The Most Disgusting Hookup of All Time

Rock Island, July 2017

When I go home to Rock Island, I usually do quite well with hookups.  Being the new guy in town, I get approached a lot, I have the "I grew up here!" conversation starter, and in the absence of gay bars there's a lot of old-fashioned cruising going on.  But earlier this week, when we stopped in Rock Island on the way to New York, I had the MOST DISGUSTING HOOKUP OF ALL TIME.

I blame Bob, the 19 year old economics major I met at the dentist's office a few weeks ago. He was with only one guy before me, but quickly warmed up to the idea of sharing and hooking up.

He had never heard of gay dating apps, and was eager to try out Grindr, so I promised that on our night in Rock Island, he could arrange some hookups for us.

We got to our hotel about 6:00 and had dinner with my brother at Harris Pizza.   I couldn't resist posting a picture of the pizza (the highlight of the evening).

Then I went to the gym while Bob got to work on Grindr, with the profile name "visiting" and nude pictures of us  both to share.  When I returned, he had the hookups arranged.

"I invited two, in case one doesn't show up, like you taught me," he said. "One for you, a teenager."

I'm actually more attracted to guys in their 30s.  I just go with the twinks and Cute Young Things because they approach me all the time, and there aren't a lot of "regular aged" guys on the Plains.   But I wasn't going to tell that to Bob the 19-year old, especially when he was so proud of himself.

"And one for me," he added.  "Old, muscular, hairy chest, big cock."

Sounded like Bob's would be more my style.

Little did I know.

9:00: Chris the Teenager

Chris the Teenager (yes, we carded him) arrived ten minutes late.

Bob got a few of my tastes wrong:

I like them short.  He was very tall, like 6'5".

I like them muscular or husky, not chubby.  Chris had a ton of soft belly fat, and those big womanly breasts that I find a turn-off.

I like them well-hung.  He had maybe 4.5".

But I shouldn't complain -- Bob did his best.

Chris wasn't bad at kissing, and he let me go down on him while he was going down on Bob.  But then he lay on the bed with his butt in the air, whispering "Do me, Daddy."

No way.

"Let me try!" Bob.  "I've never topped anyone before."

Bob has an uncut Bratwurst, about 7", which should be big enough to pass through the fat of Chris's butt cheeks.  But he couldn't find the hole!  Finally he rubbed off against Chris, a sort of reverse interfemoral, while Chris was going down on me.

Then Chris said he had to go home, since his parents didn't realize that he had borrowed their car.

Not a very satisfying hookup, but I told myself, "Wait for Bob's guy.  In his 40s, muscular, big cock.  A bodybuilding bear!"


10:00 Sid the Illustrated Man

The guy who showed up was in his 60s, with a long, ugly face and an obvious toupee.  He introduced himself and immediately lay down next to Bob, who was still naked, ran his finger over his cock, and put it in his mouth!

"Yum...prelube."

"I think it's lube," Bob said.  "I tried anal on a guy before."

"Well, it's still delicious!"

Ok, major turn-off.  No way I was kissing this guy now!

But he was Bob's hookup, so I had to be polite. I helped him undress.

Very thin, smooth, hairless body covered with tattoos, including spiderwebs, Madonnas, a dagger, a gay pride flag, a skull -- I lost count.  Disgusting.

But a cock is a cock.

I started going down on his 6" cut cock, while he lay there, squeezing his nipples, his tongue out like a puppy dog.  Disgusting.

When I moved away to let Bob have a turn, Sid ran his finger over the prelube on his own cock and ate it!

Beyond disgusting -- nauseating!

Bob fondled his butt.  Was he thinking of doing anal again?

 I slapped Sid's butt, and he moaned "That feels good!"

Soon Bob and I were slapping him on the legs, arms, abs, chest, and cock, everywhere but his balls (which he said were sensitive), while he beat off, moaning and squeezing his own nipple and sticking his tongue out like a puppy dog.

Soon he spurted -- and, of course, ate it!

We got him dressed and out of there fast.

I needed a shower.  I have never been so disgusted by a hookup in my life.

Bob didn't like him either: "That guy was way too kinky!"

But this morning he asked if he could spank me.

See also: What Not to Say During Sex; A Hookup with Brothers at the Dentist's Office; What is the Difference Between a Pizza and a Penis?

Mark Brandon the Actor/Mark Brandon the Porn Star

I'm trying to figure out if the Mark Brandon who is currently starring in the Archie comics Riverdale series is the same Mark Brandon who did "gay for pay" porn in the early 1990s.  They certainly look alike, with the same hair, the same eyebrows, and the same mouth (give or take 30 years).

Mark Brandon the porn star was active from 1991 to 1995, appearing in such magazines as Advocate Men and Inches, and in the porn movies Close Shave 3, Dynastud 2, Rock Hard 2, Dial S for Sex, and Morning Ritual.  Apparently he only appeared in heterosexual and solo j/o scenes.

He looks to be in his 30s, so I'm going to guess a birthday in about 1955.

Here he has darker hair.

Mark Brandon the actor was born in 1951 in Long Beach.  He was working as a fireman when he started auditioning for commercials.  His first screen role was on a 1983 episode of Mama's Family, playing an orderly in a nursing home opposite Harvey Korman.  If he was 23 years old, he would be born about 1960.

During the 1980s, his acting was sporadic: episodes of Santa Barbara, Throb, Dynasty, Unsub, and Danger Bay, mostly under the Mark High.

I have found no pictures of Mark from that era.  We'll have to make do with recent ones.

Between 1991 and 1995, he has six tv and movie appearances: news anchor, presenter, narrator, master of ceremonies, uncredited, and "Marty Spencer" on an episode of Robin's Hoods.  All as Mark High.

Those jobs couldn't have paid very well.  Did Mark take a "jump to the left" and agree to be filmed aroused, as long as he didn't have to actually make it with a guy?

The world wants to know.

By the way, these days he does mostly Hallmark "inspirational movies."  He's married, and has a son.

Mark Brandon the actor, I mean.

Picking Up a College Track Star in Front of My Brother

Small Town Illinois, September 2016

We're on our way back from a funeral, my brother and sister-in-law in the front seat, me in the back, driving down I-74 through a wilderness of small towns and vast plains: Danville, Farmer City, Mahomet, LeRoy, Downs, Carlock.

Katie points to the sign of a town with a quirky name.  "We should stop there for dinner.  It will probably have a cute Mom and Pop restaurant that all of the locals go to."

"Small town locals?  Sounds scary.  ZZ Top wannabes driving red pickup trucks with Confederate flags and 'I Heart Trump' bumper stickers."

"...and rows of cute boutiques and antique shops," Katie says.

"I think we should just press on to Bloomington.  According to Google Maps, there are three Thai restaurants..."

"I can't wait another hour!" my brother Ken exclaims.  "And I'm not eating rest-stop McDonalds!"

"It will be fine!" Katie jokes.  "If your hot pink tutu and drag queen bouffant attract rednecks, we'll tell them you're my hairdresser."

To get to the small town, you drive north from the highway through one of those horrible retail strips, with a Wal-Mart, fast-food restaurants, and car dealerships.  Then through a residential district of the same white-porch houses you see everywhere in Illinois, across a river, and to downtown:

A park with a bandshell.
A clothing store for Cowgirls.
Two closed banks, a closed antique store, a hair salon, a lot of deserted storefronts, and two restaurants, only one open: The Paradise Soda Shop.

We go into the soda shop.  Maybe it serves sandwiches, too.

It's in a historic building, with restored booths and seats from the 1920s,

There's a hot bear in an old-fashioned soda jerk costume behind the counter: in his 40s, chubby, black hair, beard, nice square hands.  His name tag reads "Seth."

I go into full cruise mode: eyes, crotch, eyes again.  Unfortunately, Seth's crotch is covered by an apron.  "Hi, Seth, my name is Boomer.  My associates and I are traveling through on the way to the big city, and we were wondering what kind of local delicacies you have."

He grins.  "Well, we have sodas, malteds, shakes, and phosphates."

"Phosphates?"

"Carbonated water with all different kinds of flavoring. They were popular in the 1920s.  But we have flavors they never thought of: watermelon, papaya, kiwi, sriracha..."

"Sriracha?  The hot sauce?"

Our eyes meet with that unmistakable vibe.  "It's an acquired taste."

"We were looking more for dinner," Ken says,

"Well, there are two restaurants in walking distance: Burger King and Pizza Ranch.  But be sure to come back for a phosphate later.  I'm here until 7:00."

So much for a down-home Mom and Pop restaurant that everybody goes to.

The Pizza Ranch is the franchise run by fundamentalists, with the goal of Glorifying God with bad pizza and deep-fried chicken.  Two buffet tables loaded down with fried stuff.  A salad bar consisting of wilted lettuce and sliced cucumbers, and some long rows of family-style tables.

Where the entire local high school football team is eating! Eight beefy guys squeezing past us to get to their table, then returning for more fried stuff and squeezing past us again.

Crotch view after crotch view!

Legs and thighs an inch away!
Chests and biceps in full view!
A smile and an "Excuse me, sir" as a guy shifts toward me to scoot around.

Plus a cute boy eating with two rednecks, a pair of men in muscle shirts, and the father of a nuclear family with a blatant bulge in his pants.

There are 23 men and 3 women in the room. My kind of restaurant!

I nudge Katie. "I think I'm going to move here, and eat at the Pizza Ranch every night."

"You do, and you'll be as big as a house," Katie says.

"Ok, I'll go somewhere else for the food, and come here for the view."

I try to push us through, so we can get back to the Paradise for phosphates and cruising.  Unfortunately, we arrive a little after 7:00, and Seth is gone.   A gruff older woman takes our phosphate orders.

Seth may be gone, but there's a cute college boy a nearby booth, eating ice cream with his two friends -- both girls, I notice.  He's tall and slim, with a long face and dirty-blond hair.  And he keeps looking over at me and smiling.

Seeing a chance to cruise, I excuse myself and go over to his booth.  "Hi, you look familiar..."

"You must have seen me at the meet.  I'm Ryan H**** -- I placed at 10.23."

I have no idea what he is talking about, so I say "That sounds very impressive.  Sorry I wasn't there to see it.  I'm Boomer -- my brother and sister-in-law and I are just passing through town."

His face falls.  "Are you interested in track and field?"

"Sure, I like all sports.  I used to write for a bodybuilding magazine."

"Cool!  What do you do now?"

While the girls text furiously on their smartphones, Ryan and I talk about college.  He's a freshman at the University of Illinois, where he's on the track team (10.23 is his personal best for a 2-mile run).   He wants to major in criminology and go to work for the FBI.

"I can tell you all about the field of criminology," I begin.  Then I see Ken and Katie gesturing at me and looking bored.  "But we should be going -- we have a long drive ahead of us.  But you and I should stay in touch.  I'll give you my email address."

He thanks me, but doesn't offer anything in return.  We shake hands and head out into the night.

"I'm definitely moving here!" I exclaim..  "This place is cruisier than the Rage on a Saturday night at last call!"

"Are you sure Ryan wasn't just being friendly?" Katie asks.  "There's a big difference between friendly and interested.  He didn't give you his phone number, did he?"

"No, but..."

"Anyway, he lives 600 miles from your town," Ken adds.  "A little far for dating."

"Well, I'll be passing through this way again at Christmastime."

Back home, I look up Ryan on twitter and Facebook.  Last summer he tweeted a picture of his friend's backside with the caption "Thank God for Sam's butt."  His Facebook page has a picture of him in his underwear -- nice basket -- with the caption:  "Only ___ High School boys party in their underwear."

I'm guessing he's gay.

Suddenly my cell phone buzzes.  Ryan has sent me a photo: nude, at a pool, his enormous Kovbasa semi-aroused.  Probably photoshopped, but who cares?

I'm guessing he's interested.  

Only three months until Christmas!

See also: My Christmas Date with the College Track Star; Hookup with the Waiter at a Christian Restaurant; and Ryan's Three Way with Harry Styles.