In Bed with My Girlfriend's Boyfriend

Rock Island, March 1976

When I entered tenth grade at Rocky High (age 14-15), boy-girl dating was not optional.  It was a requirement.  Every day, parents, friends, preachers, teachers, and coaches asked "What girl do you like?"  It was an endless litany.  "What girl? What girl? What girl?  What girl?"

And on Tuesday night, when you typically made the phone call to request a Saturday-night date, "Who are you going to call? Why haven't you called yet?  Call!  Call!  Call!"

I tried various ways to get out of it.

1. Calling girls who were way out of my league, the cheerleader-cover girl types who laughed in my face and slammed the phone down, then rushed to call their friends to laugh about my audacity.

2. Unrequited love.  Everyone knew that you fell in love only once, and stayed in love for the rest of your life.  If the other person didn't happen to be in love with you, you were screwed. No matter where you went or who you met for the next sixty years, you would never fall in love again.

3. Lame activities.  Nazarenes weren't allowed movies, dances, fairs, festivals, or rock music anyway, so Nazarene boys usually asked girls out to dinner, or to sports matches.  I went even lower: a chess tournament, a poetry reading, a classical music concert. Faced with those prospects, even girls in my league would give me the "just friends" speech while holding out for something better.


"How about Nazarene girls?" my brother asked.  "They won't mind lame dates.  You could even ask them to church."

"Out of the question," I said.

"Why?  What's wrong with them?"

The real reason was:  after  I rejected the blatant sexual advance of church royalty Debbie at summer camp, she and her cronies -- all of the regulars -- made a big show of whispering "fag!" and running away when I came within 100 yards of them.  But I couldn't tell him that, so I said "We grew up together.  They're like sisters."

"What about a new girl, someone who just joined the church?"

"Sure -- if any show up."  Although our goal in life was reputedly to save souls, new converts were rare. We got about a dozen per year, barely enough to make up for the drop-outs. I couldn't remember the last teenager.

But fate was against me.  In January of my sophomore year, a new girl named Becky came to church with a friend and got saved at the altar call.   

I don't remember what she looked like.  Who cares?  The pressure was on. My brother, my friends, my parents all started pushing me at her.  "Go on -- don't be shy!"  "Don't be a dweeb!"  "Ask her out!"

I resisted for a long time.  She was nearly two years older than me -- a massive age difference in high school!  And she lived in Green Rock, about 20 miles away.  How was I supposed to get there to pick her up?  Ask Dad to drive me?

It didn't matter.  "The Lord has provided!  Don't be a dweeb!  Ask her out!  Ask her!  Ask her!"

So one Tuesday in March I called and asked her to a jump quiz competition Saturday night.  She was going anyway, so we would meet at the church, sit together, and go out for ice cream afterwards.

To my consternation, she agreed.  But over ice cream sundaes, she said "I should let you know that this can't go anywhere.  We can't go steady or get married."

My jaw dropped.  Dating was a means of finding a marital partner, but no one admitted it so blatantly. "Why not?"

"I'm already in love with someone else.  Do you want to see his picture?"

Yes, every guy wants to see the picture of his date's boyfriend!

Scott was a fresh-faced teenager, thin, bushy-haired, grinning at the camera.  He seemed pleasant enough.

"Why aren't you with him?" I asked.  "Is it unrequited?"

"Oh, no, Scott's in love with me, too," Becky said quickly.  "It's just that he's not a Christian, so we can't date anymore.  Be not unequally yoked with unbelievers."

"Couldn't you like, um, win his soul?"

"I tried, but he's not interested. He thinks the Bible is just a book of fairy tales. He doesn't go to church at all.  He hasn't admitted it, but I think he might even be an...atheist!"

"Wow! An atheist!"  I exclaimed, barely able to conceal my excitement.  I had never met an atheist before, but I heard all about them in Sunday school and soulwinning class.  Atheists had no morals, so they did whatever they wanted: grew their hair long, went to movies, smoked pot...gulp...had sex.

I imagined Scott naked, aroused, his enormous cock pushing up against his flat belly, smiling, inviting...to get or give a b.j.

Focus!  I told myself.  You're at Country Style, eating a sundae, on a date with a girl....

"Atheists are definitely a challenge," I continued. "The standard soulwinning oepnings don't work with them, and they don't respond to quotes from the Bible.  But I learned a few tricks.  How about if you introduce us?  I'll have him on his knees in no time."

On his knees....to get or give a bj....

"Wow, that would be great!" Becky said.  "It's so sweet of you to do this."  She leaned over and tried to kiss me on the cheek, but I backed away

The meeting was in a dorm room at St. Ambrose College in Davenport -- Becky forgot to mention that her boyfriend was two years older, a college freshman -- and a Roman Catholic.

Catholic and atheist --  Double the evil!  I couldn't wait!

To my disappointment, the room looked perfectly normal.  So did Scott.  He shook my hand warmly and hugged Becky.  She refused a kiss.

She took the desk chair, and Scott sat on the bed.  I didn't want to squeeze in next to him, so I sat on the floor, my arm draped across the mattress, a few inches from his legs.

You weren't supposed to engage atheists in intellectual debate, but I couldn't resist a few Biblical-inerrancy zingers, like Where did Cain get his wife?  (Obviously he married his sister).

When I handed Scott my Bible to show him the passage, our hands touched. I began to feel flushed.

"Becky, would you mind waiting down in the Student Union?"  I asked.  "I want to  talk to Scott privately."

When she left, I looked up at Scott and said, in my most dramatic voice, "You think that if there's no God, you're free, you can do what you want, but you're wrong.  There are still rules.  You have to get a job, you have to get married and have kids.  None of us are free.  Not even Christians.  What do you think I'd like to be doing right now?"

I reached out and gently stroked his knee.

He spread his legs  I could see that he bulged to the left. The room was very hot, and very quiet.  Time was standing still.

I reached out and touched his bulge. Scott smiled and pressed my hand down.  I unzipped and pulled out his cock -- 7", thick, uncut -- and went down on him.  He moaned softly.  His cockhead rammed against my throat, gagging me.  Then we were lying on the bed, naked, bodies pressed together, cocks pressed together, kissing, his tongue darting into....

Was this atheist-Catholic mind control?

I moved my hand away.

"Then what good is it to be a Christian?" Scott asked.  "It just leads to more things you can't do.  No movies, no dancing.  No sex."

I was supposed to say something like "You feel indescribable joy all the time," or at least "You won't go to hell when you die," but instead I said "None of us are free.  Let's go find Becky."

Nothing happened between me and Scott.  Nothing except fantasy.  But I continued to "date" his girlfriend, to the back-slapping praise and adoration of my parents, brother, friends, preacher, Sunday School teacher....

None of us are free.

The Boy Who Wouldn't Kiss

Levi, a tall, hirsute bear from Colorado, liked to tell this story as an entry in the "date from hell" contests:

West Hollywood, March 1990

Mickey was a short, muscular twink with thick brown hair, blue eyes, surprisingly red lips, and some acne on his cheeks. He had a smooth, hairless chest, big square hands, and a bubble butt.  Levi couldn't tell you about his cock. That was party of his mystery.

1. It was traditional in West Hollywood to tell your coming out story at a first meeting, but Mickey never said anything about his past -- or his present.  Levi never found out where he lived, what types of jobs he had, anything.  He never even got his telephone number.

2. Mickey never had any money.  Not that he was struggling financially -- he dressed nicely, obviously belonged to a gym, and brought nice gifts to dinner parties.  He literally carried no money or credit cards on his person.  If you took him out to eat, you paid.

3. He refused to go to the bars.  Not even "Mickey's," the twink bar in west West Hollywood.

4. There were huge gaps in his knowledge of everyday things.  He didn't know that you could get money from an ATM machine.  He didn't know that cars need oil changes.  When they went to the Japanese buffet, he piled his plate high, not realizing that he could go back.

5. But the big mystery: he didn't have sex.  Ever.

In West Hollywood, sex was a standard way of getting to know someone. You jumped into bed at the first meeting, offered to "share" with friends, went down on guys as readily as heterosexuals shake hands. To reject an offer was simply rude, unless you apologized and gave an explanation.  And the only acceptable explanations were "I have a fever of 102" and "My dog just died."

Mickey just...didn't.

Levi met him at the Change of Hobbit, the science fiction bookstore in Santa Monica.  Heterosexuals went there too, of course, but it took only a moment of cruising to recognize each other as gay.  Mickey rejected a grope, pushing Levi's hand away, but still accepted an invitation to dinner.  Probably afraid to do gay things in a heterosexual environment, Levi reasoned.

When Mickey arrived at the apartment, he hugged Levi and his current boyfriend Tom, but when they went in for a kiss, he moved his head away.  Later they sat on the couch watching tv, and each went in for a grope.  Mickey covered his crotch with a pillow.  They obviously weren't going to suggest "sharing" after such a rebuff!  Instead, they showed him the door.

To their surprise, Mickey suggested getting together again.  They went to the Japanese buffet, to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Mickey's choice), to Hollywood Boulevard to gawk at the tourists.

No groping, no kissing, no sharing.

They drove Mickey down to Long Beach for a birthday party for Tom's ex Charlie, which of course involved party games with prizes like "ten minutes in the bedroom with the guy of your choice."  Someone knelt to give Mickey a friendly blow job, but he crossed his legs.

Someone else cruised him, but when he went in for a kiss, Mickey turned his head away.

Later the guests split up into twos and threes to go into the bedrooms or go cruising at the bars. They drove home with Mickey, who left without "sharing."

"Hey, what's with your friend?"  Charlie asked later.  "He's a real wet blanket, isn't he?  Is he even gay?"

"Sure," Levi told him.  "He's totally into Johnny Depp on 21 Jump Street, and he drools over nearly every guy we see."

"So what's his story?"

Levi didn't know. During the next few days, he called most of the guys from the party to ask their opinion.  Speculation ran rampant.   HIV positive?  Suffering from internalized guilt over being gay?  Self-conscious about his small penis?  A Greek god, too good to sully his cock with a mortal mouth?

Levi had never even felt his cock.  Did he have one?  Maybe he was transgender.

(We hadn't heard of asexuals at the time).

His friend Boomer had an idea, "From what you've described, every time you try to get intimate with Mickey, it's been with more than one person around.  The Change of Hobbit.  The Japanese buffet.  The birthday party."

"When he comes to our apartment, it's always me and Tom, and sometimes some other guys," Levi added.

"Maybe he's shy in groups," Boomer told him.  "Maybe if you get him alone, he'll be all over you."

Levi grinned.

Here's what happened next:

When Mickey called and asked to get together again, Levi invited him to dinner, but first "I need some help: my friend Lane asked me to inspect one of the apartments he managed.  You know, to make sure that the cleaners did a good job, there's nothing broken, it's ready to move in.  Can you help?  I'll pay you."

Mickey agreed.   He met Levi at the apartment at 4:00 pm.  Levi handed him a clipboard, and they checked the windows and curtains in the living room, and the refrigerator, dishwasher, and garbage disposal in the kitchen.  When Mickey climbed on a foot ladder so he could check the top of the refrigerator, and Levi steadied him with hands on his waist.  When he knelt down to check under the sink, Levi "accidentally" fondled his butt.

Then they went into the bedroom.  The "tenants" had left a futon behind.  "Do you think we can move this out by ourselves?"  Levi asked.

Mickey shrugged.  He got on one side, and Levi on other.  But Levi "slipped," fell down onto the futon, and pulled Mickey down with him.  They stared at each other for a moment, and Levi moved in for a kiss.

Mickey jumped up.  "I'm tired," he said.  "Do you mind if I wait in the car?"

"No, but..."  Now Levi was angry.  "Hell, Mickey, what's the problem.  If you're going to live in West Hollywood, there are some things you have to do.  Like let a guy suck your cock every now and then."

He blushed crimson, making the acne stand out on his face.  "I know, but...well, I'm sort of nervous.  I've never had sex before.  Or kissed.  Or had a date."

Or kissed.  Or had a date?

"Mom and Dad are always trying to push me into asking a girl for a date, but I'm getting out of it.  I told them not until I had my driver's license. Man ,if they knew I'm gay...."

Um...

It seems that Mickey was only fifteen years old.