My First Pridefest...I mean, Gay Pride Parade....I mean, Gay Rights March. With Mickey Muscle.

June 1982, after my junior year at Augustana College.  Thomas, the former Episcopalian priest who I met with my ex-boyfriend Fred last year, calls to invite me to Des Moines for the annual Iowa Gay Rights March.

I have never heard of such a thing.

"We march to protest police harassment, discrimination in jobs and housing, sodomy laws, that sort of thing.  We had one last year.  It's always close to June 28th, the anniversary of the Stonewall Riots."

I have never heard of the Stonewall Riots, either.  But count me in.

The full story, with nude photos, is on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends

My Ex-Boyfriend Fred's Nine Lovers

We don't live just one life.  We may be "only dancing on this Earth for a short while," but during that short while, we are many different people.  We move to new cities, and take on new jobs. Friends and boyfriends come and go.

My first boyfriend Fred had many different jobs, cities, friends, and relationships.  In trying to make sense of his life, I decided to go with his lovers.

1. The Farmboy.  Fred was born on a farm in rural Western Illinois in November 1952.  Growing up, he milked cows and fed pigs, but he was not isolated from the social ferment of the 1960s. He watched The Smothers Brothers and listened to Jefferson Airplane.

In high school, Fred was a clean-cut all-American, lettering in football, taking girls to school dances, leading Sunday school classes at the United Methodist church, respected by his parents and the oldsters, who thought he was the exception to a generation full of "draft dodgers and hippies."

No one talked about gay people.  He was not aware that they existed, certainly not aware that he was himself gay.

He had no same-sex experiences except with the Farmboy, his girlfriend's brother, who lived about a mile down the road.  After his dates, he dropped off the girl with a chaste kiss on the cheek and then met the Farmboy behind the barn for moments of homoerotic joy.

2.  The Greek Professor.  After graduating from high school in 1971, Fred enrolled at Western Illinois University in Macomb, but transferred after a year to Knox College in Galesburg.

He majored in psychology, because he wanted to understand his desires better, and in Classics, because he was in love with his Greek professor: a Harvard Ph.D. in his fifties with a thick beard, a hairy chest, a little belly, and a Bratwurst beneath the belt.  The Greek Professor mentioned the gay loves of Zeus and Apollo -- the first time Fred ever heard gay people discussed in public.

Incidentally, he also initiated Fred into bottoming, which in those days was called "Greek passive."

3. The Episcopal Priest.  From 1976 to 1979, Fred was attending McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago, studying for his Master of Divinity degree with a concentration in pastoral counseling.  He had a girlfriend, and then a fiancee, because that was the only way you could get a job in the Methodist Church.   But somehow he found the gay neighborhood of Chicago, with its bars, bookstores, and bathhouses, and had several brief relationships and hookups.

Among his more memorable hookups was Ron Reagan, son of the future president, who he topped in his first Greek active experience.

His most memorable relationship was with Thomas, an Episcopal priest from Des Moines, who told him that it was ok to be gay and Christian.  They remained friends for the rest of Fred's life.

See: The Priest with Three Boyfriends and Fred Hooks Up with the President's Son

4. Boomer.  Shortly after breaking up with the fiancee, Fred moved to Rock Island for his internship year at the First United Methodist Church.  There he met Boomer, a 19-year old college student.  Fred fell hard and fast; within a week, he was thinking of Boomer as his soul mate, the one God or fate had predestined for him at the beginning of the time.

After his internship,  Fred found a job as a youth minister at a United Methodist church in Gretna, Nebraska, a suburb of Omaha.  In the summer of 1980, he convinced Boomer to drop out of college and follow him.

Neither was prepared for the daily routine of a live-in relationship.  Fred became controlling and argumentative, Boomer surly and jealous, certain that Fred was cheating with the teenager downstairs (and perhaps he was).   After five weeks, Boomer left, to return to college.

But, like the Episcopal priest, they remained friends.  Fred tried his best to keep his old loves in his life.

See: My First Date, with Fred the Ministerial Student and Fred and the Teenager Downstairs

5. The Nephew.  In the fall of 1980, Fred rebounded, falling hard and fast into the arms of another 19-year old college student, a University of Nebraska sophomore who moved in with him after only two dates.  Closeted, Fred introduced him as his "nephew."  They stayed together for about two years.

I don't know why they broke up -- I suspect that the Nephew graduated and moved somewhere for a job.

In 1982, Fred left Gretna to become senior pastor of the United Methodist Church in Horrible Small-Town Kansas. He was pressured to date women, and in fact had several lady friends, keeping his same-sex activity strictly on the downlow.


See: I spend the night with Fred and his boyfriend, in his parents' house.






6. Matt.  In 1985, Fred decided that he couldn't take the closeting anymore, so he left the ministry altogether for a job as a mental health counselor in Kansas City.  In May 1987 he met Matt, a recent Harvard graduate who was elitist, sarcastic, and all kinds of crazy, but had a good heart.  They were together for ten years.

In 1988 they moved to Claremont, California, where Fred studied for his D.Min degree at the Claremont School of Theology.

After graduating,  Fred got a job as a youth pastor in San Bernardino, then a family counselor in Fresno.  Matt, who had never had a job, stayed home to cook and clean, becoming a veritable "housewife."

Fred believed in monogamy, staying faithful to one guy forever.  He was never comfortable with the West Hollywood custom of sharing, or of going down on guys as entertainment at a party.   Yet there were so many Cute Young Things around, a kaleidoscope of biceps and bulges.  It was impossible to resist.  He began a pattern of hookups and even full-fledged affairs without telling Matt.

In 1996, Matt discovered that Fred had been cheating, and left him.  But they stayed friends, of course.

See: Matt's First Night with Fred and His Brother; and How Matt Began Renting Himself Out

7. Jester.  Fred did not handle breakups well.  He was so distraught when Matt left that he quit his job and returned to San Bernardino, where he went to work as a mental health counselor.

He immediately began dating Jester, a college student, later history teacher, blind, with an upbeat attitude and a footlong beneath the belt.

They were together for five years, finally breaking up in 2001.  The breakup was rough, with accusations and rage on both sides.  They didn't stay friends afterwards.

See: The Blind Boy with the 12" Penis and The Blind Boy Finds His Way into Fred's Bed.

8. The Icelandic Photographer.  The next decade is a blur of cities -- Sandusky, Ohio; Bemidji, Minnesota; Pocatello, Idaho; Mesa, Arizona.  A blur of jobs -- homeless advocate, assistant pastor, manager of psychiatric services.  And a blur of boyfriends, Cute Young Things by the dozens finding their way into Fred's apartment for a month, for a week, for a single day.

Why didn't he commit to anyone in particular?  Maybe he was afraid of losing his heart -- and soul -- yet again.

Maybe it was difficult for a guy in his 50s to form permanent relationships with the twinks he found most attractive.

Or maybe, after so many years of monogamy, Fred wanted to sit back and enjoy the ride, enjoy all the fun of a relationship with none of the responsibilities.

The only relationship that stands out in the blur is the Icelandic Photographer, who I met in 2001. An art student at Bemidji State University, with long hair, a moustache, a hard smooth chest, and a Kovbasa beneath the belt.  He had an Icelandic flag tattooed on his hand.

"This is it!" Fred told me.  "I've never met anyone like him before!  We're going to be together for the rest of our lives!"

Fred never mentioned him again.

See: Fred and the Icelandic Photographer

9. Tyler. In 2011, Fred landed the fest, most prestigious job of his life: director of mental health services for the Disciples of Christ Church at its main headquarters in Indianapolis.

After hooking up with a 26-year old chef named Tyler, Fred moved in with him, but only as a roommate.  He became close to Tyler's mother, Georgina, and a surrogate father to his brothers, Rusty and Max.  They even took family portraits together.

Fred and Tyler were Platonic friends, a stepfather and stepson.  After that first night, they never slept together, not even for "sharing," and each sought out other lovers. But it was Tyler who took care of Fred when he got sick in 2016, who helped him into and out of his wheelchair and drove him to his doctor appointments, and who was holding his hand during those last days in the hospice.

Maybe, at the end of his life, Fred finally found his soulmate.

See: I Spend the Night with Fred's Son

The Priest with Three Boyfriends

Des Moines, March 1980

In the spring of 1980, my sophomore year at Augustana College, Fred the ministerial student took me to Des Moines, where he had friends among the closeted gay religious community. Like Oscar, who had a romance with future President Ronald Reagan back in the 1930s.  And Malcolm Boyd, the Episcopal priest who wrote the counterculture classic Are You Running with Me, Jesus? (he actually came out in 1977, but I didn't know until we had lunch together).

We stayed with Thomas, a Episcopal priest whose congregation didn't know: "They assume that because I'm a priest, I'm celibate."  He lived alone, except for two dogs, with a huge collection of pornographic magazines and photos, both gay and straight, neatly classified by author, magazine, and type.  I spent the afternoon rummaging through it while Fred and Thomas were out talking about religion or something -- Fred didn't approve of porn -- and got my first glimpse of some of the great gay erotic artists, like Tom of Finland, Sean, and the Hun.

I thought Thomas lived alone, but the first night of our stay, I woke up in the middle of the night, walked down the hall to the bathroom, and found the door to Thomas's bedroom wide open.  The lights were dim, but inside I saw two guys asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

The next day at breakfast I met Boyfriend #1, a tall, slim redhead who worked at one of Des Moines' straight bars. He lived with his girlfriend, but sometimes came over when his shift ended.

Later that day, we had lunch with Oscar, Malcolm Boyd, Thomas, and Boyfriend #2.  I don't remember much about him.

I drove back to the house later that evening -- Fred was off with Oscar -- and yelled "Is anybody home?"  No answer.

Thomas was in the study, with porn magazines scattered all about, naked.  Kissing a very muscular teenager.  Also naked.

Boyfriend #3!

He disentangled himself long enough to say "Jason, Boomer.  Boomer, Jason."  In the midst of a kiss, the boy held out his hand for me to shake!

Freaking out, I retreated to my bedroom and sat down in a swivel chair.  Jason followed. He stood at my bedroom door, naked.  "Hey, I hope we didn't scare you," he said, panting.  "It's no big deal -- we were just playing around."

"No, it's fine.  I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"You didn't disturb us."  He walked over to me and caressed my chest.  "You're hot.  Maybe we could get together later."

Was he asking me for a date, with his boyfriend in the next room? "Um...um...I have a lover," I stammered.  That was our word for same-sex relationships.

"He can come, too -- the more the merrier."

Now Thomas stood in the doorway, naked, huge. "Can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" he said, feigning anger, but with his eyes twinkling. "Get back in the playroom, pronto!"

He paused.  "You too, Boomer!"

I was unaware of the gay community custom of "sharing."  I wasn't even aware of hookups.  Sex with someone you weren't in love with?  Gross!  Besides, I had to stay faithful to Fred.

  But I was single 1 1/2  years later, when I saw Thomas again.

See also: The Boy in the Mesh T-Shirt; and Fred's Nine Lovers

The Great Redneck Roundup: 20 Hookups in 20 Days

Summer 1995, the Wild West

When Dad turned 62, he and Mom retired, sold their house in Rock Island, and moved back to their home state of Indiana.  They told me that I had to come out by August to pick up any of my stuff that was still in the house, or it would go to Goodwill.

I wanted my desk, two chairs, a couple of books, two paintings, and some other mementos.

And Lane had never been out of California, except for flights to New York, Israel, and Europe.  Time for a road trip!

The only problem is, after a lifetime in West Hollywood, even Ojai seemed intolerably homophobic to him.   And we would be driving through some of the scariest, most conservative, most homophobic states in the country.

But we could see the sights, I told him.  The Grand Canyon, Mount Rushmore...and Rednecks, hairy-chested guys with farm-hard muscles and gigantic Mortadellas, who didn't like gay people but on Saturday night, after a few beers, happily went down on the guys they met at the tractor pull.

"Well...I do like cute redneck farmboys."

"Why not make a game of it?" I suggested.  "We'll see if we can hook up with a cowboy or redneck every day, bring a little same-sex action to the straight world.  How about it: 20 days, 20 sausages?"

Lane agreed to the Great Redneck Roundup of 1995:

Day 1: Phoenix, Arizona

This one was easy.  We stayed with a couple Lane knew, transplants from the gay Jewish community in Los Angeles, who took us on a tour of Phoenix's gay neighborhood and later invited us into their bed.  Sausage Count: 2

Day 2: Flagstaff, Arizona

After seeing the Grand Canyon, we drove down to Flagstaff to spend the night.  At a gay-friendly bar, we hooked up with a young Hispanic guy who worked as a waiter. Sausage Count: 3

Day 3: Provo, Utah

The heart of the Mormon world.  We were getting cocky, figuring that we could pick up a guy anywhere in Redneck Country, like on the campus of Brigham Young University.  Bust.

Day 4: Laramie, Wyoming

In a few years, the murder of Matthew Shepherd would make Laramie famous as haven of homophobia, but in 1995, we were just thinking cowboys.  We went to the campus of the University of Wyoming, visited the Art Museum, and the Museum of the Plains.

Nobody in Laramie, but on the road: when you go to a rest stop at dawn, there are always a lot of trucks parked, where the drivers spent the night.  Curious, I walked among them.  One of the doors was open, and the driver was sitting inside, legs spread, waiting for a passerby to strike up a conversation -- and be invited into the cab.  He turned out to be from Chicago, into kissing and oral. Sausage Count: Boomer 4, Lane 3

Days 5-6: Denver, Colorado

After four days in the Straight World, it was a relief to get to Denver, with its strong, well-organized gay neighborhood.  And meeting guys was easy. A South Asian guy named Ravi took us back to his apartment.

On Day 6, we toured the Museum of Decorative Arts and then met Ravi and his friend Jason for dinner.  We all went to a ballet at the Opera House, and then back to Ravi's apartment again. Sausage Count: Boomer 6, Lane 5












Day 7: Omaha, Nebraska.

I wanted to see the old places I knew from my month in Omaha with Fred.  And found that saying "I'm from West Hollywood" attracts guys as readily as saying "I have a gigantic penis."  We hooked up  with a Cornhuster, an extremely buffed former University of Nebraska football player who now worked as a college recruiter.  He was an anal bottom.  Sausage Count: Boomer 7, Lane 6

Day 8: Des Moines, Iowa.

Thomas, the gay Episcopalian priest who took me to my first Gay Rights Rally in 1981, was still living in Des Moines, a Silver Daddy who still managed to attract Cute Young Things.  We "shared" his latest boyfriend. Sausage Count: Boomer 9, Lane 8.

Days 9-11: Rock Island, Illinois

Along with visiting my parents and brother, packing up and shipping my stuff, and going to my old haunts, we had time to hang out with my old friend Dick and his partner.  I also sent Lane out to JRs by himself, so we would be even.  Sausage Count: 11

Day 12: Sioux Falls, South Dakota

We saw the famous Stave Church and went to a gay bar downtown, hoping to hook up with a Viking.  Instead we hooked up with a black guy on the downlow, whose wife was an English professor at the University. Sausage Count: 12

Day 13: Rapid City, South Dakota

We were so tired from driving and seeing Mount Rushmore and the Crazy Horse Monument that we forgot to cruise.  Bust.






Day 14: Billings, Montana

We ended up in Sturgis, South Dakota, during the famous Sturgis Bike Rally.  Hundreds of hot motorcycle guys riding around shirtless, beer in hand.  But there was no place to stay in town, so we had to drive on to Billings, Montana.  Again, too tired to cruise.  Bust.

Day 15: Missoula, Montana

We loved Missoula.  A very nice art museum, historic churches, antique shops, bookstores.  I saw one of the most beautiful men on Earth fishing off a bridge, a cut-off t-shirt revealing enormous biceps.  Lane stayed at the hotel, saying I could hook up by myself, so I went to a country-Western bar and met Jared, a real, actual cowboy (or so he said).  Sausage Count: Boomer 13, Lane 12

Day 17: Spokane, Washington

It was scary driving through Idaho, where the anti-sodomy law brought a maximum penalty of life in prison.  But then we arrived in Spokane, Washington, a little gay mecca, drawing gay guys from all over the redneck states.  They were low-key, closeted; no "real" gay bars, but lots of gay-friendly bars and restaurants, and a lot of "street cruising."  But we didn't pick up anyone.  Bust.

Day 18: Portland, Oregon

A gigantic gay mecca, with a bathhouse that took up nearly a city block and a nice country-western bar.  We did some cruising separately at the bathhouse (3 guys for me, 4 for Lane so we would be even).  Sausage Count: 16







Day 19: Redding, California

Two days left, 4 guys to go.  We pulled into Redding, a town of 90,000 near the Oregon border and Mount Shasta, where Bigfoot has been sighted.  There was only one, small gay bar, and it wasn't very active.

"We can pick up the rest in San Francisco," Lane pointed out.

"Sure, but we're supposed to be getting guys in the Straight World, cowboys and truckers and rednecks."

I went up to the bartender and asked "Do you know of any clubs where you could meet several guys tonight?"

He told me about a bear party going on that night in a place called Happy Valley, where we got our remaining four!  Sausage Count: 20.

Day 20: San Francisco, California

When you drive into town from the north, you go over the Golden Gate Bridge, an iconic San Francisco moment.  We were too overwhelmed by being home, in the heart of the gay world, to bother with cruising.  But we had already had 8 dates or "sharing" experiences, 4 bar hookups, 1 public encounter, and 7 guys from bear parties or bath houses, for a total of 20 sausages in 20 days.

Oh, and we saw the Grand Canyon, too.

300 Naked Men Before Breakfast

I looked at over 300 pictures of naked men this morning before breakfast.

Big and small, thin and fat, flaccid and aroused, all ages (18+), races, shapes, and sizes.

And, if I had the time and inclination, I could easily look at 300 more.

When I was growing up in Rock Island, and even through my years in West Hollywood in the 1980s and 1990s, you might see ten pictures of naked men per month, if you were lucky.

They were glossy photos of professional models in expensive magazines.

Nude photos of amateurs were extremely rare.  Photo labs wouldn't develop them, so you had to have your own darkroom.

Once I photographed Fred from the waist up immediately after his orgasm.  We sent it in to the photo lab, laughing, knowing that the lab technicians would have no idea what they were processing.

Even shirtless photos were rare.  Occasionally a shirtless celebrity would show up in a movie magazine.  Or you could look at the underwear ads in clothes catalogs.

Beginning around 1990, cameras appeared that developed the pictures on the spot, so you didn't need a photo lab.  Suddenly you could get nude photos.

But only of your friends, who you had seen naked in real life.  There wasn't much point.

Once one of Fred's friends flew out to West Hollywood for a visit, took some nude photos of me, and showed them to every gay man in Des Moines.

In the 1990s, Usenet groups, and later bulletin boards, allowed you to look at -- and download -- photos of shirtless and naked men for a small fee. Only a few per week, all professional models, but still, it was an amazing improvement.

Checking for the new photos on your usenet groups and bulletin boards became a standard part of your morning routine.













The explosion began around 2007, when smartphones became capable of taking uncensored photos and submitting them instantly.

Suddenly every guy with a smartphone and a bathroom mirror could post himself and his friends on the internet.

Not every guy did, of course: if you were shy, conservative, sensitive, if you had a small penis or a self-esteem problem, if you were worried about your career, you wouldn't bother.

I have some shirtless photos online, and some penis shots, but not both together.

We're much pickier now.  A big penis or hairy chest is not enough.  To attract our attention, the guy has to have something that stands out: a smile, a tattoo, a special combination of face and physique.  Plus we look at the background of the photo, analyze the composition, structure, and lighting.

We have become connoisseurs of naked men.

Which is fine.

But sometimes I miss the days when seeing a photo of a naked man was a rare, exciting experience, something to be cherished.

Not the 20 minutes before breakfast in your daily routine.

13 Gay College Boys

I spent my undergraduate years at Augustana College, never hearing about gay people in class or from friends or on the street,  There were no gay clubs, organizations, newspapers, or books, as far as I knew.  The only way to meet gay people was by sheer accident.

In that world of total darkness, it's nothing short of miraculous that I managed to meet 13 gay guys in Rock Island or nearby during my four years at Augustana.

I'll classify them by:

Friend only
Hookup: intimacy but no friendship afterwards
Date: social event followed by intimacy
Boyfriend: romantic relationship

Freshman Year

1. The Dwarf at the Post Office.  He made eye contact a little "too long," and "accidentally" touched my hand as I passed him the package to be mailed.  I found an excuse to go to the post office every day for nearly a week before I got the nerve to ask him out. Hookup


2. Peter the Male Witch.  First I tried asking around, but the only gay guy anyone at Augustana knew of was Peter the male witch, who was expelled for being gay a few years ago. Friend

3. Mary's Brother.  My friend Mary was worried that her kid brother Jake might be gay.  She asked me to visit her during spring break and find out. Hookup

4. Cute Nerd or Creepy Old Guy.  He was way older than me, in his 30s, a regular at the library book sales.  I invited myself back to his creepy old house to help him carry the load of books he had bought, but was he a lonely gay guy or a serial killer? Friend

Sophomore Year

5. Fred the Ministerial Student.  When the ministerial student at the United Church of Christ asked me out to dinner, I wasn't sure if he meant a date or not.  I wasn't even sure that he was gay. Boyfriend

6. The Priest with Three Boyfriends.  Fred introduced me to his friend Thomas, an Episcopal priest who had three boyfriends and introduced me to the concept of "sharing." Friend

Junior Year

7. I Win a Dating Contest.  Haldor was a member of the Bookstore Gang who never dated girls.  But was he gay?  So I suggested a dating contest: we would systematically ask out all of the eligible girls at Augustana, and the one who got the most dates won.  Of course, we would both go along on each of the dates, and invite one of the boys back to my room. Date.

8. Adam at the Bell Tower.  Adam was the bookstore manager, a few years older than me, who wanted to "big brother" me.  I wanted a kiss. Hookup

9. My Professor's Handcuff Party.  Every year Dr. Burton, the geology professor, held a handcuff party for his advanced students. Hookup
















10. What the Graffiti Meant. In junior high Brian wrote a mysterious message, "Brian gives free LBJs," on the school wall.  The summer after my junior year Brian, now in college, told me what the graffiti meant. Hookup

11. My First Gay Rights March.  That same summer, I marched in my first gay pride parade -- except they were Gay Rights Marches then, with placards demanding an end to sodomy laws and police harassment.  I met a University of Iowa Russian major named Mickey. Date

Senior Year

12. The Priest with the Pushy Mom.  My second real boyfriend, an ex-Greek Orthodox priest with a Mortadella+ and a pushy Mom.  I held on for two months to get access to the Mortadella+, but finally Mom was too much for me, and I bolted. Boyfriend.

13. Julian, Whose Bratwurst Wasn't Big Enough.  During my senior year, a freshman started working at the radio station, and immediately took over: a music major, black, chubby, annoyingly elitist, extraordinarily feminine.  But was he gay? Friend.