Tony Dow and the Glory Hole at the Air Force Base

Last week 69-year old Jock, a retired landscaper and Uber driver from Tucson, told me a story of when he was in the California National Guard in 1966, and Tony Dow, the actor who starred as teenage hunk Wally in Leave It to Beaver, was in his barracks.  One day they all went out to the movies, and Wally and his friend picked up a high school boy.  Jock followed them, and watched as they had a three-way in the park.

But that's not the only story he has.

I'll use his words as much as possible.










Marysville, California, October 1966

When I was in boot camp, we got passes to go into town twice a week.  A lot of the guys tried to get some action with girls, but struck out  -- the Sexual Revolution hadn't yet hit Marysville -- you couldn't even get condoms -- so they couldn't wait to get back to the base and go to the latrine.

Boomer: Striking out made them want to go to the bathroom?

Let me set up the scenario.  All unmarried guardsmen under the rank of sergeant lived in barracks, or what they called dormitories.  One long, narrow room with 20 single beds and lockers, 10 on each side.

At the far end, you go through a lounge with two couches, some chairs, and a tv set, and then the latrine, two urinals and a toilet, right out there, not in a stall.  There was no window, so it was pitch-dark unless you turned on the light.  The switch, for some reason, was out in the lounge, by the tv set.

During my first few nights in the dormitory, I noticed that most guys who got up to use the latrine turned on the light -- you could see it glimmering under the lounge door.  But some didn't.  Why were they fumbling around in the dark?

Curious, I waited until someone went in without turning the light on, and followed, walking through the deserted lounge to the latrine door.  I pulled it open.

 It was musty, smelling of urine and someone's aftershave, and pitch-black except for a little gleam.  How could you even see where the urinal was?  I gingerly moved forward, my hand outstretched -- and suddenly I was touching a bare butt!

Boomer: Side or back?

Side. He was facing the toilet, like he was peeing into it.

"Wait your turn, buddy," the guy growled.

Wait your turn for what? I wondered.  There were two other urinals to pee into.  I reached down past the bare butt and felt a buzz-cut head, ears, neck, arms grabbing the guy's butt -- then my hand was batted away.

"I said fuck off.  I'm almost done."

The guy was getting a blow job!  I had no idea that g.i.'s had sex with each other, right there in the barracks!   My mind was majorly blown, let me tell you!

I retreated to the lounge and waited for the guy to leave.

"It's all yours," he whispered in passing.

I returned to the latrine and shut the door, and inched forward.  Someone grabbed my cock!

I reached down and felt that smooth hard chest again.  Farther down to the belly, pubic hair, and cock.   He was big -- at least 7" -- and aroused.

I fondled him for a moment, then stood directly in front of him, and he leaned down to blow me, his hands squeezing my bare butt.  I caressed his hair and face, squeezed his shoulders. When he started jerking me while licking my balls, that did it!

"I'm going to cum," I moaned.

"Shush," he murmured, and swallowed my load.

It was a perfect set up.!   Almost every night, about a half hour after lights out, the fag would get up...

Boomer: Watch your language.

Sorry.  That's what they called oral bottoms in those days.  Anyhoo, the oral bottom would go into the latrine without turning on the light, and we knew that he was ready to give blow jobs.  We were all young and horny, so he was busy.  On some nights there were two or three guys waiting.

 If someone turned on the light from the lounge outside, the guy getting the blow job would just turn around and pretend to be peeing at the urinal.

 Boomer: Was it the same guy giving the blow jobs every night?

Usually.  Sometimes another guy beat him to it.

Boomer: Did you ever get to be the oral bottom?

Once or twice he let me go down on him for a few minutes before he did me, but not usually, no.

But I didn't mind -- I'm still more of an oral top than a bottom, if you'd like to get together sometime and try me out.  Here's a recent photo.  Not bad for 69, huh?  And 69 is my favorite position, by the way.

Boomer: Mine, too.

Anyhoo, after 12 weeks of basic training, I shipped out to Moffett Airfield in Mountain View, California, where the latrine was right by the bunks, no way to hide.  Of course, guys still found ways to get it on. There was a supply closet off the tv lounge, and plenty of street cruising.

Not to mention San Francisco a short train ride away.  Golden Gate Park during the Summer of Love!  That was one far out trip, man!

Boomer:  Great story about being gay in the military in the 1960, but what does it have to do with Tony Dow?"

Oh, he shipped out somewhere else.  I don't remember where.  We weren't close, as I said.  He mostly pal-ed around with Kurt.

Boomer:  But you said this was a Tony Dow hookup story.  Was he one of the guys waiting in line for a blow job every night?"

Lord, no.  He was the f-- the oral bottom.

Boomer: The guy who sat on the toilet and gave blow jobs to anyone who wanted one?

Right.  I thought I made that clear.


Was Jock Telling the Truth?

Tony Dow has been linked with women only since 1968.

 I can see him engaging in some same-sex activity with a buddy, like his friend Kurt.  I can even see him as one of the guys waiting in line at the latrine, thinking that a mouth is a mouth.

But to seek multiple experiences with near-strangers in the equivalent of a glory hole?  I don't buy it.  I think time has clouded Jock's memories.

It's a good story though, even without a celebrity hookup.

See Also: Tony Dow and Kurt Hook Up with a High School Boy.

My Friday the 13th Date with Kevin the Vampire

Plains, Friday, January 13th, 2017

It's my second date with Wagner the Music Major, who I picked up in the Student Union earlier this week.  We're seeing Hairspray at the University Theater -- in the first row, of course.  I always sit in the first row, when possible.

At intermission I look around the audience.  No one I know, which seems strange -- I know lots of theater buffs.

Then suddenly, about 10 rows back, I see Kevin the Vampire!

 "That's impossible!" I exclaim.

"What?"

"My old boyfriend from San Francisco. I haven't seen him since -- um, 2003.  Nearly 14 years ago.  What would he be doing here?"

I look back again.  No Kevin.

 When we met in San Francisco in 1996, Kevin the Vampire was in his 30s, tall and buffed, with pale skin, a hairy chest, and a Satanic goatee.  We dated for almost a year, although I didn't care for his elitism, his smoking, or his exhausting  bedroom calisthenics.

"Why do you call him Kevin the Vampire?  Did he like biting you on the neck?"

"No, but he had weird paranormal powers.  He could control people's minds..  He could get hookups by going up to a cute guy and saying ''You want to come home with me, don't you?'"

"That's a nice power to have," Wagner says.

"And he could make himself invisible.  You couldn't drop by for a visit -- if he wasn't expecting you, his apartment was impossible to find.  But he wouldn't just show up on the Plains."

I've been posting stories about him on my blog, most recently in December.  Could that have summoned him?

No -- just my imagination!

After the musical, as we are walking out to the parking lot, Kevin is suddenly standing beside me! He doesn't walk up -- he just appears, like Jesus on the road to Emmaus.

"Um...hi, Kevin," I say, pretending to be nonchalant.  "Nice to see you again."

It's been nearly 14 years, but he doesn't look any different.  I guess vampires don't age.

"Wonderful to see you, too, Boomer!"  He wraps me into a hug.  His body is cold, as if he's been running around outside without a coat.  "You have no idea how difficult it was to track you down!  Florida to Ohio to Upstate New York to Philadelphia, and now to this charming little town on the Plains."

"Why didn't you just get my email address from David?"

 "And who is your very attractive companion?: Kevin asks, ignoring my question. "If this is an example of the beefcake on the Plains, I'll be scanning the real estate ads!"



"Beefcake is very common here, and readily available."

He shakes hands with Wagner.  "How long have you and Boomer been an item?"

"This is our second date."

"Oh, my, the second date, a pivotal moment in a new romance!  I wouldn't dream of interfering.  Boomer, let's meet tomorrow to catch up.  I'll be at your apartment at -- say 10:00 am?"

And he vanishes.  He doesn't walk away -- he's just sort of not there.

"I see what you mean," Wagner says.  "Appearing and disappearing like that is kind of creepy."

"But fun," I say with a bit of sad nostalgia.

Saturday, January 14th

Kevin appears at my apartment at 10:00 sharp.  I take him to the gay-friendly coffee house for brunch -- vegetarian quiche for me, only coffee for him.  Vampires don't eat.

He is noncommittal about what he'd been up to since 2003.  "Oh, I puttered around, bought books, went to beer busts, invited men into my bed.  You know what life was like in Gay Heaven: we were busy all the time, but nothing really happened.  Every moment was an eternal now."

"So...what do you want to do during your visit?  Anything special you'd like to see?  Want me to arrange a hookup for you?  I know some guys, or I can go on Grindr."

"Sampling the cornfed beef of the Plains?  That does sound tempting, but I'd really rather have some time alone with you. After all, our relationship was one of the most important in my life -- perhaps the most important -- and I couldn't bear the idea of shuffling off this mortal coil without holding you in my arms again.  If Wagner doesn't object, that is."

I know Kevin --  no quick blow jobs for him!  Exhausting two hour sessions involving weird oils, massage,  licking and sucking everywhere, Tantric edging, multiple positions, multiple orgasms, leaving you drenched with sweat and other fluids, ruining the sheets.

But he has mind control powers.  How can I refuse?

We spend the day sightseeing and cruising, have dinner with some gay guys from the Unitarian church, and then return to my apartment.  We go into the bedroom and start kissing and fondling.

I kneel and go down on Kevin -- he's bigger than I remember, a Bratwurst+, cold and hard as iron.  Then he pulls me onto the bed.  He lies atop me, chest against chest, thigh against thigh, mouth against mouth.  His body is cold and hard, too.   His aroused penis goes between my legs.

Interfemoral -- my favorite position!  We never did this while we were dating!

He puts his arms around me and thrusts while we kiss, his tongue darting in and out of my mouth.  I grab his butt.  We finish at the same moment.

Apparently Kevin is still the same age as he was in 1996, but I'm 20 years older, and one orgasm per evening is enough.  I soon fall asleep.

Sunday, January 15th

When I wake up, Kevin is gone.  No note, no phone number, nothing.  He vanished.

I feel a little frisson of dread.  Did I imagine the whole thing?

No -- the sheets are definitely soiled with bodily fluids.

Wait -- what life "was" like in Gay Heaven.  It "was" an important relationship.  Shuffle off the mortal coil.  Cold skin.  Vanishing even more abruptly than when we were dating...

Was Kevin a ghost?  A ghost vampire?

I rush to my computer and start emailing people.  David. Zack.   Kevin's ex-boyfriend Seth.  His former best friend Marius.

The responses trickle in.  No one has seen Kevin or talked to him in years.

Desperate, I think of the number Marius gave me in 2003.  It didn't work then...

I find it in my old address book, and call.

This time it works -- Kevin answers!  "Boomer, what a surprise!  Did I leave my underwear in your apartment?  I've just arrived back in San Francisco, so I'm afraid you'll have to keep it as a souvenir."

"Um...no, no.  I was just wondering...you left so abruptly... if you were angry or upset."

"Oh no, not at all.  I simply had a plane to catch!  Well, there's the BART.  It was wonderful seeing you again -- I'll be sure to stop by the Plains next time I'm flying across the country."

Kevin is not a ghost. He's not a vampire.  He's just an ordinary guy, a bit eccentric, like everyone lucky enough to live in Gay Heaven.

Or maybe....

See also: Desperately Seeking Kevin the Vampire.; The Sunday Morning Orgy; I Go Home with the Amazing Invisible Boy.