Our Hook Up with Brad Pitt

San Francisco

One night when I was visiting my friend David in San Francisco, we went out to dinner at Thai Thai.  He wanted to introduce me to his friend Corbin, a gym rat from Oakland with, he said, an awe-inspiring Mortadella.

Corbin was late.  We were about to order without him when he came bursting in, giddy and excited. "I brought someone -- I hope you don't mind.  He's out looking for a parking space."

Actually, I did. If  Corbin brought a date, we would be divided into two couples, and no Mortadella+ for me.  

But David said "No problem.  Is your date hot?"

"Is he hot!"  He sat and took David's arm.  "Out parking the car right now is none other than Brad Pitt!"

The hottest actor in Hollywood?  The star of Thelma and Louise, and Johnny Suede, and A River Runs Through It?  And Interview with the Vampire, where he and Tom Cruise played a gay vampire couple?  Sure, he always had a lady on his arm, but he must be bisexual -- straight men just don't get abs like that!

"How did you..."  I asked.

"I stopped in at the gym before coming here.  Just walking down Market, and there he was!  Everybody was staring, and a guy stopped and asked him for his autograph -- he refused.  But I played it cool, like you told me you did in West Hollywood.  I pretended I didn't even know who he was."

In West Hollywood, when we encountered big stars, we pretended not to recognize them.  No fawning, no gushing, no autograph requests.  We approached, or let him approach, as if he was just another hot guy.

But San Francisco had no movie and tv studios, no actor population, so celebrities appeared only when they were visiting, or starring in something on stage.  And most residents moved directly from homophobic small towns, so they never developed big city nonchalance.  So apparently they fawned and gushed and stammered, and called all their friends.  It took a studied indifference to incite Brad Pitt's interest.

"So we talked, and before you know it, he agreed to come to dinner with us."

"Ok," I told David.  "So the key to dealing with celebrities is, don't scare them off.  Don't discuss their movie career unless they bring it up.  Don't ask which celebrities are gay.  Stick to coming out stories and the biggest penis you've ever seen."

Brad arrived just in time to hear me say that, but he remained nonchalant, grinning broadly as he shook our hands.

He was about my height, lanky, with a sharp chin, deep blue eyes, long scruffy hair, almost exactly like this photo of Brad Pitt at the Golden Globes in 1996, except cleanshaven.

He sat and put his arm around the back of Corbin's chair.  "Nice to meet you all.  San Francisco is such a great city, and the guys are super-hot.  I wish I could visit more often."

"I loved Interview with a Vampire!" David blurted out, starstruck.

"Yeah.  You know, I met Anne Rice, at a book signing in Boston.  She told me that she always intended the character of Louis to be gay all along."  

This seemed strange.  He met Anne Rice at a book signing?  Wouldn't she have been on the set?  Wouldn't she have discussed her character with the actor portraying him?

But maybe not.

For the rest of the dinner, we avoided talking about movies.  Instead we discussed our miserable fundamentalist childhoods (Brad and David both grew up in Southern Baptist households, and I was Nazarene).  

Then we discussed the gay pride celebrations and other gay festivals in San Francisco.  Brad told us that in 1987, when he was 18, he marched in the very first gay pride parade in Oklahoma City.

Brad and Corbin held hands under the table, but I also saw a few brushes of Corbin's leg against David's, and Brad occasionally reached over and groped me.  A good sign that we weren't dividing into two couples.  Before the night was over, I would definitely be experiencing a Corbin Mortadella and a Brad Pitt Kovbasa+++.

Sure enough, after dinner David invited us back to his apartment on Waller, just off Haight, for "dessert."

He served three-day old cookies that no one touched.  Instead Corbin and Brad sat on the couch, kissing, while David went down on Corbin.

I pulled Brad over and kissed him and unbuttoned his shirt.  He had six-pack abs, hard and smooth, tight muscled, the stuff of legend in gay communities ever since he flashed them in Thelma and Louise.

Brad tried to push my head down onto his crotch, but I resisted.  Later -- I'd gone down on lots of guys.  I'd never have the opportunity to feel abs like that again!

We went into the bedroom, where I went down on Brad while he went down on Corbin and David at the same time.  Definitely a monster, a Kielbasa, cut, with a mushroom head.  He finished in a few minutes, but almost instantly sprang up, ready for more.  Then David pulled out a condom and topped Brad while Corbin and I just sort of lay there.

Spending the night after "sharing" is usually obligatory, but David's small bed wouldn't hold four, and Brad had to get to the airport early in the morning, so he left -- without giving us his phone number.

I doubt that it was really Brad Pitt himself, but still, David, Corbin, and I added "a hookup with" to our repertoire of celebrity dating stories. 

See also: Nude photos of Brad Pitt

Corbin's Choice: Handsome and Small or Sleazy and Gigantic

San Francisco, April 1996

A few weeks ago, Lane and I drove back to West Hollywood for the annual Oscar party.  Then, unexpectedly, he had to take care of something about the apartment building he inherited from his mother, so he stayed, and I took the bus back to San Francisco.

It's been three weeks, and he's still there:  "It's more complicated than I thought.  We need to completely remodel the foyer, and there's a zoning issue with the pool, and one of the tenants needs to be evicted."

Yeah, right.  The boy just likes being home.  Face it: he's not coming back at all.

To cheer me up, Drake the teddy bear artist and his boyfriend Zack ask me out to dinner at Almost Home, a Castro Street restaurant that specializes in "back home" cuisine: pot roast, fried chicken, chipped beef on toast.

There are dozens of Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Indian, Mexican, Greek, and Filipino restaurants in San Francisco, and I'm offered chipped beef on toast?  This evening won't go well.

They invite Zack's friend Corbin: in his 20s, tall, Mediterranean, very muscular, smooth hard chest visible beneath a white silk shirt unbuttoned five buttons.  Very handsome face, big black eyes, aquiline nose, a prominent chin.

Are they trying to fix us up?

He's very attractive, but there are thousands of eligible gay men within a five block radius.  Why Corbin in particular?

They know about my preference for extra-large beneath-the-belt gifts.  Maybe Corbin has a Kovbasa beneath the belt.

We choke down our down-home American food and start swapping stories of dates from hell, hookups with celebrities, and gigantic penises.  I tell about the time Alan and I accidentally picked up the kept boy.  Zack tells his coming out story.  Drake tells about his date with John Stamos, star of Full House.  Now it's Corbin's turn.

"I'm going to tell you about my choice: handsome or hung."

Bakersfield, California, Summer 1990

Corbin grew up in a conservative Armenian-American household in Bakersfield, about 100 miles north of Los Angeles. During college, he and his friends often went to drag shows and male strip shows at the Casablanca Night Club on N Street, downtown.

The gay community was rather small, so when you met a new guy, chances are one of your friends had dated him.

One night Corbin was approached by a rather ugly, sleazy looking guy with ridiculous hair.  His opening line was: "What would you like for breakfast tomorrow morning?  Besides me, that is?"

"Sleazy!" Zack exclaims.

Corbin almost gave Attitude, but then one of his friends gestured with his palms spread wide, indicating that the guy was super-hung.

Who cares if he was sleazy?  A penis is a penis.

There were no hookups in Bakersfield in 1990.  Corbin made a date with Sleazy for next Wednesday night.

After awhile, Corbin was approached a second time: tall, rugged male model looks with a little beard, very muscular bodybuilder physique and a honest opening line.

"Hi, do you mind if I stand here and talk to you awhile?"

Corbin practically swooned as they made initial small talk.

He glanced at his friends.  One signaled with his fingers that the guy was very small.  Princess Tiny Meat.

Who cares if he was tiny? Corbin made a date with Mr. Handsome for next Thursday night.

When he returned to the table, his friend said "Wow, what a stud you landed!  IHow are you going to break your date with Sleazy?"

 In Bakersfield in 1990, it was taboo to accept dates with more than one guy at a time. You had to evaluate the first, and get him evaluated by your friends, before you could go on to the second.

Corbin had to make a choice.

1. Sleazy but hung.
2. Handsome but tiny.

San Francisco, Spring 1996

"You stole that story from 'The Canterbury Tales,'" I protest.  "Where the man has a choice of a partner who is attractive during the day and ugly at night, or ugly during the day and attractive at night."

"Never read it," Corbin says.

"I'd pick Handsome," Drake says.  "He'll be the envy of all your friends, and you can work around the deficiencies in the penis department."

"I think I'd go with Sleazy," Zack says.  "No competition, everyone wondering what you see in him.  It'd be fun.  And you'd know what was waiting for you at home."

"Which one did you pick?" I ask.

Corbin grins. "Why, Handsome of course!  He had everything I was looking for in a guy, except for that one little thing.  And in the end, who cares about that?"

I look at Corbin.  Is he trying to tell me something, to "out" himself as small beneath the belt?

After all that buildup, there is no way I am going to reject Corbin.  After dinner and cruising at the Midnight Sun, I agree to go back to Drake's place for "sharing."

While we are all sitting on the couch, Drake and Zack start kissing.  I lean over to kiss Corbin.

"Wait -- before the festivities, could I take a shower?" he asks.  "I came to dinner directly from the gym."

"Sure -- we'll be in the bedroom," Drake says.

While Corbin is showering, we go into the bedroom and take off our clothes.  I go down on Zack and Drake while they're kissing.   Then Zack goes down on me while Drake watches.

Corbin comes out of the bathroom naked, toweling off.

Very well hung! Uncut Mortadella+, already semi-aroused.

"Hey, I thought you..." I begin.

"What?"

"I thought your story was a way of coming out as small."

He laughs.  "I've never been accused of that before!   It was to make you feel at ease, to tell you that I don't mind that you're small.  Zack and Drake told me."

"Me, small?"  I exclaim, offended.  I push Zack's head off me and display my Bratwurst+.  "How's that?"

Corbin lies down on the bed and begins fondling me. "Hey, who cares about size?  Small ones slide down my throat just fine."

He goes down on me.  After a few minutes, we move to the 69 position, but I can't take him.

"Don't worry about it," he says.  "We regular-sized guys get that all the time."


Regular sized?

Well,  I am the smallest guy in the room.

That's the risk you run when you prefer the gigantic.

See also: Sharing the Bear's Boyfriend; Corbin, David, and I Hook Up with Brad Pitt; and The Edwardian with the Footlong

Five Three-Ways with Kevin the Vampire

San Francisco, December 1996

Sex with Kevin the Vampire, my sort-of boyfriend in San Francisco, was exhausting.  No simple ten-minute blow job for him!  It was a long, complicated ordeal that took two hours minimum.

There was massage with weird oils.

There were ice cubes and strawberries.

His hands and mouth went everywhere, kissing and licking places that I didn't even know I had.  How did he manage to get his tongue inside my penis hole?

He would bring you close to orgasm, stop, start again, stop, start again, stop, over and over until you were begging for it.

Then, after your orgasm, he kept on going.  While you were still sensitive!

 In order to survive, I would have to find some way to dilute Kevin's sexual energy.

Tiring him out with a hard workout?  No.

Depressing him with tales of childhood homophobia?  No.

Keeping him up late?  No.

One morning over our breakfast coffee (Kevin didn't eat), I suggested bringing in a third person.

"I'm really rather monogamous," he said with a frown. "I prefer to devote my full attention to my man, as you know."

 Yes, but your full attention is exhausting!  "I like a bit of variety from time to time."

"Well, I'm perfectly agreeable to an open relationship.  You may certainly attend your Bear Parties, and go out with your friend David to cruise for Cute Young Things."

I took his hand.  "But I want the other guy to experience you in the bedroom.  Your hotness.  Your enthusiasm.  Your power."


He chuckled.  "Flattery has its uses.  By all means, then, bring on the barbarian hoards."


Three Way #1: Corbin the Gym Rat

Corbin and I worked out together and went to services at the MCC, the gay church.  He was about 10 years younger than me, tall, Mediterranean, very muscular, with a handsome face, big black eyes, aquiline nose, a prominent chin.  And a Mortadella+ beneath the belt.

After my birthday dinner in November, Kevin and I invited him home.

For four hours of hands and thighs and tongues, incense and oils, hot wax and feathers. Corbin was brought to the point of orgasm a dozen times until he was crying. Kevin allowed me to take his spurt, then turned me over on my back and told Corbin exactly how to use his mouth and tongue, what to stroke, what to lick.

It was almost dawn when I finished, and Kevin was still fully aroused!

Three Way #2: Lamar

Maybe Kevin was too attracted to Corbin to dispel his sexual energy.  Maybe if I found someone he wasn't attracted to at all?

He liked tall, broad-shouldered, muscular guys, He despised "short, fey twinks with earrings and squeaky little voices."

So I went to Twin Peaks in the Castro and picked up Lamar, a short, fey twink with a smooth, sallow chest, and long, skinny legs. We kissed and groped for awhile, and then I invited him home to meet Kevin.

I went down on him while he went down on Kevin, who finished almost immediately and then rolled over and fell asleep.

Rather disappointing -- I wanted to diminish the intensity of Kevin's passion, not extinguish it altogether.

Three Way #3: Orson

Ok, someone who was closer to Kevin's type, but not too close: a hairy muscle bear.  So I went to the Eagle and picked up a leather daddy named Orson -- about ten years older than me, balding, with a grizzly beard and a thick mat of white chest hair.

He turned out to be an anal top.  Neither of us were into anal, so Kevin and I took turns going down on him and fondling each other.

When he finished, Orson turned over onto his stomach and began to snore.  Kevin and I fell asleep soon, too.  No orgasms.

This was like the Three Bears story -- too hot, too cold.  I needed to find a guy who was "just right"






Three Way #4: Marius

Our fourth three-way was with one of Kevin's friends.  Actually his only close friend -- and boss at St. Mary's -- Marius, a beefy muscle bear in his 40s, with a heavy beard and a thick mat of chest hair.  He was from Argentina, but his parents were German.  He was somehow related to famous theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer..

This time Kevin was all over both of us, kissing and fondling, running his tongue over cocks and balls and nipples and armpits.  I went down on Marius twice, and Kevin three times, until my jaw ached.  He brought us near orgasm a dozen times before allowing us to spurt together.

Ok, what was the difference between Marius and Orson?  They were both hung muscle bears.

What did Kevin find attractive other than muscular physiques and gigantic sausages?

I couldn't ask him openly, of course, but I hinted around and got three characteristics:
1. Intelligence.
2. Innocence/naivete.
3, Religious devotion.

Suddenly it struck me:
Corbin and Marius: Muscle and religion (too hot)
Lamar: Neither (too cold)
Orson: Muscle only (too cold).

How about religion only?

Three Way #5: Wayne

Our fifth-three way was with Wayne, one of David's friends: a former Greek Orthodox priest who ran an interdenominational Orthodox fellowship in Berkeley.  He was in his 30s, handsome, cleanshaven, not muscular, with a pale chest, thin arms, and a Bratwurst beneath the belt.

Religion only.

Kevin was attentive to both of us, but not extravagant.  Kissing, oral, 69, interfemoral, no edging or weird oils.  One orgasm apiece.  Finished before dawn.

Now I just had to find a lot more skinny religious guys.

See also: Kevin the Vampire's Date with Satan.

The Edwardian with the Footlong and the Fetishes

San Francisco, October 1996

In the fall of 1996 Corbin, the gym rat from Oakland with the Mortadella+, took the leap and moved across the bay to San Francisco.  He found a third-floor walkup on Valencia, seven blocks from Castro Street and about three blocks from Gold's Gym, so we started working out together.

One day in October, we were leaving the gym after a workout, walking down 16th, when we saw the Edwardian: in his 30s, very handsome, with pomaded hair and a little moustache, dressed in a waistcoat and a boater hat, carrying a walking stick.  He looked for all the world like a dandy from 1910, walking down the Strand on his way to high tea with E. M. Forster and P. G. Wodehouse.

Since the days of Emperor Norton, the self-proclaimed Emperor of America (1818-1880), San Francisco has been a haven for eccentrics.  Colorful costumes, bizarre behavior, kooky beliefs -- not a problem.  Roller skate in your underwear while singing "Like a Virgin" and passing out tracts on the Illuminati and cornstarch -- just another day in Gay Heaven.

The Edwardian was a common sight on Castro or 16th.  If you made eye contact, he said "Good afternoon, sir," and expected you to respond in kind.  If you said "Hello," or, God forbid, "Hi!", he frowned and moved on.

Word on the street was that he had a footlong Kovbasa++++, which he shared with anyone who managed to maintain the illusion that this was Edwardian England for an entire conversation. I never managed it.

But today the Edwardian rushed toward Corbin, shook his hand warmly, and said "My dear sir, it is so delightful to see you!  You and your friend must come by for tea soon!"

"That sounds super radical" Corbin said in Valley Girl speak.  "Gotta book now, but we'll be there fer sure!"

The Edwardian frowned and moved on.

"What was that all about?"  I asked.

"Oh, I was with him a couple of weeks ago.  Believe me, it was quite an experience."

"Is he as hung as they say?"

"Even more.  But he's still not someone you want to hook up with."

"Why?


September 1996

Corbin saw the Edwardian in the gym one day, dressed in ordinary gym clothes, trying to work out with the free weights.  He had a sallow chest, but long, hard biceps and nicely developed triceps.

"Um..good afternoon," Corbin began. "I didn't know that you worked out."

"Indeed!" the Edwardian said.  "How else did you expect me to maintain my level of fitness? Yoga?"

"Oh, of course.  I meant no offense."

He smiled.  "None taken, sir.  You look rather like an expert in the field of physical culture.  I wonder if you might consent to give me some instruction.  I'll pay you, with American currency -- or high tea, if you prefer."

So Corbin showed him the proper form for the bench press, squat, and bicep curl.  Then they showered and dressed -- the Edwardian indeed had a huge, very thick footlong, a garden hose hanging between his legs that even Corbin, who thought Bratwursts were small and Mortadellas average, found impressive.

"What do you do for a living?" Corbin asked.  Probably he was independently wealthy, but one always asked about jobs, hometowns, and coming-out stories in the pre-hookup conversation.

"I'm a help desk technician.  My employer insists that I use the colloquial American argot while interacting with clients, but after work hours I'm free to speak the King's English again."

"You mean the Queen's English?"

The Edwardian sighed.  "My dear boy, of course I know who is actually sitting on the British throne at this moment, but in my heart and soul I am living in that most gracious and gentile of eras, the reign of King Edward, with an occasional nod to the last years of Victoria, or the first of George."

(Victoria reigned from 1837 to 1901, Edward to 1910, and George to 1936).

The Edwardian lived in a small apartment om Mission, on a rather run-down street otherwise occupied by a residential hotel and a pawn shop.  But it was elegantly furnished in Edwardian style: dark wallpaper, old pictures occupying every square inch of wall space, cluttered overstuffed furniture and heavy bureaus.  There was no tv or computer in the house.

There were a lot of books, all old hardbound.  A lot of late Victorian and Edwardian authors: Dickens, George Eliot, Yellow Age Decadents, Oscar Wilde, James Joyce. E. M. Forster, plus Shakespeare, Milton, Keats, the ancient Greeks and Romans.  No history books.

"Would you like to listen to music?"

"Surely you don't have a stereo?"

"No, a Victrola.  But it plays records fine.  I have some Debussy, Ravel, Stravinsky...and Madonna's Immaculate Collection."

"Really?  I thought you maintained -- I thought it was Edwardian only."

The Edwardian laughed.  "Sometimes, my dear fellow, you have to give the young man what he wants to hear, so he'll show you what you want to see."

Suddenly the antique living room was booming with:

Don't go for second best baby, put your love to the test
You got to make  him express how he feels,
And maybe then you'll know your love is real

Tea was a glittering silver tea service.  There were plates of hard, stale "biscuits" and small sandwiches of cucumber and cream cheese on white bread with the crusts cut off.  Not a very filling repast, but, Corbin figured, he could eat later, after he got some bedroom time with the Edwardian.

"It does get lonely, knocking around in this flat all by myself," the Edwardian said wistfully.

It was a cramped three room apartment!

"If only I could find a soulmate, Alec to my Maurice." (He pronounced the E.M. Forster character "morris.").  "Lots of young men want to make my acquaintance -- and the acquaintance of my walking stick, as it were.  But none of them have yet had the delicacy of spirit to appreciate my life here, my haven amid the bustling crowds of the modern world."

"Oh, I'm a big history buff..." Corbin began.  Then he checked himself.  "I mean, I have a great appreciation for modern literature and the fine arts.  Do you like Picasso?"

"Very good," the Edwardian said with a smile.  "You are a quick study.  Come, if you've finished your tea, I want to show you the rest of the house."

Wait -- isn't this a little premature?  Corbin thought.  We haven't kissed or fondled or groped.  We've barely touched!  But maybe that's how Edwardians do it -- leaving all of the physical intimacy for the bedroom.

He followed the Edwardian into a tiny but elegantly furnished bedroom, 3/4ths of it occupied by a giant bed with a 12-foot darkwood headboard.

He moved in for a kiss, but the Edwardian pushed him away.  "It's a bit stuffy in here.  Shall we remove our clothing?"

Feeling himself getting aroused, Corbin slid out of his pants and and shirt.  The Edwardian carefully took off his waistcoat, pants, garters, and socks, and hung them on hangers.  He was becoming aroused, too, his Kovbasa++++ pushing into the air.

Corbin went in for a grope, but the Edwardian pushed him away.  "Might I have a feel of your underclothes?"

He shrugged and handed him his briefs  The Edwardian sniffed them like a bouquet of flowers, then without warning stuffed them into Corbin's mouth.

Corbin spat them out.  "Um...those are dirty..."

"Mmm..hmmm" the Edwardian moaned.

Shrugging, Corbin knelt and started to go down on the Kovbasa++++, but the Edwardian pushed him away. "Really, my dear fellow, you are anxious to begin, aren't you?  We have the whole evening to get to know each other better. Perhaps I could...um..."  He turned Corbin around and began feeling his butt.

"I'm not into anal!" Corbin exclaimed.

"What a gauche term!  Rest assured, I have no sodomy in mind.  Merely a touch."

He knelt and began kissing Corbin's butt.  Corbin felt a tongue against his hole and jumped away.  "Ahh!  I'm not into that, either."

"Well, then, what are you 'into', dear fellow?"

"The usual.  Kissing, sucking..."

"How vulgar!  Well, perhaps I can convince you to try the finer things in life."  A whip appeared out of nowhere.  "Deliver your bum, please."

"Um...no, thanks."

"Water sports?  I have the carpet in the parlor macadamized..."

Enough was enough!  Corbin made an excuse, dressed, and left.

Who knew that the Edwardians were so kinky?

See also: Corbin's Choice; My Friday the 13th Date with Kevin the Vampire; and Finding Your Fetish.