Nude Wrestling in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin

Rock Island, July 2017

Bob and I are on a road trip from the Plains to New York. We spent the night in Rock Island, Illinois, my home town.  Now we're having egg white omelets and fruit cups at the Quad Cities Pancake House.

"So, what's on the schedule for today?"  Bob asks.

"Chicago, about three hours from here.  We'll hit a couple of the museums, spend the night, and then drive on to Cleveland tomorrow."

"Would you mind if we take a little side-trip first?  I have a cousin I haven't seen since we were kids.  It's a couple of hours out of the way."

"Where?"

"Fond du Lac, Wisconsin."

4 hours out of the way!  But this is Bob's trip, too, so he should have a say in the itinerary.  Besides,  I have a history with Fond du Lac.


During my senior year in high school, although I was still Nazarene, I became obsessed with all things Catholic.  I read The Seven Story Mountain and The Dark Night of the Soul, learned to say the Rosary, and even went incognito into a Catholic Mass. I didn't actually convert, but I was considering it.

 And I considered applying to Marion College in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin.

Dad even drove me up for a tour.  I remember a vast snow-covered campus with round white buildings, pristine, pure, as quiet as a cloister.

You could feel the presence of God everywhere.

I imagined living in an austere dorm room, all white, empty except for a bed with white covers, some statues of saints, and a shelf of contemplative classics: the Little Flowers of St. Francis,  The Cloud of Unknowing.  Of walking among buildings of brilliant white other-worldly splendor every day, en route to my classes in medieval philosophy, Catholic theology, Ecclesiastical Latin, and Koine Greek.


Saying the rosary, walking the Stations of the Cross, going to Novenas, blessing myself with holy water before daily Mass.


Spending every day in communion with the Divine.

I decided to go to Augustana instead, but ever since, Fond du Lac has remained entrenched in my mind as a place of peace and serenity, as close as you can get to heaven in this life.

"Could we go to a Catholic Mass while we're there?" I ask.

Bob blinks.  "Well, it's Wednesday, and I'm not Catholic, but...ok, if you want.  I'll text my cousin."

On the four hour drive to Fond du Lac, Bob tells me more about Cousin Tark (short for Tarkington).  He's older than Bob, a big brother who used to babysit him and sneak him into R-rated movies, until he went away to college in Wisconsin, and then got a job in Fond du Lac.

"Was he cute?" I ask.

Not an athlete, but big and tall, with a thick beefy chest and nice biceps.

"Any sausage sightings?"

"Man, we used to wrestle in the nude.  I remember it getting hard once!  Really big -- and thick!  Man, that thing was like a beer can!"

 A beer-can penis somehow seems out of place in a world of quiet contemplation.  Surely trivial matters like sex fade away when you are in the presence of the Divine.

Fond du Lac, Wisconsin

We arrive in Fond du Lac at around 2:00 pm.  Tark doesn't get off work until 5:00 pm, so we go to Lakeside Park and walk along the lake.

I try to imagine how different my life would have been if I had gone to Marian, and stayed in Wisconsin, instead of going to Augustana, then Indiana University, and then West Hollywood.  Would I have been to 10,000 daily masses by now?  Said the rosary 20,000 times?  Spent my life in quiet contemplation of the Divine?

Next we go to St. Paul's Cathedral.  No Mass is going on, but I bless myself with holy water and light a candle in front of a statue of the Blessed Virgin, while Bob texts on his cell phone.

Then Marian College itself, which is a disappointment: an Erbert and Gerbert's sandwich shop in the student union, a jazz concert coming up on Friday, a sports team called the Dockspiders, and "A Beginner's Guide to Star Wars" in the student newspaper.  Hardly contemplative or otherworldly!

At 5:30 we go to Joe's Fox Hut, a rather scary dive bar next to the army induction center, with a Schlitz Beer sign out front.

The server takes us into a dark, dismal room with country-western music blaring, and hands us menus: pizza! corn dogs!  garlic bread!

Nothing healthy on the menu.  Even the chicken breast comes with french fries and cole slaw.

Suddenly a very tall, chubby guy with short hair and a reddish-brown beard sneaks up behind Bob, motions for me to keep quiet, and grabs him.  Bob yells.

"Gotcha!"

Bob hugs him.  "Hi, Cousin Dweeb. This is my boyfriend, Boomer."

Tark slides into the booth next to me and shakes my hand.

"Cousin Dork, you're all grown up -- sort of.  You're still scrawny -- and dating your professor!  How did you pull that off?"  He nudges me.  "I'll bet the little guy gets all A's, huh?"


"He's not actually in any of my classes."

"Well, there's always next semester."

He orders a sausage-mushroom pizza with mini corn dogs on the side, and tells us about his job as an auto detailer.

"It's great -- they bring the cars right to my house, and I do the work in my driveway.  No overhead.  Sure beats working in a stuffy office all day -- or teaching a bunch of whiny brats."

"True," I say.  "But some of those whiny brats are cute."

"I heard that.  Man, if I was a professor, I'd be inviting every gal in sight for some extra tutoring in my office.  Maybe a little oral exam, huh?"

I don't like him.  In a world of quiet contemplation, all he can think of are corn dogs and oral sex.

Eventually his girlfriend Diane joins us: a music professor at Marian specializing in jazz history.

Jazz?  Not Gregorian chants?  

We go to a place called the Backstage Bar and Grille to drink beer (soda for me and Bob) and listen to live music, more pop than jazz.  Loud!

Then we go back to Diane and Tark's house to drink more beer, listen to more music -- loud! -- and play with their dogs and cat,.  Finally it's time for bed: they put us up in an upstairs bedroom with race car posters and stuffed animals.

Bob and I strip down.  "They seem nice," I say.

"Yeah.  He hasn't changed.  A little fatter, but still like a big brother."

We start kissing and fondling.  Bob pushes me down onto the bed.

I look up to see Tark.  Grinning, naked.

He motions me to keep silent.  Bob is kissing my chest.  Suddenly Tark grabs him from behind.

"Nude wrestling!" he yells, dragging a giggling Bob to the floor.  "Rowdy Roddy Piper versus the Dynamic Dork!"

No, we didn't "share."   But I did get a sausage sighting of his beer-can penis.

Yes, that makes up for the absence of quiet contemplation in Fond du Lac.

Bob Hooks Up with Five Guys at the Lake House

Upstate, July 2017

Bob's version of what happened during our three nights with my ex-boyfriend Troy and his current boyfriend Charles:

I've never had a boyfriend before -- I only was with one guy before meeting Boomer -- so when he asked me to come along on his visit to his ex-boyfriend and his current boyfriend, I didn't know what to think!

But it was a chance to see mountains, and Cooperstown -- the Baseball Hall of Fame! -- and spend 12 nights in bed with a guy.  If you've never slept -- just slept -- with a guy before, try it out.  I'd rather do that than get a blow job!

Friday

We have dinner in Cooperstown with Troy and Charles. Troy, Boomer's ex, is your standard twink, about 30, short, hairy chest, big cock.  But Charles is amazing, exactly my type: about 50, tall, broad-shouldered, thick slabs of muscle!

After dinner we go to the lake house, where they invite us for a midnight boat ride.  Boomer doesn't want to go, but I do.  We take this 8-seater motorboat out around the lake, Charles driving while Troy and I grope and make out (Boomer said I could go with other guys).  Then we stop, and Charles drops his pants -- biggest, thickest Mortadella+ I've ever seen!

Troy and I team up to suck him and lick his balls, and then Troy and Charles go down on me at th same time.  It's intense, in the dark, with the boat bobbing up and down.  Afterwards we go skinny-dipping to wash off -- the water's cold, but we don't care!

I'm so revved up that I can't wait to get back to the house and make out with Boomer.  He lets me go down on him, as long as I'm quiet.

Saturday

In the morning we drive into town to go to the gym, and then find a coffee house loaded with wall-to-wall college guys.  Then back to the lake house.  In the early afternoon, guests start to arrive, until there are over 40 people crammed into the small house and on the decks and in the boats.

Score!  Charles' relatives are incredible.  I figure most of them are straight, but who cares?  I'm around straight people all the time.

I go swimming with Charles' cousin, a chubby bear with a big basket and trunks that keep riding down his butt.

Pontooning with his nephew Trace, a little older than me, smooth and very muscular, with a tattoo of a bull smelling flowers on his chest.

And I go kayaking with Aram, who is a real musician!  

Later Trace and Aram invite us to meet up with their girlfriends and some other people in town.  Boomer stays home.  We go to this coffee house that has live music, and Trace introduces me to Rick, a very cute black guy in his 30s who used to sing backup for Rihanna!

We end up at Trace's apartment, making out, and Rick and I go into the bedroom.  He has a smooth, hard chest and a 8" uncut cock. He goes down on me for awhile, and then he pushes me onto the bed and thrusts between my legs while we're kissing.  It's called interfemoral -- Boomer likes it, too.  It's intense!

Suddenly Trace is knocking at the door.  "You guys about ready to go back to the house? Janine left already, and it's after midnight."

"Hold your horses," Rick yells.  "Or come in here, and I'll hold them for you."

Trace comes in, takes off his shirt and pants, and straddles me, pushing his cock into my mouth while Rick is still doing interfemoral.  He's not very big, but he's hard as a rock!  Then we switch positions, and Rick tops Trace while he's going down on me.

Trace is bi, in case you didn't notice.

Back at the lake house, I try interfemoral with Boomer, my first time on top of him.  It's great!  You're feeling his whole body, not just his cock.

Sunday

Aram invites us to breakfast at his house.  Then we go into Oneonta to church and to meet a couple of Boomer's friends for lunch.

In the afternoon, we go to the Baseball Hall of Fame -- incredible!  I could spend all day there.  I start up a conversation with a high school boy named Jesus (Hay-Zoos), from Mexico, but he doesn't look Hispanic.  I mean, he has light skin and light brown hair.  I didn't know they played baseball in Mexico!

He's staying with his family at the Otesaga Resort, and he invites us to go swimming.  Boomer doesn't want to go, so we go by ourselves.

Except we never make it to the swimming!  The minute we get inside his room, we start kissing and groping.  Jesus goes down on me, and then I push him on the bed for interfemoral -- he's never done that before.  When I finish, I beat him off while kissing him.

He's on snapchat.

In the evening Boomer and I have dinner with Troy and Charles, then return to the lake house.  We watch tv for awhile, and then Charles and his grandparents go out onto the deck. Boomer goes to bed.

"I haven't been with Boomer yet," Troy says, "And tomorrow you guys are leaving."

"He's nervous about doing anything with Charles' grandparents in the next room," I tell him.

"Well, they're not in the next room now.  Let's go surprise him!"

We go into the bedroom, and I start kissing Boomer while Troy goes down on him. But he takes a long time, so Troy and I start working on him together.  Finally he turns over and goes down on me, then Troy.  Then Troy leaves, and Boomer and I cuddle.


Monday

Charles and Troy have to get up very early to go to work, so we get up early, too.  We're on the road before the sun rises.

"Sorry you had to go through that ordeal," Boomer says. "Charles' family was nice and all, but so darn heterosexual!  I can't wait to get to the Flex Club in Cleveland, and get some action."

"What are you talking about? It was nonstop action.  I can't even remember all the guys who went down on me. Five or six guys, not counting you!  I had a blast!"

Unfortunately, I was too tired to go to the Flex Club later.

See also: Boomer's Version; and 13 Guys in One Night in Cleveland.

Three Nights with Troy and His Boyfriend: Boomer's Version

Upstate, July 2017

Every year I go back to Upstate New York. I didn't actually like my four years there -- too remote, too isolated, too rustic.  But I liked my Troy, the SUNY French major who was my boyfriend for 3 to 5 years (depending on how you calculate).

Troy has a new boyfriend, Charles, a 49-year old ex-Marine who runs the sanitation system of the city of Canajoharie.  It is apparently rather lucrative, since they have a very nice house there plus a cabin on a lake near Cooperstown.

I hadn't met Charles before this trip, but I saw some photos: round face, hairy chest, thick biceps, square workman's hands, an uncut Kielbasa hanging down.

"You and Bob [the 19-year old economics major] can stay with us," Troy said -- a godsend in baseball season, when every hotel in a 50 mile radius of Cooperstown jacks up the rates.  "Can you come for Charles' 50th birthday party on July 8th?  Every gay guy in the state will be there -- it will be intense."

Just as we were driving into Otsego County, I got a text from Troy.  "Change of plans -- we're spending the week at Charles' grandparents's lake house.  But don't worry, we told them the situation, and they said it's fine for you to be there."

I didn't want to spend three nights in the home of elderly heterosexuals I'd never met, but it was too late to back out -- every decent hotel nearby was sure to be booked solid.

There are two versions of what happened next.

Boomer's version:

Friday

We have dinner with Troy and Charles in Cooperstown, and then follow them to the lake house: 10 miles on narrow dirt roads.  I'm completely lost.

It's not a big house: 3 bedrooms, a living room, a small kitchen, two decks, and a dock.  No wifi, which means no course prep, Facebook, or Grindr.  A TV that is turned constantly to CNN, unless it's off, and a cd of whiny female vocalists is playing instead.  Charles grandparents, retired professors in their 80s, tell us about 50 years of happy memories in this house.  When Charles was a boy, he and his parents would come out almost every weekend during the summer.

"Hey, we should go for a midnight boat ride!" Charles exclaims.  "Like when I was a kid."

I'm not a fan of swimming or boating.  I don't even like driving over a bridge.  In Florida I lived four blocks from the beach and never went into the water.  And I especially don't want to go boating in the middle of the night.  I politely refuse, but Bob exclaims "Cool!  I'm in!"

After they leave, I sit up for a few more minutes, then go to bed.  It's a room right next to the grandparents, which means no sharing with Troy and Charles!  I'm not even sure I want to have sex with Bob here: the walls are very thin.

A few minutes later, Toby the golden retriever scratches at the door.  Turns out this is his bed.

I fall asleep, and wake up about an hour later when Bob slides into bed between me and the dog and puts his arms around me.  "We went skinny dipping!" he whispered.  "Wow, is Charles ever hung!  You should see him!"

"I hope to."

Bob's mouth moves down my chest to my crotch.  "There's a dog in bed with us," I protest.

"He won't care."

"Plus Charles' grandparents are just next door."

"I'll be quiet."

Saturday

In the morning we drive into town to go to the rather spartan YMCA, and then find a coffee house with wifi so I can do some work for my online summer school classes.  Then we go back to the lake house.

In the early afternoon, guests start to arrive, until there are over 40 people crammed into the small house and on the decks and in the boats.   I introduce myself one by one, trying to figure out who the gay ones are

Charles' brother? A chunky bear in a red shirt.

His cousin?  Muscular frame going to fat, and trunks that kept riding down along his butt, big basket.

His nephew?  Mid-20s, short hair, muscular frame, with a tattoo of a crow figure in a loincloth stomping on a lion, and another of Ferdinand the Bull.

A coworker?  guy with red hair, beard, ponytail, and a smooth chest?

An unidentified bearded hipster in his 40s?

The guests, male and female, child and adult, go swimming and boating and sit looking at the lake.  A three-person band plays John Denver songs.  We are invited to view a powerpoint photo montage of Charles through the years, including photos of him and two ex-boyfriends.  Apparently he's been out for a long time. His family seems to be ok with it.  But where are all his gay friends?

At 5:00 pm we eat barbecued chicken.

 At 7:00 pm there are presents and cake.

I feel out of place amid all this heterosexual nuclear family business, but apparently Bob doesn't.  He goes swimming with the Nephew, pontooning with the Uncle and Cousin, and kayaking with the Bearded Hipster.  When it gets late, he goes outside, helping set off fireworks.

Around 9:00, he says "The Nephew is meeting his girlfriend in town, and he wants us to go.  Are you up for it?"

A late night heterosexual rendezvous in a sleazy dive bar?  "I'm a little tired.  But you go ahead."

After awhile, I go to bed.  Toby scratches at the door, and I let him in.  Eventually Bob comes in, slides into bed, and puts his head on my chest.

"How was it?" I ask.

"Great!  We went to this coffee house that had live music, and the Nephew introduced me to this guy who sings backup for Beyoncé!"

I know who that is, sort of.

Sunday

The Coworker invites us to breakfast at his house, with his wife, two kids, and an unidentified guy named Erik.

Then we go into town to the Unitarian Church and to meet a couple of gay guys I knew for lunch.  I am hoping to be invited to "share" afterwards, but they don't suggest it.

In the afternoon, Bob and I go to the Baseball Hall of Fame: tacky, expensive, and only for baseball fans.  Afterwards we split up: I want to go to the used bookstore, and he wants to check out the tacky souvenir shops.

When we reunite, Bob has a high school boy in tow.  "This is Jesus, from Mexico.  He's staying with his parents are staying at the Otesaga Resort.  He invited us to go swimming."

More swimming?  We're staying at a lake!

"No thanks -- you go ahead.  I'll meet you at the Otesaga in about two hours."

In the evening we have dinner with Troy and Charles, then return to the lake house.  It's quite late, so I go to bed, leaving them watching CNN.

Before I can fall asleep, Bob and Troy come in.

"You're not getting out of here without a little sharing," Troy says with a grin.

"Be quiet -- grandparents in the next room."

"Oh, they're out on the deck, talking to Charles.

"And that's much better?"

Troy goes down on me while Bob and I kiss.  But the situation is too weird, and I can't finish.  He gives up and goes down on Bob instead, who finishes very quickly.

Monday

Charles and Troy have to get up very early to go to work, so Bob and I get up early, too.  There's not even time for morning sex.  We're on the road before the sun rises.

"Sorry you had to go through that ordeal," I tell Bob.  "Charles' family was nice and all, but so darn heterosexual!  I can't wait to get to the Flex Club in Cleveland, and get some action."

"What are you talking about?" Bob asks.  "It was nonstop action.  I can't even remember all the guys who went down on me.  Not counting you, six -- no, seven!  I had a blast!"

Obviously I was at a different lake house.

Next: Bob's Version

See also: 13 Guys in One Night at a Bathhouse in Cleveland

The Most Disgusting Hookup of All Time

Rock Island, July 2017

When I go home to Rock Island, I usually do quite well with hookups.  Being the new guy in town, I get approached a lot, I have the "I grew up here!" conversation starter, and in the absence of gay bars there's a lot of old-fashioned cruising going on.  But earlier this week, when we stopped in Rock Island on the way to New York, I had the MOST DISGUSTING HOOKUP OF ALL TIME.

I blame Bob, the 19 year old economics major I met at the dentist's office a few weeks ago. He was with only one guy before me, but quickly warmed up to the idea of sharing and hooking up.

He had never heard of gay dating apps, and was eager to try out Grindr, so I promised that on our night in Rock Island, he could arrange some hookups for us.

We got to our hotel about 6:00 and had dinner with my brother at Harris Pizza.   I couldn't resist posting a picture of the pizza (the highlight of the evening).

Then I went to the gym while Bob got to work on Grindr, with the profile name "visiting" and nude pictures of us  both to share.  When I returned, he had the hookups arranged.

"I invited two, in case one doesn't show up, like you taught me," he said. "One for you, a teenager."

I'm actually more attracted to guys in their 30s.  I just go with the twinks and Cute Young Things because they approach me all the time, and there aren't a lot of "regular aged" guys on the Plains.   But I wasn't going to tell that to Bob the 19-year old, especially when he was so proud of himself.

"And one for me," he added.  "Old, muscular, hairy chest, big cock."

Sounded like Bob's would be more my style.

Little did I know.

9:00: Chris the Teenager

Chris the Teenager (yes, we carded him) arrived ten minutes late.

Bob got a few of my tastes wrong:

I like them short.  He was very tall, like 6'5".

I like them muscular or husky, not chubby.  Chris had a ton of soft belly fat, and those big womanly breasts that I find a turn-off.

I like them well-hung.  He had maybe 4.5".

But I shouldn't complain -- Bob did his best.

Chris wasn't bad at kissing, and he let me go down on him while he was going down on Bob.  But then he lay on the bed with his butt in the air, whispering "Do me, Daddy."

No way.

"Let me try!" Bob.  "I've never topped anyone before."

Bob has an uncut Bratwurst, about 7", which should be big enough to pass through the fat of Chris's butt cheeks.  But he couldn't find the hole!  Finally he rubbed off against Chris, a sort of reverse interfemoral, while Chris was going down on me.

Then Chris said he had to go home, since his parents didn't realize that he had borrowed their car.

Not a very satisfying hookup, but I told myself, "Wait for Bob's guy.  In his 40s, muscular, big cock.  A bodybuilding bear!"


10:00 Sid the Illustrated Man

The guy who showed up was in his 60s, with a long, ugly face and an obvious toupee.  He introduced himself and immediately lay down next to Bob, who was still naked, ran his finger over his cock, and put it in his mouth!

"Yum...prelube."

"I think it's lube," Bob said.  "I tried anal on a guy before."

"Well, it's still delicious!"

Ok, major turn-off.  No way I was kissing this guy now!

But he was Bob's hookup, so I had to be polite. I helped him undress.

Very thin, smooth, hairless body covered with tattoos, including spiderwebs, Madonnas, a dagger, a gay pride flag, a skull -- I lost count.  Disgusting.

But a cock is a cock.

I started going down on his 6" cut cock, while he lay there, squeezing his nipples, his tongue out like a puppy dog.  Disgusting.

When I moved away to let Bob have a turn, Sid ran his finger over the prelube on his own cock and ate it!

Beyond disgusting -- nauseating!

Bob fondled his butt.  Was he thinking of doing anal again?

 I slapped Sid's butt, and he moaned "That feels good!"

Soon Bob and I were slapping him on the legs, arms, abs, chest, and cock, everywhere but his balls (which he said were sensitive), while he beat off, moaning and squeezing his own nipple and sticking his tongue out like a puppy dog.

Soon he spurted -- and, of course, ate it!

We got him dressed and out of there fast.

I needed a shower.  I have never been so disgusted by a hookup in my life.

Bob didn't like him either: "That guy was way too kinky!"

But this morning he asked if he could spank me.

See also: What Not to Say During Sex; A Hookup with Brothers at the Dentist's Office; What is the Difference Between a Pizza and a Penis?

13 Guys in One Night at Bath House in Cleveland

Cleveland, July 2017

On the way back from New York earlier this week, we stopped in Cleveland.  I wanted to go to the Flex Club, a great gay resort/bath house.  Bob didn't want to go, but he said it was ok if I went by myself.

It's hit and miss.  Sometimes I can wander around the video room, the dark room, the leather room, and the saunas for two hours and get completely ignored by everybody and everything.  Sometimes I'm very popular.

I think of a night at the Flex Club as a success if I meet five guys in two hours.  But the other night, I was with 13!

1. Within a minute of going upstairs to the video room,  I was kissing a red-haired twink with a scrawny body but an enormous Mortadella.

2.That wasn't unusual: I tend to attract twinks.  So I still didn't know if this was going to be a good or bad evening.

A few minutes later, in the dark room, I saw a very handsome, hairy-chested guy in his 30s with someone else, so I joined in.  The second guy left, leaving me with Hairy Chest.  When I got on my knees, I saw that he was wearing lady's panties.  Weird, but a cock is a cock.  About 6".

3-5.  I sat on a bunk in the dark room, and an older black guy approached.  Big cock, one of those giant hernias.  He brought his two friends and "ordered" them to pull it out and let me go down on them.  Nice physiques, big cocks.

6.  A young bear lying on a bunk wanted to kiss and do interfemoral.

7. His friend, a chub in his 40s, joined us.  He went down on me.

8.  I started talking to an older guy in the leather room, and told him I was going to the dark room.  He followed me, but on the way I passed the room of someone I liked better: in his 30s, glasses, smooth chest, enormous penis.  He turned out to be a biology teacher.

More after the break

Heterosexual for a Day

Remember "What do the Simple Folk Do?" from Camelot:

What do the simple folk do

To cheer them when they're feeling blue?

When they're beset and besieged, the folk not noblesse obliged,

How do they manage to shed their weary lot?

In West Hollywood, it was easy to cheer up when you were feeling blue: buy some books, look at art, have lunch at the French Quarter, go cruising at the Gold Coast.  But West Hollywood is 2000 miles away, and I'm surrounded by heterosexuals.

What do you do on gloomy Saturdays in November, at the start of the "Ho Ho Ho" madness, when all of the melancholy songs are playing but it's not even your birthday yet, and your 5K running speed is down by 5 minutes, and West Hollywood is 2000 miles away and you're surrounded by heterosexuals?

"How do hetero men spend their Saturdays?"  I ask my boyfriend Bob, who is 19 years old and has lived in the Straight World his whole life.  He writes me out a list, then leaves for work.

It sounds like a fun game: see how the other half lives.  Spend a day as a heterosexual, doing everything that hetero men do.

9:00 am: They work on cars.

You mean, like, open the hood and stuff?   In gay neighborhoods we walk or take the subway.  I know how to put gas in those car things, and steer them, and that's it.  But maybe I could get an auto mechanic to do something, like change the oil.

Score!  The guy at the Jiffy Lube is in his 30s, short and buffed, with a round face and square workman's hands.  And he squirts things with lube all day....

10:00 am: They hunt things.

Like, um...cuddly bunnies and such?  I've never once in my life held a gun, but I can certainly hunt.  How about antiques?  I can look for some additions to my beefcake art collection.

Score!  "A Surf Boy Tiki Mug" from Orchids of Hawaii, a restaurant supply company operating out of the Bronx during the tiki craze of the 1960s.  An evil Dennis the Menace.

Besides, there;s a hot father and college-aged son at the Antique Mall, scoping out some antique model cars.  I make eye contact with the son, and get a cruisy smile.

11:00 am:  They play baseball.

I would prefer to avoid having projectiles hurled at my head.  But working out the gym is the same thing, nght?

1:00 pm: They have lunch at Five Guys Burgers and Fries

I would gain ten pounds just walking into that joint. Fortunately, there's a Jersy Mike's next door, which not only has turkey subs, it has some cute college boys for me to exchange witty banter with.

2:00 pm: They shop for tools.

Kitchen supplies count as tools, right?  I go to Cooks Plus and buy a frittatta pan.

3:00 pm: They drink beer and watch the game.

Diet Coke will have to substitute for the beer, and I can't watch sports on tv -- I only get Netflix.  But I happen to have some old bodybuilding contests on DVD.  Will the 1985 Mr. Olympia, with Lee Haney, do?'














6:00 pm: Bob comes home and cooks dinner (frittattas).  

"How did your day as a heterosexual go?" he asks.

"Great!  I worked on cars, hunted things, played sports (if bench pressing counts), had lunch, shopped for tools, and watched a game.  There's just one thing on the list I didn't get around to.  I thought of it after you left this morning."

I show him the last thing that hetero men do.

"I'm totes up for that!  After dinner and some making out, that is.  We can't do it until about 9:00 anyway."

After a day of beefcake and cruising, I'm up for more than making out.  I go down on Bob while beating off, then push him onto the floor for interfemoral, with him on top.

Then we watch tv until it's time for the last item on the list:



9:00 pm: They go out to try to pick up babes.

Preferably babes with handsome faces, hard smooth chests, and gigantic penises.

See also: Searching for Twinks on the Plains

Bob and I Hook Up with a Saint

Plains, October 2017

The problem with living in the Straight World is, there are so few open, out gay men over 30 around that you have to be friends with them even if you don't like them.  And I can't stand Boyle.

He's in his 40s, tall, homely, with long gray hair, a skinny physique, and multiple rings, tattoos, and beads.  He reeks of cologne, incense, and pot.  He says "Namaste" instead of "Hello," and talks in platitudes like "Why be normal when you can be unique?"

We got off on the wrong foot when we met at a diversity event, with a Spanish chorus.  I translated the lyrics for him.  Turns out he spoke fluent Spanish and had worked in Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, Bolivia, Peru, and Chile.

It got worse.

Me: I go to Montreal as often as I can.  Great museums, great restaurants, and the best bathhouse in the Western Hemisphere.

Boyle: What a coincidence!  I go to Kangiqsujuaq in Nord-du-Quebec as often as I can.  I'm a liaison with the regional government for tribal rights.

Ok....

Me: I'm going to Los Angeles for spring break.  I'm invited to an Oscar party.

Boyle: I'll be spending spring break in Bangladesh, teaching tribal communities how to recycle plastic refuse into clothing and jewelry.  

Ok....

Me: I'm quite a world traveler, too.  I've been to Russia, Japan, Thailand..

Boyle: Thailand, really?  What did you do there?

Me:  Um...sightseeing and hookups...

Boyle: I worked with a nonprofit helping rescue victims of human trafficking.  

Grr...there go, my heart's abhorrence, go, water your damned flowerpots, do!

Me:  Um...I walked in the AIDS Walk.  

Boyle:  I worked with Richard Gere to place Tibetan refugee children with foster families.

I give up.  Candidates for sainthood, this way, please.

Me:  I'm...er...I'm dating a 20 year old.....

Boyle:  I know!  Isn't it annoying.  The twinks  just won't let up.  Night after night, call after call.  I mean, they're cute and all, but one of these nights I've just got to get some rest!

Me:  Um...er...I have a big dick?

Aside from his regular job in Student Services and his humanitarian work in India, Bangladesh, Mongolia, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, Vietnam, Borneo, and impoverished countries too numerous to mention, Boyle is writer, with two books of poetry that have won regional awards, and an artist, sewing things onto photos of dour-looking Brahmin and big-eyed refugee children. The other night he had an opening of several dozen of his horrible mixed-media works, and Bob, the economics major who is thinking of switching to art, insisted that we go.

He fell instantly in love with the aging hippie: "He's so spiritually aware!  A citizen of the world!  I'll bet he's a vegan.  Do you think he'd be up for sharing?"   

No way!  I wasn't going to let the Saint steal my boyfriend!  I needed a distraction,

"I don't know -- I don't know anyone who has dated him," I said, truthfully.  "But there's a guy who hangs around him a lot.  Over there -- he looks like a young, thin Harvey Fierstein.  Maybe they're dating."

"Well, let's go talk to him."

He turned out to be an aspiring artist, a fan of Boyle's work, but not personally acquainted with him.  And straight.

I looked around for another candidate.  Most of the people at the reception were women.  The few men, older, wilted, looked like they had been dragged along by their wives.  

Suddenly I saw a cute twink, black haired, rather feminine, bulging pants, standing with an older hetero couple - had he been dragged there by his parents?

A distraction for Bob, and a twink for me.  Perfect.

"I think that might be Boyle's boyfriend," I lied.  "He brought his parents with him to the reception.  Isn't that sweet?"

Bob shrugged.  "I'm not into younger guys, but if it will get me into Boyle's bed, I'm all for it."

"Or not.  We could just share him by ourselves."

"I suppose. Let's go talk to him."

"I'd better go alone.  Twink magnet, you know."

I waited until the boy wandered off by himself, then approached. 

Langdon turned out to be a junior at West High School.  He didn't actually know the Saint, but he had heard his parents talk about him.

A junior?  Probably sixteen years old.

There was no one else at the reception who was male and not attached to a woman, so I had no choice: if I didn't let Bob share the hippie, he'd probably seek him out on his own.  So after the Saint's  platitude-filled speech, Bob and I approached and asked if he was doing anything after.  He was going to dinner with six of his female friends and their husbands.  But after that he was free....

He appeared at my house at 11:00 pm.  While Bob ushered him into the living room, I went to the kitchen to get some drinks.

When I returned, the Saint and Bob were on the couch, kissing,

"Mind if I join in?" I asked.

Without looking up he grabbed me and shoved my shoulder down.  I knlt in front of him.

This will work out fine, I thought as I spread his legs and unzipped him.  Boyle might be a world citizen, a saint, a poet, and an artist, but there's one area where I have him beat.  


His cock, already aroused, sprang up into my face.

Bob Hooks Me Up with the Wrong Guy

Davenport, Iowa, July 2017

That's the last time I let Bob, the19-year old economics major, arrange a hookup for us.  On the way east to New York, he somehow found the most disgusting guy of all time, and on the way back, he got the wrong guy!

We stayed overnight in Rock Island again, and went to the Figge Museum of Art, across the river in Iowa.

I had never been there before.  It opened in 1997, after my parents moved to Indiana, and on the rare occasions that I returned to the Quad Cities, there wasn't time for much sightseeing.

The second floor had galleries devoted to Spanish Colonial art, Haitian art, Grant Wood, and contemporary art.  The third floor was devoted to a corn maze, and the fourth floor to a collection of black dolls.

Some of the galleries had a nice view of the Mississippi.

No beefcake art to speak of, although I did notice a surprising number of Cute Young Things and twinks among the patrons.  A lot of cruisy smiles and up-and-down glances going on.

I found out why when I heard a lot of raucous noise from downstairs, and left Bob in the Haitian Art gallery to investigate.

The downstairs exhibition room was full of people, very cute college-age boys in grey t-shirts with "Metro Arts" logos, some girls, a few kids, very well dressed adults mingling with glasses of wine and little sandwiches.  Some were already sitting on folding chairs facing a stage.  There were t-shirts for sale, and tables of snacks.

Was this a private function?  In my t-shirt and jeans, I looked more like one of the college boys than an adult.

I milled about, pretending to belong, trying to find someone alone, not in a group, to pump for information.

No luck.  Some of the teenagers were in groups, doing voice exercises and giving each other encouragement.  Some were talking to groups of adults.  No one was alone.

As usual, I got cruisy glances from the twinks, suspicious glares from the adults.

Then the program began: it turned out to be the showcase of the Quad City Metro Arts Summer Youth Program.  Thirty college students from all over the Midwest were selected for the five week program, where they worked on projects ranging from public art to graphic design to comedy improv.

The adults were parents, friends, and community leaders.  Later I discovered that the mayors of both Davenport and Rock Island were there.

First up in the showcase: a comedy improv with three performers.  I milled about, taking photos.

Soon Bob joined me, drawn by the noise. I apprised him of what was happening, and we watched in silence for a few minutes.

My eyes were drawn to a father and son standing alone, with no mother.  Gay?

 Dad was in his 40s, with a rugged face, salt-and-pepper hair, and a tight frame. Son was probably 15, wearing a gray Metro Arts t-shirt, with dark wavy hair and an orange baseball cap, texting furiously on his cell phone.

I am always attracted to guys in business suits.  Maybe because they are designed specifically to hide the physique and bulge, so trying to imagine what he looks like with his clothes off becomes exciting.

And fathers, guys who are nurturing and domestic, yet obviously were naked, intimate, and aroused.

Bob nudged me.  "You like him?"


"Sure, he's hot. And definitely gay.   But I can't get him to make eye contact.  He's too busy concentrating on the show."

"That's funny, I'm getting some major perv from him."

"Maybe you're more his type.  And...there he goes."

The improv show ended, and father and son walked up to shake hands with one of the performers.  All three headed back toward the room with the snack tables.

"Didn't you say that the museum was the best place to pick up guys?" Bob asked.  "Why don't you go after him?  We could have a three-way tonight."

I glanced around, embarrassed to be discussing three-ways so openly.  "I'm not even sure we're supposed to be here, so I want to keep a low profile.  And how do you pick up a guy in front of all of his relatives?"

"No problem.  I'll take care of it. Be right back."

Before I could protest, Bob walked off toward the snack room.

The next showcase began, five artists talking about how they painted murals by the river.

Bob was gone a long time.  I began to get annoyed, and walked back to find him.  He met me.

"It's all set.  They're going to a place called Wise Guys Pizza after the showcase, and we're going to meet them there.  I guess it will be a whole big group.  But if I'm going to hook up, I need to shower and brush my teeth.  Could we go back to the hotel first?"

We crossed the bridge into Rock Island, showered and shaved and hung out for a bit, and then drove across the bridge again to Wise Guys Pizza, far away on the north side of town.

 There was a group of gray-shirt Metro Arts teens occupying a booth, looking at the menu.  Bob waved.

No parents.

Where's the hot Dad?

A teenage boy with dark wavy hair and an orange baseball cap slid over so we could join him.  Bob let me sit next to him.

He hooked us up with the wrong guy!  The son, not the father!

I could have hooked up with a twink on my own.  I wanted Bob to be my wing man in picking up a hot Dad.

It's not Bob's fault -- I'm dating a 19 year old, I get cruised by twinks all the time, and last week when he hooked me up with a teenager, I didn't object.  What would you conclude?

The boy - Ethan -- wasn't 15, he was 20, entering his junior year at Western Illinois University,and totally into hooking up. Smooth, solid physique, 5" cut but easily aroused.   Although he was mostly an anal bottom, he allowed me to go down on him while he went down on Bob, and then do interfemoral in a side position while Bob slid against his butt.

Bob is turning into rather more an anal top than I anticipated when we started to date.

A nice hookup, but not much different from the ones I get on the Plains.  I wanted the father.

See also: Nude Wrestling in Fond du Lac.