Sharing the Orthodox Jewish Boy

West Hollywood, December 1989

Shortly after I got back from my semester in Turkey, I decided to make up for lost time with all of the ethnic groups that were rare in the Middle East: Black, Hispanic, and Asian.  First on my list was Black, so I went to a bar called the Zone.

Lane had just broken up with a long-term partner, and wanted to meet a black guy.

It didn't work out that way.  I went back to his apartment in West Hollywood, and never left.

Lane was about five years older than me, short, husky, a L.A. native, a big science fiction fan, and Jewish.

I never dated anyone Jewish before, although I was close friends with Aaron, the rabbi's son who didn't know he was gay, back in high school.

Lane had never dated anyone Christian before, and many of his friends were opposed to the idea, telling him that:

1. Christians were all anti-Semitic.  Every Sunday morning they gathered in churches to hear about how evil Jews were.  I might be polite now, but the moment we had an argument, the anti-Semitism would pop out.
2. The main goal of every Christian was to convert Jews to their religion, so Lane would be under constant pressure from me and all my relatives.
3. Christians didn't eat kosher, and they weren't circumcized.  Disgusting!

David (not his real name), a gay Orthodox Cute Young Thing, was particularly rude. He never spoke to me directly, he said insulting things in Yiddish, and he brought "nice Jewish boys" to the house when I wasn't around to lure Lane away.

It was time to teach him a lesson.  So just after my birthday, in December 1989, we invited him over for dinner.

I wasn't living with Lane yet, but I brought over a few pieces of home decor.

David arrived on Saturday night, and walked into a living room loaded down with Judaica, science fiction novels -- and a miniature Christmas tree.

"Um...er...nice Hannukah bush," he said.

Instead of a map of Tolkien's Middle Earth, there was the famous Salman painting of Jesus.

"Is that...um...er...."  David stammered.

"Boomer gave it to me," Lane said.  "Isn't it campy?  Jesus is so feminine -- who knew he was gay?"

Whitening, David excused himself and ran to the bathroom, where he no doubt stumbled upon some books that my ex-boyfriend Fred lent me: Jesus Through the Centuries, A History of Christian Thought, and A Handbook of Christian Theology.

When he returned, it was time to sit down for dinner.  Lane was making his famous Avocado Burgers with potatoes au gratin.  "Do you want bacon and cheese on your burger?"  he asked.

"That's...that's...not kosher," David said weakly.

"Why...no, I guess it isn't," he said, feigning ignorance.  "It's been so long, I forgot."

David ate his plain burger, staring at Lane as if he had just sprouted horns.

After dinner, we returned to the living room for dessert and coffee.  "By the way, did you want to go out to the Zone, or stay here?"  I asked.

Stay here meant "go into the bedroom."

In West Hollywood in the 1980s, dinner parties usually ended with everyone going out to the bars or else pairing off and going into the bedroom.

David stared at me.  "Um...well...."

"Have you ever seen one that's uncircumcized before?" Lane asked.

"No!"

"Well, no time like the present."   I dropped my pants.

His eyes widened.

"So, the Zone, or stay here?"  I repeated.

"Um...um...well...."  He looked at the Christmas tree, then back at me, and sighed deeply, in utter resignation.  "Stay here."

See also: Our Date with the Teenage Beach Boy.; Gershom and the Gentile; and Lane and his Trophy Boy

Naked in the Shower with Randy Travis

Born in 1959, country-western singer Randy Travis has a face that would send me running for the exit: long and narrow, with a gigantic forehead and tiny, beady eyes -- and he wasn't much cuter when he was young.

I've never heard his voice, but it has apparently won him a shelf-full of Grammies, CMA, ACM, and AMA awards (whatever those are).

His discography looks rather heterosexist, with a liberal addition of Jesus-Saves Gospel: "It's God's Amazing Grace that brought me this far."

Is it just me, or do people who mention God in every other sentence tend to be homophobic?

Not much gay content in his acting career.  I thought he played Will's wealthy cowboy client on Will and Grace, but that was Harry Connick Jr.  Travis has been in some cowboy movies and Christian dramas.

He's apparently been "plagued" by "accusations" of gayness, which he "vehemently denies." Sounds you think being gay is about the worst thing in the world, cowboy.

He's been married twice.   In 1991 he married his manager, Libbie Hatcher, who was 20 years older than him (yeah, I know, a double standard).  They divorced in 2010, and in 2015 he married Mary Davis.

No kids.  A lot of "family, Family, FAMILY" lyrics, though.

Not very good fodder for a gay sausage sighting story, but I have one:

Warwick, Rhode Island, August 1984

Call me Carlo.  I'm a Rhode Island boy.  I drink coffee milk, say "cah" instead of "car," and know who won the Governor's Cup in 2017 (Brown). I can't imagine living anywhere else.

When I was growing up in Warwick, Rhode Island in the 1960s and 1970s, the Warwick Musical Theater was a place to stay far away from, if you had any interest in being cool.  They called it "The Tent," although in 1967 the original circus tent was replaced by a gaudy, candy-colored theater-in-the round.

It specialized in dinosaur acts: Wayne Newton, Tom Jones, Andy Williams, Perry Como (who we called Perry Coma). No rock, unless you count Sha Na Na.  No black performers, except once Sammy Davis Jr.

I graduated from high school in 1975, majored in English at Roger Williams and the University of Rhode Island, moved to Providence, and in 1982 got my first job, as an entertainment reporter for The Cranston Herald.  But I tried to steer clear of the Tent. A kid's ballet recital!  A society luncheon! Anything but that.

But one day, the editor told me that on Sunday, August 5th, the Tent was having "A Night with Barbara Mandrell and Randy Travis."  He ordered a review, plus an interview of one or the other.

I had heard of Barbara Mandrell, but I couldn't name one of her song.  I had never heard of Randy Travis, but his picture showed a nice physique and a considerable basket.  Besides, I figured, a guy is a guy.

Buster Bonoff, the owner of the Tent, would pick them up at the airport about noon on Sunday, bring them to their hotel, and give them about four hours to relax or rehearse before picking them up for the concert at 6:00.

My interview was scheduled at 5:00 pm at a waterside restaurant called Doughboy's, where Top of the Bay is now.

I prepared by going to the record store to look for Randy's albums -- there were none (Randy Travis: live at the Nashville Palace had been released, but the record store didn't stock it).  Nor did the radio station have any of his singles.

The country-western radio station in New Bedford had a single by Randy Traywick (his original name): "Dreamin'" and "I'll Take Any Willing Woman."

Way heterosexist.  I thought about going with Barbara Mandrell instead.

On the 5th, I drove down to Warwick early to take some pictures.  Then I discovered that I had a couple of hours to kill, so I decided to work out -- always a good idea to get buffed before interviewing a guy -- you never know what will happen.  Remind me to tell you about my interview with Sha Na Na.

I didn't have time to drive all the way back to Providence, so I stopped at the YMCA in Warwick, which happened to be down the street from Randy's bed and breakfast.  I used to go there all the time as a kid -- free weights, some Nautilus, and plenty of action in the sauna and shower.

Today I didn't have time for action.  I did some upper-body weight training and a little cardio, and hit the showers.

I had just begun to soap up, when I turned around, and there was Randy Travis, or at least someone who looked like him, not ten feet away, putting his towel on a hook. He chose the shower next to mine, turned it on, and stood under it.  Surprisingly not very tall, a lean physique with big biceps, smooth chest, and a very nice cut cock.

He turned around to wet himself, squirted some soap into his hand, and began lathering up his cock and balls, all the while grinning at me.  I instinctively felt for my own cock and started manipulating it.

We were alone in the locker room -- Sunday afternoons are dead time at the Y.  Did he want me to do more?

Newspaper reporters are not psychiatrists.  No rule prohibits us from going down on our interview subjects.  I took a step over and reached out my hand, ready to  fondle his penis.

That's when I made my fatal mistake.

"Hey, are you Randy Travis?" I asked.

His face fell into a frown, and his hands moved to cover his crotch.  "Yeah, why?  You a fan?"

I pretended that I had stepped over to shake his hand.  "I'm Carlo.  I'm supposed to interview you later for The Herald.  Take a picture, too."

"Cool.  I'll be there," he said with a suspicious frown.

Surprised by the sudden cold shoulder, I turned off my shower and grabbed a towel.  "Ok, so I'll see you a little later."

The interview went very badly.  I kept trying not to look at Randy's crotch, and his matronly manager kept butting in.  And the concert: let's just say that me and country-western music don't mix.

But to this day, I'm wondering: I was all over that YMCA for an hour before going to the showers, and I didn't see Randy Travis anywhere.  The only place he could have been is the sauna.  But he would have no reason to hang around the sauna for an hour.

Except....

See also: Hank Williams Nude

The Top 12 Track Team Bulges

We're used to seeing bulges in swimsuits and wrestling singlets, but what about other sports?  Like track.

For something as jaw-dropping as this to happen, the athlete has to be dressed without a cup.

Where is this WVC, anyway, and are they hiring?

For the answer, see "WVC: The College with Uniforms that Reveal All," on Small Town Beefcake

















3. A commando performance from Middle Tennessee State University in Murfreesboro.

4. Triathlon winners (run, swim, bike) from Australia.

5. Sac City means "Sacramento City College," of all places to bulge at.

6. Central Connecticut/


More after the break