My Brother and I Compete over a Boy

Rock Island, August 1968

In the summer of 1968, when I was 7 1/2 years old and my brother Kenny was 5, we moved from Racine, Wisconsin to Rock Island, Illinois.

I HATED Rock Island.  Everything was wrong!  Different brands pf milk, bread, and even ice cream!  Different tv channels!  A different afternoon cartoon show host!  

Plus Rock Iland wasn't even an island!  And Illinois -- hat kind of a dumb name was Ill-a-Noise?

Plus, back in Racine, there were kids to play with everywhere, but Ill-a-Noise was a wasteland.

Our new house was on a street that dead ended in the parking lot of Denkmann School.  No kids around during the summertime.

We weren't allowed to cross 20th Avenue, on the north side, by ourselves (I finally got permission when I turned 8).

The house next door was occupied by Mike, too young for either of us to play with.  Then a vacant lot (there's another house now).

There were three houses on the other side of the street, occupied by (from south to north):
1. Joyce, a middle-aged lady in Capri pants and a beehive haircut.
2. A "you kids get off my lawn!" old guy.
3.A boy!

He sat at that window on the left (no bushes then), which probably led to a  living room:  a cute brown-haired boy in white pajamas with the Flintstones on them, looking out, watching us curiously, but not smiling or gesturing.

A little odd, but who cared?  He was someone to play with!

I started toward the front door, to ask if he could come out to play.

Then my brother grabbed my shoulder.  "I get him, not you."

"Back off.  He's obviously in third grade, like me."  You could only play with kids your own age -- even a year difference was too much.  

"You're crazy!" Kenny exclaimed.  "He's not a doddering old third grade geezer like you.  He's young, strong, vibrant, obviously in kindergarten." (This dialogue is all invented, so it might not be age-accurate.)

"I admit that it's hard to tell through a window.  Tell you what -- we'll try out our best stuff.  The one who  gets a reaction first can ask to play with him."

The contest to impress the cute Boy was on.

Figuring that the Boy must prefer indoor activities, I walked past with a pile of comic books, while the Boy watched.  Kenny pulled a red wagon with our new puppy riding inside.

No fair to use dogs as props!

Ok, the Boy was inside, not outside, so maybe he preferred indoor activities.

I walked past with a pile of cartoon kits (you affixed plastic cutouts of characters from a tv show onto a board representing the set, thereby acting out scenes). The Boy moved away from the window.

Kenny brought his Tarzan Bop Bag (you punch it, and it pops back up.)  The Boy returned.

Action, and muscles!  That was fighting dirty!

Well, if the Boy wanted muscles, he would get muscles.  I took off my shirt and flexed like a bodybuilder.  Play with me, and you'll get some of this! 

(I actually didn't have much of a physique at age 7 1/2, but I thought I did.)

Kenny turned a cartwheel.  Muscular and agile!

The Boy clapped.

Grr.

"Ok, you win," I told Kenny.  "Go claim your prize."

I waited on the sidewalk while Kenny walked to the front door and knocked.  A middle-aged lady answered.  They talked for a few moments, and then he returned to me.

"Well, is he coming out?" I asked impatiently.  At least I could see the cute boy.

"No," Kenny said.

"What?"  I saw the lady still standing in the doorway.  "Aren't you going in to play?"

"No. Danny has chicken pox.  The house is quarantined."

All that work for nothing!  I couldn't help being a little mad at the Boy, as if he had been deliberately leading us on.

"Why is his mother still waiting like that?"

"Oh, right.  I promised that you would lend him your comic books and cartoon kits."

Later I discovered that Danny was in fourth grade, too old for either  of us.

No nude photos to illustrate a story about young kids,but here's one of an older guy to tide you over.

Who Can Tell the Best Celebrity Hookup Story?

West Hollywood, August 2017

It seems that all of the celebrity dating and hookup stories I'm  getting lately took place in the 1960s or 1970s.  They involve Andy Griffith, Bobby Driscoll, Jack Wild, Tony Dow, and Ricky Nelson.  I wanted to hear about someone more contemporary.

But I haven't lived in Los Angeles for 20 years, and the  friends I have left there haven't added any new celebrity hookup stories in forever.  At the last West Hollywood party I attended, in 2011, they talked about Scott Baio and Sylvester Stallone.

Frankly, I'm getting a little sick of hearing about Scott Baio and Sylvester Stallone.

Among the top-earning male stars top male stars of 2017 are Chris Pratt, Mark Wahlberg, Kevin Hart, Vin Diesel, Chris Evans, Josh Gad, and Chris Hemsworth.

Surely a friend of a friend has been in Chris Evans' or Josh Gad's bed.

Among the top teen idols over age 18 are Cameron Boyce, Justin Bieber, Cameron Dallas, Aaron Carter, Nolan Gould, Hayes Grier, Shawn Mendes, Josh Hutcherson, Asa Butterfield, and Sean O'Donnell.

Surely there's a Cute Young Thing out there who has gone down on Shawn Mendes or Asa Butterfield.

So I took the bull by the horns: when I was back in California last week, I called the youngest guy I was still in touch with, my "son," Infinite Chazz, 17 years old when I met him in 1992. He's now 42,  working for a social service agency in Hollywood.

"Dig up your twink friends," I told him.  "Especially the ones with some kind of connection to show business.  We're going to have an old-fashioned West Hollywood party, with prizes for whoever has the biggest penis, whoever can get aroused the fastest, and whoever tells the best celebrity hookup story."

"Well, I win every 'biggest penis' contest," Chazz said. "Where do you think I got the nickname Infinite?  But I like the idea of a celebrity hookup story contest. My partner Jeremy is in the business, so he's sure to have a lot. And he has some other friends in the business, too."

So Infinite Chazz and Jeremy invited me to dinner, along with two of their twink friends, Dylan and Michael.

After dinner, I announced, "Each of you tell your best celebrity dating or hookup story.  The most famous celebrity you've been with.  Chazz will rate each story on a scale of 1 to 10.  The highest score gets to go into the bedroom with anyone he wants for ten minutes."

1. Jeremy.

I guess the most famous celebrity I've dated is Zachary Quinto, Spock on the new "Star Trek" reboot.  We met in 2010, when I was working on "American Horror Story," and Zach was playing the gay character.  We went out twice.

Zach was nice, and very nicely hung, an anal top, in case you want to know, but we just were too different to make it work.  I'm the quiet, stay-at-home type, and he always has to be the life of the party.  Besides, he really wasn't my type physically.  I like guys with a little more male-model style handsomeness.

Jeremy looked at Chazz expectantly.

"Um...isn't Zachary Quinto out?" he asked.

"Yes, he came out in 2009, a year before we met."

"5.3," Chazz said.  "Points off for a story about an out guy.  The best celebrity hookup stories are always about guys who are in the closet.  That's part of the thrill."

2. Dylan

When I was a freshman at Stanford, I met a cute guy named Johnny Lowe in my lit class. Quintessential geek, into video games and graphic novels, but cute, with a long face, a smooth chest, a little belly, and crazy hung. I could barely get my mouth around the head!  We were at it three or four times a night, when we weren't eating pizza and playing World of Warcraft.  

My first real boyfriend!  But it only lasted a few months.  I'm into monogamy, and he hit on everything that moved -- boys and girls both! Anyway, we stayed friends. 

 I knew his last name was Lowe, but it wasn't until we had been friends for over a year that I realized that his father was Rob Lowe from "The West Wing."

Dylan looked at Chazz expectantly.

"6.5.  Extra points for the big cock, but points off because he's a son of a celebrity, not a celebrity himself."

"He's been in some things.  Rob's tv series The Grinder, their reality show..."

"Ok, 6.6."


3. Michael.

 This story is about Cameron Dallas.  Very famous actor, Vine star, one of the top teen idols in the country, and not out. 

 I was on the Santa Monica Pier, when I saw Cameron with some of his friends -- all male, I might add.  I went up, playing it cool, and talked to him.  He gave me a cruisy stare, but he couldn't make a move with so many guys around.    We shook hands, and I turned it into a full body hug.  I felt his dick getting hard against me.  But then he backed off.

He looked at Chazz expectantly.

"So...a grope.  No date or hookup?"

"Um...no.".

"Um...celebrity hookup stories should involve sex.  4.7."

"Well, what about you, Dad?" Jeremy asked.  "You lived in West Hollywood during the 1980s.  You must have hooked up with a ton of celebrities.  Famous ones.  Closeted ones."

"Of course.  Lots."

"Well, tell us about a mega-famous guy who you had sex with, and who wasn't out.  I'll bet you'll be the winner for sure."

"Sure, no problem."  Then I began to think

Peter Barton.  Not famous anymore.
Tom Villard.  Out.
Wesley Eure.  Out.
Christopher Atkins.  Just a sausage sighting.
Macaulay Culkin.  Just a sausage sighting.
John Stamos.  Just a grope.
Nate Richert.  Just a grope.
Robin Williams' bodyguard.
Douglas Barr.  Who?.
Michael J. Fox.  Just lunch.  But I had made things up often enough:

4. Boomer

Just after I moved to West Hollywood in 1985, my friend Marcus introduced me to Michael J. Fox, who was starring in "Family Ties" and "Back to the Future."  Big star.  The three of us had lunch, and then went back to Marcus' house in the Hollywood Hills.

First I went down on Michael while he went down on Marcus.  Michael had about 6.5", cut.  We got into the 69 position while Marcus fondled my butt, and then I lay on top of Michael for interfemoral while Marcus was mounting him from the top.  Afterwards we exchanged phone numbers, but we never got together again.

I looked at Chazz expectantly.  This story had everything: a famous but not out celebrity with a big cock that I went down on.  Who cared that it never actually happened?

"4.5," Chazz said.  "Points off for forgetting the most important part of a celebrity hookup story -- it should be real.  You told the Michael J. Fox story a lot when you lived here, and I know it was just kissing and groping -- you didn't actually have sex with him."  He turned to Dylan.  "I guess you're the winner.  Who would you like to take into the bedroom?"

Dylan looked at my crotch.  "I'll take your Dad, even if he doesn't know any celebrities."

See: Gay Dating Stories about Tony Dow; Michael J. Fox Beneath the Belt; A Hookup with Cole or Dylan Sprouse.

A Sikh Sausage Sighting at Barney's Gym

Wilton Manors, March 2003

I've always been attracted to religious guys.  There's something erotic about the juxtaposition of the physical and the spiritual, muscles and Bibles, penises and prayer shawls.

I've dated or had other experiences with religious guys (not necessarily clergy) from several Christian traditions, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, and paganism.

But not guys from some of the lesser-known religions, like Druze, Jains, Zoroastrians, Baha'is, and Sikhs.

The Sikhs, followers of a monotheistic religion founded by Guru Nanak (1469-1538) in northern India, are particularly interesting.  They have uncut hair, beards, turbans, white cotton underclothes, iron bracelets, and kirpans (ceremonial swords).

The men all have the middle or last name Singh ("lion").  They often choose macho careers like police officer, soldier, or bodyguard.  Physical fitness is very important; quite a large number are bodybuilders.

Are you getting the idea?

Unfortunately, their religion tends to be highly conservative, obsessively heterosexual-marriage oriented, and homophobic.  I've never met any out-and-proud gay Sikhs, or even Sikh guys on the downlow.

There was a Sikh gurdwara (worship center) near my first apartment in Los Angeles, so I often saw them walking down the street or shopping at the 7-11.  They gave us cool, disdainful Attitude, refusing to acknowledge our existence.

Once I was talking to a group of friends when a curious Sikh child started walking slowly toward us, staring as if mesmerized.  But his mother screamed "Katala!  Katala!  Get away!"

Katala doesn't mean gay in Punjabi.  It means murderer. 

So much for my goal of hooking up with a Sikh!

Fast forward to 2003: I'm living in Florida, working at Barney's gym, and a Sikh named Narveer Singh comes in and asks for a tour.

Doesn't he realize that the gym caters mostly to gay men?   I don't want him screaming katala!

So I ease into the subject: "As you can see, we draw a diverse crowd.  Old, young, different races and religions.  Mostly men, though we get a few women."

"Good, good.  I wanted a gym with mostly men, to avoid the temptation, you know.  Where is your free weight room?"

"A very diverse crowd," I emphasized.  "A lot of young, single guys come here....um, a lot of gay men."

"Good, good.  Could I try out the treadmill?"

"We..um..don't discriminate.  Black, white, gay, straight, everyone is welcome."

"Good, good. What hours are you open?"

"We offer family memberships, so your wife or partner can work out with you.  A lot of gay couples get them."

"Oh, my wife goes to Curves [a female-only gym].  Could I do a trial workout?"

Narveer must be completely oblivious!  He buys a membership and begins working out every morning, just as we open, wearing a tight blue sweatsuit that accentuates his beneath-the-belt gifts.

So even if I can't hook up with a Sikh guy, I can at least get a Sausage Sighting!


Easier said than done.  Sausage Sightings in the gym have to be very discrete.  No open gawking -- you have to arrange to "accidentally" be in front of him while he's naked in the locker room.

But Narveer comes to the gym in his workout suit and leaves immediately afterwards. He never uses the lockers, shower, or sauna.

I wander around the gym, sometimes offering him instructions on stance and reps, sometimes just watching from a distance at his lean, muscular frame and blatant bulge.

Come on, God, give me a break -- don't I even rate a Sausage Sighting?  

Then one day Narveer comes in wearing a business suit, carrying a gym bag.

"You're looking chipper today," I tell him.

"Oh, I have a job interview nearby, so I thought it would be easier to go directly from the gym rather than driving all the way home again."



Today he's going to use the locker room!  Certainly the shower, maybe the sauna.

I wait until he's finished with his workout, give him a few minutes, then grab a clipboard and head back to the locker room.  I hear the shower running, so I "decide" to check the temperature and water pressure.

I walk past Narveen's stall.  His back is turned to me!

"How's the water pressure?" I ask.  "We've had a couple of complaints...."

"It's fine, it's fine."

I go out to the bathroom to "check" something else.

Narveen comes in while my back is turned.  I wait for him to finish urinating, and then turn back.  He's already at the sink, washing his hands, his penis hidden from view.

Darn!  So close!

I go out to the locker room to make sure all of the locks work.  Narveen stands on the scale to weigh himself, dropping his towel to the side.

Now's my chance!  "Um...that scale is running low.  Let me check the calibration."

"Or I could just let you see it."   Narveer steps off the scale and faces me.  His Bratwurst+ hangs down in full view.

He knew what I was up to all along!  "Oh..um...." I stammer, blushing.  "You..."

"Well, what do you think?  Am I big enough to attract gay guys?

"I would date you," I admit.

"Thanks!  My wife didn't believe me -- she said 'You're crazy -- none of the gay guys at your gym are into you -- you're not big enough!'  She owes me five dollars!"

He turned and headed back to his locker.

See also: Cruising Priests, Preachers, Monks, and Rabbis; The Naked Gods of Southern India; The College Kid's Kovbasa

David Hooks Up with the Bible Boy of Castro Street

San Francisco, June 1996

I'm starting a new part-time job at the San Francisco AIDS Foundation.  During my all-day orientation, I meet a newcomer to the City, David:

Older than me, balding, handsome, with a bright open preacher's face. Rather buffed, with a thick neck, thick arms and a furry barrel chest.  That aggressively friendly, ever-cheerful "How are ya!"  manner that you see with guys whose jobs require you to like them.

He tells us that six months ago, he was a conservative Baptist minister in Arkansas, married with children.  Then, on his 43rd birthday, he came out.  He had his first same-sex experience, divorced his wife, read a lot of pro-gay books, and moved to San Francisco.

He has moved into an apartment in the Castro with another ex-Baptist minister, joined a gym, and found a (full time) job at the AIDS Foundation.  Now he's anxious to try everything the gay world has to offer, especially the sex.

"No sex for the first 43 years of my life!" he exclaims.  "Unless you count my ex-wife.  Just fantasies.  I have to get up to speed.   I bet I can get with a thousand guys in the next year, three a day, if I work at it."

He glances at the concerned faces of the other employees of the AIDS Foundation.  "What?  I'll be safe, of course.  I carry a package of condoms with me at all times."

After orientation David and I take the Muni to Castro Street for dinner.  We bond over tales of childhood deprivations and crazy fundamentalist relatives -- and hot men.  He is relishing his freedom to talk openly about hot guys for the first time in his life.

There's no question that we'll hook up -- that's a given.  You make new friends in San Francisco by sharing their bed. But I'm more interested in hanging out, in exploring the gay world through David's eyes.

Outside the Castro Street Station, we come across two screamers.

You see screamers frequently in gay neighborhoods, at events like Gay Pride and the AIDS Walk, or sometimes on an ordinary summer afternoon:  heteros waving signs and shouting Bible verses and generally expressing how much they hate us.

Usually they come in groups, so the sodomites won't be able to rape and murder them as easily, but today there are only two:

1. A middle aged man, slim, grey-haired, sweating in a business suit, carrying a sign that reads "Homosexuality is an abomination in the eyes of the Lord," snarling and shouting invectives at the passersby:

"Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind!"

2. The Bible boy, slim and blond in a business suit, but considerably more handsome, with blue eyes and sharp features, looking down at his feet -- because he doesn't like being around sodomites, or because he doesn't like being around his dad?  He's carrying a large King James Bible.

I know the drill -- cross the street if you can.  Don't make eye contact, don't speak, don't engage with the screamers in any way.

But does David?  Will the former Baptist preacher engage?  Or will his fundamentalist brainwashing kick in, resulting in guilt, self-recrimination, and a decision to turn "ex-gay"?

I don't want to find out.  "Come on, let's go this way," I say, pulling David's arm.

"Are you kidding?  That boy is hot!"

"He's a screamer!"

David laughs.  "I hope so.  Do you like twinks?"

"Sure, but...cruising a screamer?  Are you crazy?"

"Yes.  And horny.  Do you mind if I bring in a third for tonight."

Soon I will be used to David cruising anyone, anywhere, but now I'm shocked.  A screamer, in front of his Dad!

We approach Bible Boy while the main screamer is yelling at a heterosexual couple for promoting sodomy.

David smiles and holds out his massive hand.  Bible Boy smiles shyly.  I can hear him thinking, "This isn't what a sodomite looks like!  Why isn't he wearing a dress?"

"My name is David, and this is Boomer."

"Kyle.  Have you ever heard of the Four Spiritual Laws?"

That old soulwinning routine?  I learned that in high school!

David says "ἐγὼ ἦλθον ἵνα ζωὴν ἔχωσιν καὶ περισσὸν ἔχωσιν."

Bible Boy stares.

"John 10:10: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.  B.A. in Classical Studies from the University of Arkansas, M.A. in Latin from Tulane University, M. Div. from the Southern Baptist Theological Seminary."

His eyes widen.  "Wow, that's impressive.  How did you..."  He stops himself from saying "How did you sink into such unholy degradation..."

"Can you take a break?  I'll tell you all about my journey from Pine Bluff, Arkansas to Castro Street."

"Um...I don't drink."

"Do you eat hamburgers?"

He yells to the Preacher that he's going witnessing, and we go to Orphan Andy's for burgers and fries.

Kyle is 18 years old, a new high school graduate who plans to attend UC Santa Cruz next fall ("Boy, did my folks squawk about that!  A heathen college full of atheists and sodomites!")

The older guy is actually his youth minister.  There are six other members of his youth group scattered around town, brandishing signs and screaming to spread the Good News, but Kyle, a shy, sensitive, quiet boy, couldn't find a partner, so the preacher said 'Just stick by me.'"

"I wasn't even going to come.  I hate soulwinning," Kyle explains.  "But I wanted to see what real sodomites look like.  Besides, we're going to get ice cream later."

Nice youth group outing, screaming and fudge ripple!

"You don't really believe all that 'abomination in the eyes of the Lord' stuff, do you?" David asks.

"Well, I have to believe what the Lord says in His Word, even if I don't understand it.  I mean, you look at cute guys, and think, what would be wrong with touching them?  But the Lord says it's an abomination, so...."

Chuckling,  David pulls out his Greek and Hebrew and demolishes every homophobic interpretation of the "Big Five" Bible verses.  From the story of Sodom to the "strange flesh" of Jude.

We end up back at his apartment.

David and Bible Boy kiss while I go down on them at the same time.  David has a thick uncut Bratwurst+, and Bible Boy is average, cut, and ruddy.  They get into the 69 position and leave me out for awhile, but then Bible Boy goes down on me until I finish.  David pulls out a condom and introduces him to anal.

Then Bible Boy -- Kyle - dresses, thanks us both, and returns to his youth group for ice cream.

David and I look at each other.  He grins.  "I could tell he was gay from a block away.  It was just a matter of getting him away from that darned youth leader."

I am completely overwhelmed.  Even Alan was nothing like this!

"That's two guys," he says.  "My goal is three a day, so I need one more.  Want to go cruising?"

See also: David and the Homeless Teenager

I Share the South-of-Market Bear's Boyfriend

San Francisco, March 1996

Lane and I were living in San Francisco, gay heaven.  I was 35 years old, far beyond my twink years.  He was 40, graduated to Daddy.

We rarely saw anyone under 30.  San Francisco is hard; it takes time, money, and strategy.  Most twinks and Cute Young Things can't manage it.

Our circle of friends consisted entirely of guys in their 40s and 50s: chubby, bearded bears or smooth musclemen, with nipple rings and tattoos, black handkerchiefs in their pocket, handcuffs attached to their belt loops.

They worked entirely within the gay community: as a leather craftsman, the manager of a travel agency that catered mostly to gay men, an AIDS support specialist, a  lawyer whose clients were exclusively gay men, an artist who made leather bears to sell to gay tourists.



Our best friend was probably Drake, the leather bear artist (left) -- teddy bears in bulging chaps, in leather jackets, carrying whips and gay flags.  He was 53 years old, husky but muscular, with a hairy chest, prominent nipples, and nice biceps.  Kielbasa+ beneath the belt, uncut.  A bondage bottom.

His boyfriend, Darrell the Cartoonist, was younger, in his mid-40s (ten years, the limit to an acceptable match!), already mostly bald, with a salt and pepper beard.  Moderately hairy chest, cut Bratwurst.  A bondage top (below).

We didn't see Darrell much.  We went out to dinner once and "shared" after, but he didn't go out to the bars or the bear parties. In fact, some guys in our circle of friends wondered if Darrell existed at all, or if he was just an excuse to not "get out there and date."

One day just before Halloween, the start of the gay social season, Darrell was in Oklahoma visiting his parents, when his allergies started acting up.  He took an antihistamine, drank a glass of wine with it, and died.

The funeral was in Oklahoma.  We didn't go.

But this story is about Drake's new boyfriend.

A couple of weeks after Darrell's death, Drake returned to the gay social world.

Beer/soda bust at the Lone Eagle
Underwear contest at the Lone Star
An AIDS benefit at the Metropolitan Community Church
A book signing at Different Light
The bear parties every Wednesday and Friday night.


We saw Drake at every event, eating, drinking, socializing, cruising.  But he didn't hook up with anyone, not even at the bear parties, he didn't ask anyone for dates.  He always went home alone.

Why do you go to a bear party without even looking for someone to share your bed?

At Christmastime, Lane and I tried to fix him up with a guy we knew, but he refused: "Been there, done that.  The domestic thing isn't for me, anyway.  Too many rules."

So we let him alone.

Then one day in March 1996, Drake met us at brunch after church and announced: "I have a new boyfriend!  Last night was our third date!"

Lane and I glanced at each other in surprise.

"Your first date in months!" I exclaimed.  "Why didn't you tell us about it before?"

He stared down at his menu.  "Oh, I didn't want you guys making a big deal about it until I was sure."

"Well, we're making a big deal of it now," Lane said.  "Where did you meet him?  What is he like?  Details, details!"

"His name is Zack.  He saw some of my bears at All American Boy and asked about the artist. He's from across the Bay."

Very vague.  "So, are you bringing him to the beer bust at the Eagle?"

"Um...no, he had to get home."

I frowned.  You were expected to introduce new boyfriends to "the family" on the second or third date.  He had to be evaluated, to make sure he was good enough for you, that he would fit into our world.  And he had to be "shared."

Tuesday night underwear contest.  Drake, but no Zack.

"Oh, he would win so easily, I wanted to give you other guys a chance."

Wednesday night bear party. Drake, but no Zack.

"Oh, he's uncomfortable in big crowds like this."

Saturday night dance at the Metropolitan Community Church.  Drake, but no Zack.

"He's got a thing tonight."

The next week, more of the same.

We asked around.  No one had met Zack.

Was Drake just making him up?  Or was he so spectacularly attractive that he didn't want to risk getting him stolen away?

Or was he embarrassingly ugly?

Time to take the initiative.  We invited Drake and Zack to dinner -- not in our apartment, too small, but at the Ethiopian restaurant down the street.

Ethiopian food comes in dabs of colorful mashed vegetables and minced meats on a bed of spongy bread.  Everyone tears off some bread and uses it to spoon up the waadi, ayibe, and kocho.  Perfect for pre-"sharing" intimacy.

Drake and Zack arrived a few minutes late, Drake in a white t-shirt and a leather vest, and Zack in a yellow button-down shirt and a leather jacket.

He was a kid!  A Cute Young Thing!  A few years ago Fred scandalized West Hollywood by dating Matt, eight year younger.  This kid must be at least 20 years younger than Drake!

We tried not to stare as Zack shook our hands and sat down between us.

Soon we warmed up.  Zack was a freshman at Berkeley, only 19 years old.  But he was relaxed,  articulate, well versed in gay culture, and completely at ease with guys 20, and 30 years older.

Of course, we shared later.  No tattoos, no nipple rings, no piercing, a single earring.  Smooth, pale, flawless skin, a big chest, prominent nipples, xylophone abs, an uncut Mortadella.  I went down on him while Lane was going down on Drake, and then we kissed while Drake was going down on Zack.  We ended the evening by tying Drake and Lane together on the bed for a bondage scene.

Later I called Drake.  "That's why you didn't want us to meet him?  Because he was younger?"

"Well, you have to admit, he's not the usual type you see hanging around the Eagle."

"I didn't know you were into younger guys."

"It's the darndest thing," Drake said.  "I didn't used to be, but for the last few years, there are twinks everywhere I go. They're smiling at me, cruising me --  It's like I'm a twink magnet."

"Sounds annoying," I said.  "Who needs a lot of skinny, giggling schoolboys in your bed?"

"It has its benefits.  They're awfully enthusiastic, and their energy -- they just keep going and going!"

 "Still, I hope I never become a twink magnet."

See also: The Leatherman who never left South of Market.; Zack Hooks Up with the Prince of Sweden; Handsome or Hung?