Finding Larry's New Fetish

Santa Fe, New Mexico, July 2004

I've never understood how you can be friends with someone for years, and then there's an incident, and it's over.

They just stop answering the phone when you call, or responding to your emails.  They unfriend you on Facebook.

Or in the case of Larry, he orders you out of the house.

You remember Larry, the "lost soul" in Nashville with the crazy, obsessive lifestyle, who finally got involved in the gay leather community?

After I left Nashville, we called and emailed each other regularly.

He moved to Denver and then Santa Fe, New Mexico.  I moved to New York and then Florida.

In the summer of 2004, we hadn't seen each other face-to-face for years, so I decided to fly out to Santa Fe for a 10-day visit.  

Big mistake.

As Ben Franklin said, house guests, like fish, begin to smell after three days.

Day 1:  I arrived at 8:00 pm.  Larry picked me up at the airport, gave me a brief tour of the city, and then took me back to his house.

A three-room trailer in a desolate commercial strip on the outskirts of town.  Cluttered with terrible, mismatched thrift-store furniture.

I guess passions for leather and opera don't come cheap, so you have to economize in other areas.

We tried to squeeze into his small single bed for some ordinary vanilla sex, but the night was very hot, and we were both big, so I ended up sleeping on the floor.

Day 2:  I assumed that Larry would take off work so we could go sightseeing, like I always did when a friend visited me in Florida.  But no, at 7:00 he drove off, leaving me alone on Jemez Road with no car.

All of the art galleries, shops, missions, and museums were downtown, about six miles away.

I started walking, and eventually hit Airport Road, with a lot of fast food places and cars rushing by in the hot desert sun. There was a mall about a mile away, where I bought a t-shirt.  I found a gym, but they didn't have day memberships.

Larry returned at 6:00 pm.  "What's on for tonight?" I asked.  "Dinner, art walk, the clubs?"

"Oh, no, I'm too tired to go out.  I'll cook dinner here."

"Well...can we at least go to the gym first?"

So Larry drove me to his gym and bought me a day pass.  Then he baked a chicken for dinner. It wasn't ready until 10:00 pm.

"Four hours past dinnertime," I muttered.  "We should have just ordered a pizza."

"Too much saturated fat, and way too expensive!"

Some brief, noncommittal bedroom activity ended the evening.

Why wasn't I meeting his friends?  Why weren't we cruising?  What was going on?

Day 3:  I asked Larry if I could drive him to work and borrow his car for sightseeing, but he refused: "Nobody drives my car but me."

So I rented a car and visited The Plaza, The Museum of Indian Arts and Culture, and The New Mexico Museum of Art, and returned to Larry's gym for another day pass.

When Larry got home at 6:00 pm, I said, "Tomasita's tonight -- best Mexican restaurant in town, according to the internet!"

"Oh, no, that's much too expensive."

"My treat."

"Oh, no, you're my guest, I'll cook.  I can do Mexican, if that's what you want."

So he made low-fat enchiladas.  Afterwards he wanted to go to the gym.  I had already been, so I asked "Do you mind if I go to the clubs?"

He glared at me.  "No, the clubs will be dead on a Thursday night.  But when I get back from the gym, we can do a S&M scene, if you want.  I'm a top, you know."

So I watched tv all night, and then bottomed for an S&M scene.  I didn't like it.

Day 4:  While Larry was at work, I went to the Canyon Road Art Galleries, the San Miguel Mission, and the Cathedral of St. Francis of Assisi, and had lunch at Tomasita's.  Then I bought groceries.  When he got home at 6:00, dinner was on the table.

Surprisingly, he was annoyed.  "I'm the host, I should cook dinner.  Or don't you like my cooking?"

I ended up apologizing and waiting while he wrapped my dinner in cellophane for later and cooked a meal of his own.

Afterwards, I said "It's Friday night.  The gin joints should be hoppin'.  Where shall we go?"

"Oh, no, there aren't any decent gay bars in Santa Fe.  We'll go into Albuquerque tomorrow.  Let's just hang out and watch tv tonight."

"Well -- do you mind if I go to the clubs on my own?"

I didn't notice him glaring at me.  "No, of course not.  Just -- if you bring a hot leatherman home, I get to share."

Turns out that Larry was right -- there was only one gay bar in town, the Rouge Cat.  Unfortunately, it catered to the Cute Young Thing crowd, and twinks in New Mexico didn't have the Daddy fixation that they did in Florida.  After about an hour of getting Attitude, I was finally cruised by a cute University of New Mexico undergrad named Tom.

By the time we got back to the trailer, Larry was asleep in his single bed, so Tom and I slept on blankets on the living room floor.  He got up and left early; I didn't think Larry had even noticed.

He had.

Larry got up and made coffee as if nothing was wrong.  But when we sat down, he started in: "What did I tell you?  You bring a cute guy into my house, and I don't even get a peek!"

"Sorry, you were asleep, and...well, I didn't think Tom was your type.  You like them more mature."

"Why were you going out without me, anyway?  You're visiting me!," Larry continued, starting to rant.  "We're supposed to go out together!"

"You said it was ok.  You were too tired to go out."

"Well, excuse me for working for a living!  I don't have a rich sugar daddy who gives me free rent!"

Did he mean Barney?  "No, I pay rent..."

"Or a cute boy toy just waiting at home for me!"

Did he mean Yuri?  "No, we're just..."

"You know what?  If my house isn't good enough for you, why don't you just get out?  Take some of your sugar daddy's money and stay in a hotel!"

I stared.  "I didn't say your house wasn't good enough..."

I don't remember what else was said that morning, but it ended with my duffel bag deposited into my rental car.  I spent Days 6-10 in hotels, touring Tucumcari, Roswell, Allamogordo, Albuquerque, and the Navajo Nation.  I called Larry a couple of times, but when he heard my voice, he hung up.

Had I been bragging about my "sugar daddy" and "boy toy" back home in Florida?   Had I been complaining a little too much about the dreary accommodations and lack of sight-seeing?  I don't remember.

The trip wasn't a total loss.  I saw some interesting museums and art galleries, hooked up with a couple of cute guys, and discovered my grandmother's long-lost gay friend.

But I lost a friend of 13 years in the process.

See also: Finding Larry's Fetish; Cruising in the Navajo Nation; Cruising in New Mexico.

Cruising in New Mexico: The Twink, The Redneck, or the Gordito?

New Mexico, Summer 2004

Remember my trip to visit Larry in Santa Fe, New Mexico, in the summer of 2004? After four deplorable days, we had a gigantic argument, and I packed up my stuff and drove away, never to speak to or hear from Larry again.

During the next three days, I met three guys, and hooked up with one.  You have to guess which.

Hint: I hate losing friends, so I was quite upset, and not following my usual rules about public cruising or hooking up with complete strangers.

Day #1:  The Tucumcari Twink 

Tucumcari, an iconic town on Route 66!  The stuff of James Dean, Sal Paradise, Peter Fonda in search of America!

I arrived just before noon, had lunch  at the Pow Wow Restaurant, and explored.  Very run down, a lot of vacant lots and boarded-up buildings, old hotels with faded signs, a thrift store, a Chinese buffet, a boarded-up theater.  A community college, a single low adobe building.  I didn't see a downtown; there was no there there.

I stopped in Tee Pee Curios, a tee-pee shaped store that sold Route 66 merchandise: t-shirts, books, Stuckey's candy (whatever that was), license plates that read "Bad Girl" or "Billy the Kid," right-wing patriotic slogans, religious slogans.  Whatever.

But...the guy behind the counter was remarkable: in his 20s, thick brown hair, handsome face, tight muscular frame barely hidden beneath an orange t-shirt.  He was reading a Harry Potter book.  I approached.

"You must hear about Route 66 so much you get darn sick of it."

I'll bet he never heard that from a tourist before.  He looked up with a big smile.  "You have no idea, sir!  Route 66 this, Route 66 that.  We've had an interstate through here since the 1970s.  Get with the 21st century!"

"Like Harry Potter?"

Embarrassed at reading a "kid's book," he tried to hide it.

"Oh, I'm a big fan.  I especially like how Harry and Ron are so devoted to each other, like a romantic couple."

"Hm...you know, I never really thought about it, but maybe you're right."

"Fan fiction is loaded with Harry-Ron shipping."

Day #2: The Roswell Redneck

The town made famous by the 1947 UFO crash was about three hours south of Tucumcari.  I was surprised by the contrast: a beautiful, vibrant downtown with trees and green spaces.  Restaurants, shops.  A used bookstore.  Mexican restaurant for lunch.

The Museum and Art Center, with an excellent selection of Southwestern Art.

Around 4:00 pm, I visited the International UFO Museum. As a long time devotee of the UFO phenomenon, I didn't see much that I hadn't seen a hundred times before.

There were only a few tourists.  Later I discovered that a big UFO festival had just ended, so all of the true believers were gone, leaving a nuclear family, a teenage boy and girl holding hands, and a guy by himself, looking at an exhibit with some very muscular classic grey aliens.

"Who knew that aliens worked so hard on their delts?" I asked.

He laughed.  "And their abs."  He was his 30s, shorter than me, round face, a little beard, solidly built with respectable biceps and a smooth chest visible beneath his half-unbuttoned short-sleeved shirt.

"Maybe there's a Gold's Gym in outer space."

"They've got to do something to pass the time., what with no willies and all."

"I'd think I'd rather have a willy.  Especially on Saturday night," I added suggestively.  This was definitely a cruising conversation!

"This is Sunday," he pointed out.

"Even worse.  Sunday night is the loneliest night of the week."  That came out a little more depressed than I intended.

"I hear you, buddy.  You traveling by yourself?"

"I was visiting my friend in Santa Fe, but we kind of had an argument."

"Well, maybe it's time for you to make some new friends."

Day #3: The Alamogordo Gordito

Around 11:00 am, I arrived at Alamogordo, a "big city" of 30,000, including the nearby air force base.  An old army town with broad streets and low mountains in the distance.

I went to the New Mexico Museum of Space History, stopped for lunch at the Country Kitchen, and then headed out to the White Sands National Monument, a vast sea of sand dunes with nature trails for hiking.

And, apparently, cruising.

I was staring at a multicolored snake, wishing I was back in nice, safe Wilton Manors, when a tall, husky older guy approached (top photo).

"He's harmless -- as long as you don't get too close."

"Don't worry, I have no intention of saying hello."  I turned -- he had a flat clean-shaven face, a little double chin, a barrel chest and thick biceps.  Hair was peeking up over his t-shirt.

"Pretty cool, huh?  I've been hiking all over the state, but this is my favorite trail.  Near dusk you can see bobcats and coyotes."

"I just hope they've had dinner before they see me."

"It's all about the adventure, isn't it?  I'm retired Air Force, enjoying life and trying out new things.  Meeting new people, too."  He held out his hand to be shaken.

Day #4

On to Albuquerque!  I was feeling better, having seen some interesting sites, met three guys, and spent the night with one.

Can you figure out which?

a. The Tucumcari Twink
b. The Roswell Redneck
c. The Alamogordo Gordito

Answer after the break.

"We Have Your Boys": A Kelvin and Keefe Fan Fiction

Kelvin, son of the famous megachurch pastor Eli Gemstone, paced, checked his cell phone, and paced again.  His boyfriend Keefe left at 8:00 am to go rollerblading with their brother-in-la w BJ.  They went roller-blading every Friday, a sort of bonding time and chance to get away from the Gemstone drama.  Except they were always back by 10:00.   It was now after 2:00.  No calls, no texts, and Kelvin's texts to him went unanswered. 

"Keefe is a grown man," he told himself.  "He doesn't need to check in with me.  Maybe he and BJ decided to go shopping and have lunch."

He paced some more.  "Maybe his cell phone died, so he can't call."  When he bought Keefe the cell phone, he considered installing "friend tracker" app, but that would be too much control.  Keefe moved in two years ago with nothing; everything he owned was a gift or came from the joint checking account. Gulp.  Maybe he felt like a kept boy, trapped in the mansion, an extension of the Gemstones. Could he have....left?

No way!  Kelvin was not going to check the joint account, to see if Keefe made any big withdrawals.  Even thinking it was ridiculous.

The full story is on Righteous Gemstones Beefcake and Boyfriends

The 10 Hottest Small Guys

The average length of an aroused penis in the U.S., measured from base to tip, is between 5" and 6."  But everyone thinks it's about 8", so average-sized guys often feel insecure, and small guys don't even like to pull it out.  But small ones work just like big ones, better in some cases -- no worries about gagging or biting.

Besides, I've never met a guy with a small penis who wasn't drop-dead gorgeous.  Especially these guys, who aren't ashamed of their smallness, who highlight it, transform it into undeniable hotness.

Here are 10 of the hottest small guys I could find.

1. Beautiful face, tight hard body, and a penis that would fit into the palm of your hand.

2. A twin with the classic face and physique of a Von Gloeden photograph, his limbs akimbo, one hand posed to draw our eye to the small penis of an ancient Greek statue.

3.  This Asian muscleman has his pubic hair carefully trimmed, like a window into a darkened universe, with a single light shining.

4. Radiant smile, slim body glowing with vitality, a dress shirt half off, and two low-hanging balls offset the small uncut penis.

5. Husky, hairy, enveloped in shadow in a rocky wasteland, inviting you to work your way up from his balls.

















More after the break.