnastics, and dance.  It's available on youtube, but I don't find Dempsey there.

Here's a bulge shot.  Compare, and see if the penises could be the same.

Why Brother Hanson Got Divorced

Racine, Wisconsin, June 1968

I am in the second grade.  My parents are making a big fuss over the girl with the marvelous dollhouse:  "You have a girlfriend!"

When I protest that I like boys, they don't believe me: "Oh, one day you'll meet the right girl, and fall in love, and get married and have kids of your own!  You'll see!"

"The right girl" is my destiny?  But I want to marry a boy!

Like Brother Hanson, the Minister of Music at church.

I look forward eagerly to Sunday morning and evening and and Wednesday evening, when he climbs up onto the platform and begins the services with the magic words Isn't this a beautiful day in the Lord? Who would like to testify?

Then he leads us in three songs, leads the choir in their special number (only on Sunday morning), has the ushers pass around the offering plate, and tells us to Rise for prayer.  Only after all of that is the Preacher allowed to get up to scream about how much God hates us.

Brother Hanson is obviously more important than the Preacher, plus a lot nicer, and much cuter -- big and husky with wavy hair and blue eyes (this is not him). I think he's a teenager, but he's probably about 30.

I never see him with a woman.  Maybe he's found a way to get out of the "right girl" destiny, so we can get married!

"Does Brother Hanson have the 'right girl'?"  I ask.

My parents tell me that he has a wife, there in the front row -- they just don't spend much time together.  They come in different cars because he has to get to church so early, and of course she has to sit alone during the services

I expect Brother Hanson to continue leading the testimonies and songs forever.  But one Sunday in the spring of second grade, without warning, an old, ugly guy climbs up onto the stage  and says Isn't this a beautiful day that the Lord has given us?  Who wants to give a testimony?

Shocked, I look around for Brother Hanson: he is sitting by himself in a back pew.  His wife is not in the sanctuary at all.

How am I supposed to listen to the Preacher screaming for 45 minutes without seeing a cute guy first?  Besides, the old, ugly guy said it wrong -- the phrase is isn't this a beautiful day in the Lord!

Maybe Brother Hanson is sick, and will stand up again next week.

No.  Week after week, he stays in his back pew, while the old, ugly guy -- Brother Williams -- leads the testimonies and songs before the Preacher screams.

I begin to hate going to church.

Every summer the Nazarene Church has Vacation Bible School: a week of sermons, songs, Bible studies, and arts and crafts for kids from kindergarten to fifth grade.  Last year I made a "David and Goliath" out of construction paper, won a prize for memorizing Bible verses, and got cookies and Kool-Aid.

This year Brother Hanson is teaching the music class!  Rousing campfire songs with clapping, stomping, and hand gestures:

Rise and shine and give God your glory, glory! (clap, stomp), Children of the Lord.

Instead of a suit, he wears a short-sleeved shirt.  He's got muscles!

He also teaches the sports class: kickball on the grassy field outside the church.  I keep praying that he will take his shirt off, but he never does.

When my mother arrives to pick me up, I can hardly contain my excitement: "Brother Hanson was our teacher!" I exclaim.  "We learned a new song, and played kickball!  It was great!"

"I'm surprised they let him teach Vacation Bible School," Mom says.  "They won't let him be the Minister of Music anymore after his divorce."

Divorce?  I have never heard the word before.

"It's when a marriage ends, and the husband and wife don't live together anymore."

Wait -- marriages can be temporary?



 That's my loophole!

After I grow up, I'll "find the right girl," get married, and have kids, like my parents keep talking about. Then I can get a divorce.  and spend the rest of my life with men!

A few weeks later, we move away from Racine, so I never have the opportunity to see if Brother Hanson divorced so he could spend his life with men.  But ever after I think of divorce as a wonderful word.

See also: The Marvelous Dollhouse

Michael in the Boys' Room with Cole or Dylan Spouse

West Hollywood, August 2017

I'm back in West Hollywood for a week, visiting old friends and trying to make a few new ones.  Michael, who I met at Infinite Chazz's dinner last night, is taking me out to breakfast at Hugo's. where everybody goes for brunch now that the French Quarter is closed.

 Michael is in his twenties, medium height, with curly black hair, dark features, a smooth chest, and an uncut Kielbasa, mostly an oral bottom but open to suggestions.  He grew up in Boulder, Santa Cruz, and Northridge, graduated from Cal State Northridge with a degree in theater, and is now living in a small apartment off La Cienega and trying to get into independent filmmaking.

"That was a fun party last night," he says.  "I never thought of sex as a party favor before."

"I was mostly looking for new celebrity dating stories for my blog," I tell him.  "I've already depleted all of the stories I heard while I lived here, and besides, I'm tired of hearing about Scott Baio and John Travolta."

"Who?"

"Precisely."

"Well, I don't have a lot.  I wasn't very active before I went to college.  Some Grindr hookups, some fooling around in the boys' room, that sort of thing."

"Tell me about that fooling around in the boys' room."

"It wasn't with anybody famous, though -- oh, do you watch Riverdale on Netflix?  I hooked up with Jughead, Cole Sprouse.  Or maybe it was his twin brother.  I can't be sure.  I didn't get a name."

"Why didn't you mention this last night?" I ask, shocked.

"He was kind of a jerk.  Besides, I didn't think he was famous enough."

"Are you kidding?  A dating story about one of them would be epic!"  Dylan and Cole Sprouse starred in the Disney Channel teencoms The Suite Life of Zack and Cody (2005-2008) and The Suite Life on Deck (2008-2011).   Lots of younger guys had crushes on them as kids.

He shrugs.  "It wasn't any big dating thing.  More of a hookup.  Not even that.  He didn't even come."

"And you didn't know if it was Cole or Dylan?   Even without a name, I can tell them apart.  They have a different appearance."

"I had never seen them before.  I didn't watch tv much growing up."



Hollywood, July 2010

Michael's father was a dour Ukrainian professor of political science who didn't allow "the boob tube" in the house.  So Michael sneaked over to a friend's house to watch The Simpsons and Malcolm in the Middle, and found himself drawn to actors and acting (his father disapproved of "theater types," too).

In high school he joined orchestra, yearbook, French club, student council, anything to take his mind off acting -- and being gay.  The two were linked in his mind, both disreputable -- in Catholic schools they taught that gay people were evil, mentally ill, sinners, even in 2008.

He got a car for his 18th birthday, and he used it to drive his actor friend Paul to auditions.  So when Paul got a small part on an episode of the Disney Channel's Suite Life on Deck, he invited Michael to come to the table read:  "You'll meet the cast, make connections.  It will be great."

"Am I even allowed?" Michael asked.

"I'll tell them you're my chauffeur."

So they drove down to the studio on Las Palmas and parked in the employee lot, and Michael sat on a folding chair watching as the actors sat around a table reading their lines.  The Sprouse brothers were about Michael's age, with dirty blond hair and slight physiques that they made up for with a vibrant energy.  He didn't know which was which, but both of them kept making eye contact and smiling at him.

He hoped to talk to them during the first break, but they kept to themselves.

"Are Cole and Dylan gay?" he asked Paul.  "They're like staring at me."

Paul frowned -- Michael wasn't out to him, so he probably thought it was a homophobic complaint.  "I don't know -- I've only just met them today.  But I'm sure they don't mean anything by it.  They're just staying in character."

When the table read ended, Michael hoped to get an introduction, but again the Sprouse brothers kept to themselves.  Sighing, he headed to the bathroom, which was down a long corridor and to the right.  He was urinating when he heard the outer door open, then the inner door  -- it was one of the Sprouses!

Startled, Michael quickly zipped up.  "It's all yours."

"Hey, you're Paul's friend, right?" Cole or Dylan said, "I saw you looking at me..."

"I wasn't...."

"It's ok, dude.  I wanted to talk to you out there, but with everybody around it's hard to get away."  He put his hand on Michael's shoulder.  "But...you know, you're crazy hot, and I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime."

"Hang out..."

"You know, man.  Do I have to spell it out for you?"  He glanced at the door to see if anyone was coming, then moved in for a kiss.

That was all the incentive Michael needed.  They kissed and groped, and somehow stumbled into the handicapped stall, where Cole or Dylan tore off Michael's shirt and kissed his chest.  They unzipped and worked their cocks together, and Michael fell to his knees and went down on Cole or Dylan -- about 7" cut, and thick around.  But then they heard the outer door open, and Cole or Dylan pulled Michael to his feet and quickly zipped up.  Still tenting, he ran out into the main room.

The inner door swung open.  "You fall in?"  It was the other Sprouse brother's voice.

"Can't a guy have a moment to jerk off in peace?"

"Not when we have to be in Westwood in twenty minutes.  Wait until tonight to play with yourself, like everybody else in the world."

The inner door swung open again.  Michael heard them leaving.

Michael waited by the phone for a week, expecting that Cole or Dylan would ask Paul for his number.  But nothing happened.  He was too embarrassed to ask to go to the other rehearsals or the taping, and too upset to watch the show.

West Hollywood, August 2017

"Not a jerk," I tell Michael.  "You shouldn't blame him for not following through with a date.  He sounds scared -- closeted, in the public eye, worried that someone will find out and it will hurt his career.  Or that his brother will freak out."

"Wait -- if being gay is genetic, they would both have to be gay, right?"

"Not necessarily.  They start off as the same zygote, but genetic changes happen in the womb.  You can have one twin with a food allergy that the other doesn't have, or musical talent -- or an attraction to men.  So maybe only one is gay.  But which one?"

He shrugs. "You tell me."

Assuming that Michael was telling the truth, not fabricating a hookup from a brief meeting, was he with Dylan or Cole that day?

Which Twin Was It?

After The Suite Life, Cole and Dylan both enrolled at NYU.  Dylan concentrated in archaology, and now runs a pagan brewery in Brooklyn (he belongs to Asatru, a Nordic neopagan religion).  An androgynous long haired blond.

Cole majored in video game design and photography, and has returned to acting with Riverdale.  Short black hair, more masculine appearance.

Cole hasn't been romantically linked to anyone.  On Twitter, he said in jest that he's only attracted to cookies, and he's petitioned for his Jughead character to be true to his comic book origins and come out as asexual.

Dylan posted a nude selfie to attract someone's attention, but I don't know if it was a boy or a girl.

See also: The Nude Selfie of Dylan Sprouse; Cole and Dylan after "The Suite Life"

A Glimpse of Supreme Beauty at a Highway Rest Stop in Iowa

Interstate highways have rest stops every 30-50 miles, so you don't have to get off the highway to do your bathroom business.

The older ones consist of just toilets and maybe some vending machines, but the modern ones have pathways through picnic grounds, flower gardens, and even wooded areas, so you can walk or jog.  I've covered 7 miles in a day just by stopping at a rest stop every hour and circling the path once or twice.

Rest stops are perfect places for sausage sightings.  Men typically need to urinate every 2-3 hours, so on a 6-hour road trip, they'll be at the urinal at at least twice.

 Rest stops are also perfect places for boy watching:  glimpsing handsome faces, muscular physiques, and spectacular bulges as dozens of guys walk past every minute,

But what happens when you encounter supreme beauty, and there's no time to make a connection before he's gone forever?

I-35 Rest Stop, May 2016

On the way back from visiting Troy and company in New York, I pulled into a rest stop near Northwood, Iowa.  It's a large facility with a tourist center, a coffee shop/bakery, and extensive walkways that wind through picnic areas.

I parked on the south side of the parking lot and walked to the sidewalk on the right side of the photo, past the green SUV.

A middle aged man and four guys in their teens or early twenties had just climbed out.  Two were walking toward the rest rooms.  Two were talking quietly.

And the last:

I stopped, speechless in the face of supreme beauty.

Impressions came all jumbled together in a single glance.  I categorized them and analyzed them later:

1. In his late teens or twenties, a college student.

2. Shorter than me, slim, tanned arms and hands, out in the sun in a t-shirt a lot. A tennis player or a farm boy.

3. Dirty blond hair, short, spiked.  Concerned with his appearance, knows his way around hair gel.

4. A round open face, prominent eyebrows, dark eyes.

5. Smiling.  He has been smiling every moment his whole life, probably because everyone he has ever met is in love with him.

6. Gray t-shirt with a Nebraska Cornhuskers logo, a little small, riding up above his outtie belly button.  University of Nebraska student for several years, maybe a senior.

7. Thin but hard biceps.

8. Calvin Klein underwear, white.

9. Blue jeans, torn at the knee, athletic shoes, no socks.

10. Traveling with a middle aged man and three peers on Memorial Day weekend.  Too late for a school field trip.  Maybe a father taking his son and three friends on a camping trip..

He looked at me and said "They have a bakery in there", thinking I was someone in his party.  Realizing his mistake, he looked down, embarrassed.  I smiled and moved on.

I walked around the picnic area for about five minutes, then went inside to use the restroom.  When I came out, he was walking down the stairs from the bakery with a cute guy in his early twenties.  They were eating cookies from an open box.

This time he definitely cruised me -- face, crotch, face.  

 I smiled and said "Hi."

He smiled back, but didn't speak.

I walked around the pathways for another five minutes, and headed toward my car.  He and his companion were standing by their SUV, talking to the middle-aged man.  The two other guys, both very cute in their own right,  were sitting at a picnic table nearby, occupied by their cell phones.

As I walked past, he looked at me while asking someone else "When we get there, will we have time to..."

He stopped.  I smiled. He stared, cruising again.  Face, crotch, face.

"Hot day" I said, addressing either him or the middle-aged man.

"Yeah," he said.

I couldn't start a conversation with his father or guardian right there!   I had to get him alone.  At least find out his name.

I circled half of the picnic area, and walked back.  Now he was standing by the picnic table with the duo, watching me curiously.  I quickened my pace, planning to say "Where you headed?" or  something.

Then the middle age man yelled "Are you ready to go?", and the three of them walked back to the SUV and climbed in.

I passed close to his car.  He was in the back seat, passenger side, watching me through the solid glass of the window.  I waved.  He smiled and waved.

We were only inches apart.

I returned to my car.

The SUV started to pull out.

I took out my cell phone and snapped a picture of it.








I don't know why.  He's not visible, except for a small, blurry image of his hand holding on to the seat in front of him.   It's just a picture of a green SUV with Nebraska plates.

With the most beautiful guy I have ever seen in the back seat, passenger side, going away forever.

At the end of our lives, we will remember glimpses of supreme beauty more fondly than any number of sexual encounters.

See also: I Pick Up a Boy at a Gas Station in Iowa, Sort Of; Picking Up the Checker in the Grocery Store; and The Amish Boy in Red Bikini Briefs.

20 Celebrity Dates, Hookups, and Sausage Sightings

About half the guys I met in West Hollywood were actors, or wanted to be actors.  Most had been in just a few minor roles in movies or tv; you wouldn't know their names or faces.

Some had been famous, during the two or three years that their shows were airing, but now they were stuck in "hey, I used to know you!" limbo.

A few were bona fide celebrities, with ongoing projects and fan bases.

Here are the most famous actors (and other celebrities) that I've dated, hooked up with, or at least gotten a sausage sighting from.

I'm not going to reveal who is which, but bear in mind that some of the dates were just friendly lunches or "let's grab a coffee."  Some of these guys are straight.

No, Sylvester Stallone is not on the list, but I like the photo.






High School

Carl Gustaf, King of Sweden. When he visited our high school, he had lunch with a select group of student leaders.  I sat next to him.  Our knees touched.

West Hollywood

Michael J. Fox, star of Family Ties.  My friend Marcus and I had lunch with him in the summer of 1985.  Ivo, the Bulgarian bodybuilder I was dating, claimed to be his ex-lover, but Michael actually never heard of him.

Robin Williams.  We met at a party in the Hollywood Hills.  I didn't like him, but I liked his date.

John Amos, who starred in Good Times and played the older Kunta Kinte in Roots.   I often saw him at the gym, once in the shower.  His physique was amazing.












Lou Ferrigno.  He came into the office at Muscle and Fitness regularly, often with Bill Bixby, his co-star on The Amazing Hulk at the Time.

Ed Stroll, a retired bodybuilder and actor, an opera buff, a member of the Hollywood Country Club set. He offered to take me yachting during the Worst Date in West Hollywood History.

Lee H. Montgomery, a former child star who did some teen idol work in the 1980s.  You may have seen him in Mutant and Girls Just Want to Have Fun


Peter Barton, a teen idol of the early 1980s, known for The Powers of Matthew Star, later a soap star.








Tom Villard, star of the sitcom We Got It Made, working steadily on tv through the 1980s.  In the 1990s he became one of the few actors to openly admit being gay.

Douglas Barr, who starred in Designing Women from 1988 to 1991, and now runs a winery in the Napa Valley.  

Richard Dreyfuss, a fellow fan of the paranormal, met browsing at the Bodhi Tree.  One day we got  coffee, and I tried to subtly determine if he was gay or not.

Cesar Romero, 1940s movie heartthrob and 1960s Batman villain.  He sold me a love seat.  Turned out to be the most uncomfortable thing I ever sat on (the love seat, not Cesar Romero).

Jeff MacKay, who starred in Tales of the Gold Monkey, Magnum, P.I., and several other series I have never seen.

New York

Nate Richert, Sabrina's boyfriend on the TGIF sitcom Sabrina the Teenage Witch (1996-2003).  We met at the Gold Coast in West Hollywood, but I didn't know who he was.  Until later.









Tom Wopat, star of Dukes of Hazzard in the 1970s.  I actually had a crush on his costar, John Schneider.

Andrew Lloyd Webber, the famous composer of musicals I haven't seen: Cats, Phantom of the Opera. Evita.

Florida

Sean O'Neal,  Clarissa's best friend in the Nickelodeon teencom Clarissa Explains It All from 1991 to 1994.  When I met him, he was acting on the stage and doing voice work in Fort Lauderdale.

Guilt and Shame: My First Night with My First Boyfriend

December 16, 1979, a week before Christmas.  It's the end of my first date with Fred the ministerial student: a farmboy from central Illinois, 28 years old, tall, broad-shouldered, smooth hard chest. 

We sit on the couch in his tiny apartment in Davenport, Iowa.   He refuses kissing, instead pushing my head down over his crotch.  I unzip him. Huge!  Granted, this is only the fourth guy I've been with, but I've seen a lot of cocks, and...well, just huge!  I try to go all the way down on him, but my gag reflex kicks in before I get halfway.  I cough and sputter.


Fred:  Shall we go into the bedroom?

We go to the bedroom, take off our clothes, and fondle each other.  I kiss and lick his chest.  He pulls down the covers on the bed and pushes me down, throwing my legs in the air. 

Boomer:  Wait -- what are you doing?

Fred:  Aren't you a bottom?

Boomer:  Um...what's that?

I am not yet aware of the existence of anal sex.  I think that gay guys just suck and masturbate each other.

Fred:  I'll explain later.

He switches positions for 69 and goes down on me while his cock pushes against my face.  I try to take him, but he's too big, choking me.

Boomer:  Wait...wait...let's try something else.

I turn him over onto his back and go down on him while beating off.  My jaw is going to ache tomorrow!  I don't swallow -- it squirts out all over his chest and belly and the bedsheets.  I run to the bathroom and get a towel.

Fred:  Thanks, but after all that, I think I need a shower.

He grabs the towel and goes into the bathroom.  I hear the shower running.  I beat off, thinking of his body glistening in the stream of water, and finish and wipe off with kleenix.  He returns and climbs in bed next to me and turns off the light.  He wraps his massive arms around me in the darkness.

Fred:  It's all right...it's ok.

Boomer: Huh?  What's all right?

What is he comforting me for?  Not swallowing? Grated, the sex wasn't great, but it's not my fault he has a big cock.

 Fred: Aren't you feeling guilty?

Boomer:  Guilty about what?

Fred:  About having sex with a man, of course.

Boomer:  Why would that bother me?

He turns the light back on and leans up on one elbow. 

Fred:  Are you trying to tell me that you have no guilt feelings about being gay?  After a whole society has been telling you your whole life that you're sick, disgusting, a criminal?

Boomer:  No, not at all.

Fred:  Man, I envy you.  I feel guilty all the time. You see all the images of homos on tv: they're pathetic little weaklings, sissies, flauncing around with limp wrists and lisps, thinking about nothing but Judy Garland and shopping, and I think 'Is that me?'  It's like being gay is about a betrayal of my manhood.  How do you avoid the feeling of shame?

I've only known that gay people exist for a few years, and my images were of guys like Jody on Soap: not particularly swishy  I heard about 'fags' and 'fairies,' but I never thought of them as gay, just as hetero guys too feminine to get girls.

Boomer: I guess I never worried about being too feminine.

Fred:Well, you're a bottom, so that's not your problem.  But I'm also feeling guilty because being gay will be a big disappointment for my parents. They'll never hear about any of my friends or romances.  No daughter in law, no grandchildren to spoil.  Since my brother can't have kids, the family name ends with me.

And all the media saying "Love and marriage is the meaning of life."  If you don't have a wife and kids, you've lost out, you're worthless.   I know it's just brainwashing, but the guilt just comes over me.  How do you avoid it?

How did I avoid it? I wonder.  I got the "What girl do you like?" litany over and over, the "wife, kids, job, house is your destiny" bit as long as I  could remember.  Finding out that it was possible to not get married, not have kids, to share your life with a man, came as a profound relief.

Boomer:  I don't know.  Following society's expectations was just never important to me, I guess. I was a Nazarene, so I was breaking social rules every day.

Fred:  What about your church? The Nazarenes won't even let you go to a movie.  They must think that homos are like incarnate demons.  I mean, I'm liberal, and I still hear the Book of Leviticus in my head every time I go to screw a guy.  Isn't that why you said no to Greek?

I never heard of gay people or gay sex mentioned, not once, from a Sunday school teacher, preacher, evangelist, or friend, until about my senior year of high school, when the new preacher discovered homa-sekshuls and started attributing everything from earthquakes to car accidents to God punishing Christians for not hating them adequately.

Boomer:  Well, our pastor does scream about homa-sekshuls in every sermon, but he's an idiot. Who cares what he thinks?  Even Nazarenes know that the Levitical Code doesn't apply to contemporary Christians.

Fred:  Hmm.  You're one of the lucky ones, I guess.  For most of us, overcoming society's hangups is a life-long process. The first thing you need after coming out is a good gay-friendly therapist.

Boomer:  No, the first thing you need is a friend.

Fred: So you're up for Greek, then?

Boomer:  Ask me tomorrow.

Nearly 40 years have passed since that night, but I still hear quite often that gay people experience "guilt and shame."  I didn't understand then, and I still don't understand.  When you realize that "it is not raining upstairs," that women are not an inevitable part of your future, that desire for men can and does exist, what is there to feel but an immense joy?

Troy's First Video Booth

Montreal, October 2009

Guys who are young or newly out have usually been brainwashed -- I mean socialized -- into the heterosexual ideal of monotony - I mean monogamy.  Rejecting all others, sharing your life, heart, and body with just one person til death.  Which can't come soon enough.

So when I started dating 23-year old Troy in Upstate New York, he was not amenable to the idea of bringing in a third person to "share."

I pointed out that he went down on me and the Pitcher at the same time, and no one seemed to mind. (See The Satyr's Sinister Scheme.)

"That just happened.  I didn't plan on it.  But now we're together, and I should be enough for you."

"You're great, but there are a lot of cute guys out there.  I want to experience as much masculine beauty as I can."

"What about marital fidelity?" he asked, repeating a buzz word from his childhood.

"That whole mythos was based upon economics.  There was only way for a man to ensure that the children he was paying to raise were his own: forbid his wife from having sex with another man. Men don't get pregnant, so why not go for it?  Seize the day!"

"Ok...but...I want to warm up first, get used to this whole idea of fooling around on the side."

Well, let's invite someone we already dated into our bed.  Maybe Pete the Water Guy.

No, that would be too weird.

Hooking up with a stranger?

A stranger in my apartment?  Too risky!

How about a Sex Party?  Twenty guys, no waiting.

No.  Too many young guys.  I'm only into older.

A bath house?  There's one in Albany, and....

No.

There weren't a lot more options.

You know what I've always wanted to try?  A glory hole.  Where you're on one side of a wall, and he's on the other side.  

You only see his penis -- he can be anybody you want. 

A glory hole?  I had tried them at bath houses.  Uncomfortable, annoying, and a disembodied penis is not very erotic -- I like to see the guy I'm with, or at least feel him.

But ok.  The only place I knew of with such facilities was a video store on the Rue Ste. Catherine in Montreal, so we drove up for the weekend, and ignored the bars, bath houses, and sex shops.

Although we did see the Bonsecours Market and Centre d'histoire de Montréal, which seemed to be rather too inclusive of local celebrities from the 1970s.

Troy wanted to try out the glory hole at 10:00 pm on Saturday night, when most of the gay residents and visitors were out on dates, or at the bars, bath houses, and sex shops.... who was left to go to an adult video store?  Trolls, druggies, hustlers, closet cases...

We wanted into the brightly-lit front room, browsed among the gay videos and porn magazines, and then headed for the back, where there was a lounge area and two rows of small booths.

 There were about a dozen guys standing or sitting in the lounge, waiting for someone attractive to show up.  As I suspected, a rough crowd.  A lot of rumpled clothes, unshaven faces, and sallow, haunted looks.  Some guys were just trying to get out of the cold.

Definitely bottoms.  They wanted to be on the receiving end.  Troy wasn't going to get a lot of action tonight.

The booths were about the size of a telephone booth.  You went in, sat down, deposited a loonie (a Canadian dollar coin), and got to watch 5 minutes of a porn movie.  Another loonie, another 5 minutes.  You could also deposit $5 for 30 minutes, or $10 for 60.

This could get expensive.

We opened the door to an unoccupied booth, and saw that it had two glory holes, connecting to the booths on either side.  Both were deserted.

"I'm a little nervous," Troy said softly.  "What if the guy isn't my type?  I only like older guys, with muscles and chest hair."

"That's the point of the glory holes," I said.  "Disembodied cocks, no body type needed.  But tell you what -- I'll wait a few minutes, then go into that booth."  I gestured at the one on his left.  "Then you can pretend you don't know who it is, so it will be like going down on a stranger."

He smiled.  "Ok, let's try that for starters."

I left him alone.  The door shut, and the "Occupied" light came on.  I went back out to the entry area and scanned the video titles and got cruised by a scary-looking guy in a green trenchcoat.  To discourage him, I went out to the front room and browsed among the sex toys.

Then I returned and went to the booth to the left of Troy.  Scary guy followed, and went into the booth next to me.  His mouth immediately appeared at his glory hole.  I ignored him, unzipped, and squeezed through the glory hole into Troy's booth.

He ignored me.

I swayed a little bit.

He ignored me.

I pulled back in, knelt, and looked through the glory hole -- at the back of a guy's butt.

"Ahem!"  I cleared my throat and pushed through again.  I felt a hand giving me a desultory squeeze.

"Ahem!"  I zipped up, went over to Troy's booth, and opened the door.  He was on his knees in front of a beefy Bear, in his 40s, wearing a cowboy hat.  Why hadn't I seen him in the lounge area?

"Occupé!" he growled.

Troy looked up.  "C'est bon -- il est mon copain.  Boomer, this is Max.  He's a farmer.  Isn't that cool?"

"Enchanté!" Max grunted, obviously miffed at the coitus interruptus.

"You exchanged a lot of information through a glory hole!'

"He just opened the door to the booth, and we started talking.  It's a lot better than a disembodied penis, isn't it?"

Max pulled Troy to his knees and zipped up.  "Ta chum ne se souci pas?" Your boyfriend doesn't mind?

" Bien sûr que non!  Il était son idée!"  It was his idea!   He enveloped Max in a long kiss.  "Do you mind if Max comes back to the hotel with us?"

That was the end of Troy's insistence on monogamy, although he backslid a little when I made a teenage Friend with Benefits.

See also: Troy's Wild Ride in Hell-fer-Sartain and The Shy Boy at the Bathhouse.

Penis Painting in Traditional Africa

In the tropical regions of sub-Saharan Africa, nudity used to be the norm.  But men still found ways to ornament themselves and highlight their...um...best features.  They still do, on occasion.

Some men use scarification, the equivalent of Western tattoos, for a permanent effect.

Or paint for a more temporary outing.

Clay washes right off when you're finished displaying your erotic desirability and ready to get down to business.

Everyone has different style ideas.

The designs can get quite intricate.

Sometimes you don't need any ornamentation.  Your penis speaks for itself.

See also: African art on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding

A Naked Man Behind the Door

Speaking of sausage sightings, here's one for the record books:

There are several unisex bathrooms on campus, three in a row in a corridor of the Business School, three in a row in the Art Building, two in a row in Social Sciences.

They're designed for the disabled who can't negotiate the m/f restrooms, but also used by:

Non-binary and transgender people who might not feel comfortable in the m/f restrooms.

Guys who are shy about pulling it out in front of other guys.

And anyone who dislikes the gunkiness of the toilets in the m/f restrooms after about ten hours worth of students have been parking their behinds on them.

They are big, with big, square doors that can accommodate wheelchairs.  When you walk in, there's a sink directly in front of you and a toilet and sometimes a urinal five paces to the side.

No "occupied" indicators, like on airplanes.  You just try the door.  If it's locked from the inside, you move on.

That's a lot of buildup, but the payoff is worth it.

The other night I was walking through the Business School on the way back from the gym, and I decided to use one of the bank of unisex bathrooms. I chose the middle one for some reason.  Symmetry, I suppose. 

The doors are unexpectedly easy to open, and I had to go.  I swung it wide.

There was a man facing me!

Too old to be a student, probably in his 30s.  Tall, pale skin, buzz cut. Wearing a gray business suit.

Except his pants were down or off. I saw his bare, hairy legs, his thighs, his crotch, and a long, thick uncut cock hanging down.  About 4" soft.

I said "Excuse me" and swung the door shut again.

They don't slam.  It took a second.  He just stood there, motionless, staring.

Obviously he had not realized that the door was unlocked.

But one thing is bugging me:  he was nowhere near the toilet.  He was about three steps from the sink, facing away from it.  Facing the door.

What was he doing?

Maybe he was an exhibitionist, waiting for someone to expose himself to, with the safety of claiming "I didn't know the door was unlocked."

If so, he would have a long wait. There are several bathrooms in the Business Building, and not many people around.

Could he have been waiting for someone specific -- a bathroom hookup that I accidentally interrupted?

It beats shoving your cock under a toilet stall.

Sausage Sighting in a Hallway on Campus

The fastest route from the campus gym to my office is across the quad, through the Business Center, and then across another quad.

The longer route goes down a little-used hallway past a handicapped bathroom, a doorway to the the back of the swimming pool, and the Athletic Training Department, then into the fieldhouse, upstairs, then through a maze of corridors.  All indoors, so I use it when it's raining or cold outside.  

And there's another benefit to walking past Athletic Training: most of its students are ..built.

Muscles on parade.

And sometimes more.

Yesterday afternoon it wasn't cold and raining, but for some reason I decided to take the long way anyway.  I was walking down the corridor, just past the door to the swimming pool, when suddenly a student left the Athletic Training Office and walked toward me.  He looked like someone in my class: dark brown hair, round face, thick athletic physique, wearing a tan t-shirt...

I smiled.  He gave me an odd suspicious look.

Then my usual face-chest-crotch cruise brought my eyes to beneath the belt...

The guy wasn't wearing gym trunks.

Underwear.  Extremely tight underwear.  Everything he had was visible.

Thick cock shaft, the head wrapped under.  Balls on either side.

 My jaw dropped.  Realizing that I was staring, I looked up again, and we passed each other.














Not that I'm complaining, but what was he doing walking down a corridor with his pants off?  There was bound to be foot traffic.

All I can think of is:
He was getting therapy for an injury that required his pants to be off, and had to go to the bathroom. He scooted down the hallway, assuming that there wouldn't be much traffic when it wasn't cold or rainy out.

And when he saw someone approaching, it was too late to turn back.

Whatever his motive,it was a sausage sighting for the record books.