20 October Hookups, Dates, and Sausage Sightings

It's October,, my second favorite month of the year!  The days get longer, tv and theater seasons are in full swing, the air is brisk, running outside is a pleasure rather than a sweaty chore.  You get apple cider and pumpkin pie.  And the scary, paranormal events that are rare in July happen every day.

Ray Bradbury calls this The October Country: where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and mid-nights stay. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain. 

In honor of our journey past the border into the October Country of 2018, here are my top October hookups, dates, and sausage sightings.

1. October 1968: My first date.  In third grade, a cute boy invited me to a movie, which was a sin to Nazarenes.  I was certain that God was going to strike me dead with a thunderbolt. He didn't.  Instead, I got to hug a hippie.

2. October 1969: My first kiss.  From Greg, the boy vampire (also an astronomer, geologist, naturalist, and psychic), while we were watching the Gothic soap opera Dark Shadows.  It was a compromise; he really wanted to bite me on the neck.

3. October 1972: Why corpses are called stiffs.  In seventh grade, my friend's brother who worked in a funeral home invited us to come in and look at the corpse of a teenage boy who died that day.  I didn't know that men become aroused after death....






4. October 1974: The preacher pops a boner.  At a pre-college weekend at Olivet Nazarene College, we sat on a lounge in the student union watching a ministerial student make out with his girlfriend. Gigantic boner, the stuff of fantasies.

5. October 1979: The German Choirboy.  During my sophomore year at Augustana College, I spent a quarter abroad in Regensburg, Germany, and got my first real boyfriend, Wolfgang the Choir Boy at St. Peter's Cathedral.  We went out about a dozen times, but never actually spent the night together, since we both had roommates.

6. October 1983: The Halloween Homophobe.  Aka the night I drank 1 1/2 beers.  In grad school at Indiana University in Bloomington, my roommate Viju and I invited some guys over for a Halloween party.  Jimmy the Bodybuilder on Crutches invited his homophobic friend, who didn't know that the rest of us were all gay.  He had a meltdown!

7. October 1987: Heinz and His Crazy Obsession.  In West Hollywood, my sort-of-boyfriend Raul was living with a crazy old guy named Heinz.  I still can't eat Jimmy Dean's sausage biscuits or listen to the song "Come away wiz me to Malibu...."  I agreed to sharing, just to be polite, until I discovered Heinz's obsession.  Hint: Nasssty!

8. November 1990: The Rocky Horror Picture Show Virgin.  I had seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show in theaters twice and memorized the soundtrack, and the moment it came out on VHS, I bought a copy.  So I didn't consider myself a RHPS "Virgin,"  Nor did I think that the audience would demand a "virgin sacrifice."

9. October 1992: The Lawnboy.  What's scary about a lawnboy?  When he lies about his age, and you don't find out until after you've made the date.  Fortunately, I managed to call it off before the jail-bait scalawag arrived.  We finished the date in 1995, after he turned 18.

10. October 1996: My Date with the Vampire.   I may have exaggerated the oddities of Kevin the Vampire, but he definitely had a paranormal aura.  If he stared at you the right way, you would lose your free will.  That's how he got most of his dates.  He got the others with cool Bohemian looks and enormous penis.

11. October 1997: The Fireman Fantasy.   I've dated two firemen, and they've both been rather small in the penis department. Maybe that's one of the reasons they want to work with those big long hoses.  This guy came to our apartment after my crazy straight roommate put some water on the stove to boil and then left for six hours.

12. October 1999: The Boy Who Refused to Leave.  Not only did Ozzie tell an unsettling story about hooking up with John Kennedy Jr. after his death, the next day, after a hookup with me and Yuri, he refused to leave Yuri's room.  Unsettling.








13. November 2000: The Football Player Who Got Stuck in Time.  I really believe (sort of) that the University of Alabama football player I hooked up with that cold Novmber day was on a field trip from 1941.

14. October 2002: The Gay Psychic Angel.  Raphael showed up unexpectedly at my house in Florida, did a past-life regression, told me not to move to Europe, and gave me his phone number.  He was ungodly cute, an angel, but his arms didn't work, and I wimped out on calling him.  I've been kicking myself for it ever since.  I tried looking him up again recently, but I don't remember his last name, and he doesn't appear in the directory of professional psychics in Florida.

15. October 2005: Remy the Jerk.  I've had dates with Creepy Old Guys, Sleazoids, elitists, idiots, and jerks of all kinds, but this guy was a complete, utter *hole, so nasty that it was scary.  It's a good thing we had our date on Halloween.


16. October 2008: The Satyr.    A massive guy, massively fat, with the biggest Kovbasa++++ I've ever seen, before or since.  I'm pretty sure he was a mystical being, Priapus the God of Virility, just manifesting in our reality as a super-hung chub.  His houseboy was cute, too.

17. October 2012: Assaulted in the Locker Room.  I've been yelled at and called names, but the only time I've actually been attacked was in the locker room of a gym in the gay neighborhood of Philadelphia, where a guy accused me of "looking at him" and rushed in to attack.

18. November 2012: The Dark Room. I went to the guy's house to pick him up for a date, and he opened the door naked.  Things went downhill from there.

19. October 2014: My Dad's Old Navy Buddy.   My weirdest paranormal experience to date: my Dad's old navy buddy shows up. Except my Dad was in the Korean War, and this guy is still in his twenties.  Ok, maybe it was his grandson.

20. October 2015: The Twink Who Wasn't Interested.  That's not actually scary, just perplexing for a twink magnet.  Turns out he was interested, he just didn't think I was.  Go figure.

The Boy Selling Pickles at the Farmer's Market

I'm depressed.  I don't like living in a small town in the Straight World.  I miss gay neighborhoods:
1. Heterosexuals are aware that gay people exist.
2. You can be open without getting stares, idiotic questions, and quotes from Leviticus.
3. You can be assured of meeting gay people everywhere you go: the bank, the post office, the gym.

"I know what will cheer you up," my friend Gabe says.  "Antiquing!  There's an Antique Fair and Farmer's Market on Saturday in a small town about an hour's drive from here."

"Are you kidding?  You want to cure my depression over living in a small redneck town by taking me to an even smaller, more redneck town?"

"Antiques," he repeats.  "Every gay couple within a hundred miles will be there."

"So, like three gay couples?"

"If you're going to live on the Plains, you're going to have to get over your fear of small towns.  There are some open-minded people there, not just bigots.."

"Ok, we'll go," I said, "But incognito.  No androgynous costumes, no camping it up, no holding hands.  Everyone will think we're a heterosexual father and son."

Gabe smirks.  "Sure, Daddy.  Whatever you say, Daddy."

The main street of the tiny town is blocked off so dealers can put up about 30 tents, mostly with homemade crafts and Americana, not the sort of antiques I would be interested in.

 A lot of heterosexual couples of the Plains variety: thin husband, fat wife, unruly kids.  A few teenagers in clusters.

I don't see any gay couples, but they are probably going incognito.  This is the heart of the heart of the Straight World, enemy territory.  I'm surrounded by bigots who want to build a wall to keep Mexicans out and send Muslims to concentration camps.  Fundamentalists who want gay "abominations" stoned to death.

Somebody's eyes are watching
Somebody's eyes are following every move
Somebody's waiting to show they don't approve

The Farmer's Market, in the parking lot of the local Hy-Vee Supermarket, has a lot of late-summer produce, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers, beans.  We buy some strawberries and blueberries, and stop at a stand that sells homemade pickles in various degrees of hotness.  The proprietor is a creepy guy with long braided hair, a villainous beard, and a lot of tattoos.  He looks like ZZ Top, or one of the Duck Dynasty homophobes.

"Jalapeno"  I read from the jars.  "Tabasco.  Habanero!"

"We measure hotness in Scoville Heat Units," the proprietor says.  Its a measurement of the concentration of capsaicin in the pepper."

This creepy Duck Dynasty guy knows about capsaicin?

"Your standard jalapeno has 3 to 10,000 units," he continues.  "Tabasco runs about 30,000, habaneros about 100,000, and the hottest pepper known to man, the Carolina Reaper, 1,5 million!"  He grins.

"That would burn your tongue off!" Gabe exclaims.

"My nephew loves experimenting with new kinds of pickles.  Cucumbers, cauliflower.  Kimchi, which is Korean pickled cabbage. Last year he pickled mangos.  They're a delicacy in Mexico."

 I'm surprised that Duck Dynasty knows so much about the pickling process of world cultures.  Doesn't he want to build a wall to keep the Mexicans out?

"Your nephew really knows his pickles," Gabe says, nudging me so I'll get the double entendre.  "How about a jar of the jalapeno?  We'll start off easy."

I'm not a pickle fan, but I say "Sure, if you want."  My eyes are drawn to the banana and zucchini bread.  "We could get some zucchini bread, too.  Use it as an excuse to invite your friend Bastian over.  I haven't seen him in months."

"If you guys do a lot of entertaining, you can't go wrong with zucchini bread," Duck Dynasty says with a grin.

We make eye contact.  He knows!  How did I blow my cover?

"Did your nephew bake those, too?"

"Yep.  He's always experimenting with bread.  Garlic, banana, artichoke, pumpkin.  Jewish challah.  Sudanese kissra, which is a fermented bread."

Sudanese?  Doesn't he want to put Muslims in concentration camps?

"Whiz in the kitchen," Gabe says.

"You know it!  I always say, he's going to make some boy very happy some day.  The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, after all."

My head explodes.

A creepy long-haired guy who looks like one of the Duck Dynasty homophobes is standing at a farmer's market in a tiny town in the Straight World, talking about his nephew getting a boyfriend.

Duck Dynasty grins.  He must out his nephew a lot, to épater la bourgeoisie.  

"Well, I love a good baguette," Gabe says.  "How's he in the entree department?"

"He's a vegeterian, so no barbecue, but he makes a mean cheese lasagna. Oh, here's Hakim.  He can tell you about his bread experiments."

Hakim?

I'm expecting a cornfed Anglo-white South Dakota teen.

Duck Dynasty's nephew is black.

Dominican, I discover later, 19 years old, a little shorter than Dustin, with bright eyes and a swimmer's build.

Hakim and Gabe bond over vegetarianism, and he gets an invitation to hear a local band at the gay-friendly coffee house next week.

Ok, this is Gabe's pickup, not mine, but no doubt I'll be invited to share.

Meanwhile, I have to revise everything I thought I knew about small towns.

Gabe and I Have a Grindr Hookup Contest

Plains, December 2015

The other night I had a couple of free hours, so I went onto a dating app, and I got approached by a hustler!

"I specialize in making older guys feel good," he offered.  "I know it gets lonely when you're over 40, and everyone ignores you."

"Are you kidding?" I exclaimed, annoyed.  "I get approached by younger guys all the time, and I've never yet been turned down! I could hook up with a dozen twinks every night if I wanted to."

 The next day I was complaining about the hustler's chutzpah to my friend Gabe. a recent graduate of the University, now a barista at the gay-friendly coffee house.

"Weren't you exaggerating a bit?" he said.  "I mean, I think you're hot, but most guys my age aren't into anyone over 30, I don't care how much you can bench press."

He paused.  "Now, me, on the other hand, I can attract anyone, any age,  18 to 85.  I just have to bat my eyes and flash my come-hither smile."

I had to admit that Gabe was one of the cutest guys I ever saw: 24 years old, with a nice tight physique and a very thick Kielbasa beneath the belt.  But he was also rather feminine, long-haired, weird red-plastic glasses, with weird plastic bracelets, into poetry readings and art exhibitions and protesting meat processing plants..

"Sure, you can attract androgynous, artsy guys, but what about a man's man?  A guy who drinks beer and goes deer huntin', and wants you to help him skin his kill?"

Gabe, a staunch vegan, whitened.  "Well...I might not want to date him, but I could certainly get him into bed.  Any guy, twink, bear, chubby, Daddy, not a problem."

"Well, I might not want to date a Cute Young Thing who still lives with his parents and has a 10:00 curfew," I countered, "But I could get him into my bed in a second."

"How about we make a little bet?  We each select someone on the app, and the other has to convince him to meet in one hour or less. The loser has to buy the winner dinner."

"What if we both land our guys?"

"Then we have a four-way."

So Saturday night, prime dating and hookup time, we met at my apartment and went to work.

I got to choose someone for Gabe first:

Travis, a 38-year old truck driver from a small town about 50 miles away.  Tall, bearded, hairy, and hung.  His interests actually did include hunting and fishing, as well as football, motorcycles, and "big, chubby guys with some meat on their bones."

The thin, androgynous Gabe was the opposite of what he was looking for!

Gabe gave it his best shot, initiating the conversation with "Want to come over for a beer and a massage?"

I watched their polite, less-than-enthusiastic exchange.

Travis:  "Did you see the game tonight?"

Gabe: [Long pause].  "Uh, no.  I'm here with my friend.  We watched Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.  It's a great old movie about a group of drag queens who get stuck in the Australian outback...."

Travis: [Long pause].  "I'm going hunting next week.  I can't wait."

Gabe:  "[Long pause]. "What music do you like?  I like Owen Pallet, Jay Brannon, a lot of queer indie music."

Travis: [Long pause].  "Um...well, I listen to country-Western, mostly.  I'm going to the Fur Fleet in March.  It's the biggest gathering of bears, cubs, and chubs in the Upper Midwest."

Gabe: Sounds like fun.  I love bears and chubbies."

Travis: [Pointedly] "Me, too."

"That was a dirty trick!" Gabe exclaimed, shutting down the app. "You picked a guy with none of my interests, and I wasn't even his type!"

I shrugged. "All's fair in love and cruising."

"Ok, Mr. Man, now it's my turn."

He picked Bastian, a 18 year old high school senior who was planning to go to art school: long dirty-blond hair, a handsome although rather severe face, a slim physique with an impressive Bratwurst.  Lots of weird plastic bracelets and chains around his neck, two tattoos. Not really my type.

Besides, his profile said "No hookups -- dating and relationships only" and to make matters worse, "My age only."

I glared at Gabe, but said "No problem!  I'll have the hookup arranged in an hour! But leave the room -- I need privacy to work my magic!"

Gabe retreated to the study.  A half hour later, I announced, "Mission accomplished.  Dinner at Chandler's tomorrow night at 7."

How did I get the boy who wasn't into hookups or older guys?

1. Praise.

Boomer: "I just wanted to congratulate you for being out at a young age.  I know it's hard to be gay in the heterosexist high school culture."

Soon I was hearing horror stories about the constant "what girl do you like?" interrogations of his friends, teachers pairing boys and girls together for marriage assignments, parents evoking "when you have a wife and kids" every five minutes.


Boomer: "Have you dated anyone at your school?"

Bastian: "Please! They're too scared to be out."

2. Complaints about Hookups.

Boomer: "Well, there's always this dating app."

Bastian: Are you kidding?  It's full of creepy old guys who just want to get into my pants."

Boomer: "I know.  You can't get rid of them, it's always like 'Come over and do me! I'm more than just a penis!"




3. A Potential Boyfriend

 Boomer: "Hey, I know a guy you might like.  He's 24 years old, single, and completely out."

I told him about Gabe's interest in art, poetry, and queer Indie music, and sent his picture.

Bastian: "Sounds great!  Set us up!"

4. Sealing the Deal

Boomer:  Let me see if he's up for it.  [Pause for a few minutes.]  He says fine.  Dinner tomorrow night at Chandler's.  But the thing is, he's shy, and he won't meet with a new guy unless I'm there as moral support.  Do you mind if there are two of us?"

Bastian: "No problem.  See you both tomorrow.  Can't wait!"

There is more than one way to share a twink.

The story continues with The Hookup Contest, Part 2

See also: The Twink Who Wasn't Interested; Cruising My Host's Son at a Heterosexual Party

A Week of Dates with Daddies and Bears

Plains, June 2016

It's fun being a twink magnet, but sometimes I long for the company of men my own age, men who remember dial phones and David Cassidy, who don't spend the entire evening texting and talking about Lego Star Wars, who don't initiate the bedroom activity by saying "Do me, Daddy!"

The problem is, here on the Plains, most of the out, open gay men over 40 have long since moved to the nearest gay neighborhood, leaving the closeted, skittish, newly out, and downlow.  And they usually say "No one over 30" in their profiles!

"You're just not looking in the right places," Gabe, my vegan friend with the enormous penis, tells me.

"I get perved by older guys every five seconds," my sort-of boyfriend Dustin adds.  "Want us to set you up with some?"

"Hookups or dates?"

He laughs.  "Whatever you want.  We can even share a malted down at the sock hop, if that's your bag, Daddy-O."

So Gabe and Dustin text a few old boyfriends and get on a few hookup apps, and before I know it, they've set up a week's worth of dates and hookups with bears, daddies, and silver foxes.

Tuesday: The Wine Connoisseur

Dustin and I meet Brad at the Wine Bar near my apartment, where I gamely sip on a soda while he prats on about beaujolais. He's a husky bear in his 60s, balding, white beard, hairy chest, never had a boyfriend -- "I'm too independent for that."

 He's retired, wintering in Florida, and spending the summers immersed in wine, gardening, and...well, not much else.

After a long, boring conversation, we go back to Brad's house, about 20 miles away, for more wine and soda and boring conversation.  I go down on him right there in the living room, more out of boredom than desire -- averaged sized, thick -- and when he is finished, Dustin and I drive home, yawning.

Wednesday: The Foot Fetishist.

Gabe comes along on my hookup with Footman, who wants two foot masters, whatever that is.

We drive far out to his house by a lake in the middle of the night.  Footman specifies that we should not shower after working out, so we smell nice and ripe.

He's in his 40s, rather buffed, with a hairy chest, prominent nipples, and a small penis with a Prince Albert.

He sniffs our socks, takes them off, massages and kisses our feet, and then brings us into the bedroom, where he continues to massage and kiss our feet.  I don't want to kiss this guy after he's been playing around with my feet.  He won't do oral.  He lets me go down on him, but does not become aroused.  "Play with it with your feet!" he suggests.

Ok, I'm outta here.




Thursday: The Bisexual

Dustin and I hookup with Adam, from a small town about 50 miles away: he's only 42, tall, black-haired, black beard, a little chunky, with thick biceps and a thick cut Kielbasa.  My only turnoff is the innumerable tattoos.

He's a computer technician and avid online game player, born and raised in the Plains.  He lives in a house that belongs to his parents, sharing with a heterosexual couple and his girlfriend.

Um...girlfriend?

"Oh, sure, I love women.  I like playing with guys on the side, of course, but nothing can compare to the soft, smooth, feminine curves -- man, they even smell good, you hear me?"

Um..ok, I go down on him to shut him up.  He's not bad in the bedroom, passionate, into oral and kissing, but how can I concentrate with the mental picture of soft, smooth, feminine curves in my head?

Friday: Day Off!

Saturday Afternoon: The Smoker

Gabe and Dustin both tag along for this hookup. For some reason, they tell the Smoker that we're all anal tops.  We aren't.

The Smoker drove 80 miles to be here.  He's in his 40s, thin, wiry, heavily tanned, with a stupid moustache.  He stinks of smoke.  Kissing him is gross.  I go down on his long, pale white penis while he goes down on Gabe.  He doesn't get aroused. Then Dustin tries.  Nope.

 "Mostly I just beat off while getting screwed."

I turn him over on his back and try entering him, but he's not good at that, either.  He keeps sputtering and choking.  "Mostly I just get screwed," he says.

Saturday Night: The Nipple-Biter

I'm on my own for my date with Corbin.  He's exactly my age, but he looks much older, bald, craggy, sagging, somewhat feminine.  He lives in a small town about 30 miles away, where everyone knows but no one talks about it.  He's a high school music teacher, and plays the organ at the small fundamentalist church that he grew up in.

 After dinner, we go back to my apartment and into the bedroom.  Corbin is into kissing, but his cologne is a little much.  He has a thin, white-haired chest, a little belly, and a Bratwurst that doesn't get aroused, even though he augments it with a cock ring.

"Try this," he says, and bites my nipple -- hard.

I bite his nipples -- hard while he manipulates himself.  It takes forever.

How does someone my age get to be so old?

Sunday: 

"Tonight, we'll be hooking up with..." Gabe begins.

"Oh, no," I interrupt.  "I've had enough of the foot fetishists and nipple-biters.  Tonight it's my turn to pick someone."

I go on a dating app, and start a conversation with TJ, age 25, who works in a restaurant downtown but is planning to go back to school for a degree in psychology.  Tall, slim, nice pecs and washboard abs, average sized, uncut.

Gay, out, employed, two miles away, no fetishes, non smoker, able to get aroused, able to go down on me without choking!

Maybe I can put up with the texting, references to Lego Star Wars, and "Do me, Daddy!"  

See also: What Dustin Likes About Older Guys; No One Over 30.

The Hookup Contest, Part 2: Gabe's Date with the High School Boy

The Plains, January 2016

Remember the hookup contest Gabe and I had before Christmas?

We each chose someone for the other guy to try to hook up with on a dating app. I had to approach the 18-year old Bastian, a high school senior whose profile said explicitly "no older guys" and "no hookups -- dating and relationships only."

So I offered to set Bastian up on a date with Gabe, and tag along "for moral support."

All's fair in love and cruising.

The date was scheduled for December 20th, but Bastian cancelled. He said we could reschedule for after Christmas.

I figured that was the last we would hear of him-- younger guys wimp out all the time.  But he did text me a few days after Christmas, asking for the date to be scheduled on January 3rd, a Sunday night: dinner at a Mexican place, then the new Star Wars movie, The Force Awakens.

He didn't want his parents to know he was gay, so he arranged to spend the night at a friend's house.  We had to pick him up and drop him off there.

Bastian was slim, a little shorter than me, with sandy-blond hair, blue eyes, and sharp features.  He was wearing a sweater, no coat, and carrying a backpack.  "In case we spend the night," he said, sliding into the back seat next to Gabe.

Driving to the restaurant, I kept mostly quiet.  It was their date, after all.  Their conversation consisted of:

Gabe:  So you're a senior in high school. What are your college plans?

Bastian:  I applied to UCLA, Columbia, Florida State, and the University of Hawaii.  I'm going to wherever the guys are the hottest.  Boomer, you lived in California.  Were the guys big there?

Me:  Well...um...

Gabe:  What do you want to major in?

Bastian:  Art.  I want to start a fashion blog.  I'm really big into fashion.  Like, do you shave your pubic hair?

Gabe: [Embarrassed pause].  Um...no, I never tried that.

Bastian:  Oh, it's great!  It makes your penis look a lot bigger.  Here, have a look.  You too, Boomer." [A cell phone is shoved at me, showing Bastian nude, aroused, very big, with shaved pubes.]

The questions continued at the restaurant, including the sort of questions one doesn't ask in public in a small town on the Plains:

"Have you ever been topped by a really big one?"

"Do you know any guys with big ones?  I mean, really gigantic ones, like in porn?"

"Have you ever been with a black guy?  Do they have big ones?"

"Have you ever been rimmed?"

"Who's the youngest guy you ever let top you?"

"What does 'golden showers' mean?"

And, he was rubbing his leg against mine under the table!

When Bastian went to the bathroom, Gabe turned to me: "I thought this was a quiet, shy, conservative guy who wanted to date and get to know you.  Sounds like he won't even make it to the end of the movie!"

"I know, it's weird. He was brushing my leg under the table.  And I thought he didn't like older guys."

"Consider yourself lucky.  He was trying to grope me!"  Gabe laughed.  "Man, this aggressive bit is a big turn off.  We should take him home, so he can take a cold shower!"

"No, let's go to the movie, and see what happens.  Maybe he'll calm down.  Besides, I've been looking forward to seeing it for weeks."

At the movie, Bastian sat between us and held the popcorn, so we would reach in to get some and grab his hand instead.  Plus he used his free hand to brush against my thigh. He tried to grope me through my pants, but I pushed him away.

And he kept peppering us with comments.

"I bet Finn has a big one!"

"You think Finn and Poe are together?"

"Han Solo is one hot Daddy! I'd do him in a minute!"

I shushed him, but the comments continued.

Afterwards we walked out into the lobby and then into the mall parking lot.  Bastian linked arms with both of us.  "Hey, let's get frozen yogurt!" he said.

"Well, I'm a Vegan," Gabe said.  "They probably won't have anything I can eat."

"Ok...so then, back to your apartment?"

Gabe flashed a "no way!" look at me, and said "Well...I have a roommate, so I can't bring anyone home."

Bastian's grip on our arms tightened.  "Then let's go back to Boomer's place.  He can watch.  Or join in!  I've never been with two guys at once before!"

We got to the car.  Bastian climbed into the front seat, next to me.  Gabe climbed into the back.

"Ok, your place, right?"  he asked, putting his hand on my knee.

"I'm a little tired," I said.  "We'd better just take you home.  Or to your friend's house."

"But...you know, it's a date," he said in a small voice.

"We should just take you home," I repeated.

"I thought...but aren't we?"

Was the kid starting to cry?

I put my arm around him.  "What's wrong, Bastian?  You've been on dates before.  Sometimes things happen, sometimes they don't."

His shoulders were trembling.  "No, I haven't.  I've never been on a date before. Or had sex.   I never even met anybody gay before. Everybody at my school is straight.  Church, too.  I download porn and get hit on by Creepy Old Guys on that dating app, and that's it."

"So why all the questions about rimming and golden showers?"

"And the hands everywhere?" Gabe added.

He looked up teary-eyed.  "That's what gay guys do, isn't it?  I didn't want you to think I was just an ignorant kid..."

"That's not at all what gay guys do," I said.  "What they do is this."  I wrapped my arms around him and hugged Bastian, and kissed him on the cheek.  He didn't want to let go.

"Maybe I'm up for some frozen tofu, after all,"  Gabe said.  "Then we'll see what happens."

This is what happened:

Kielbasa, ok with kissing, mostly into anal.  But, with a 37 year age difference, I've now officially been with someone young enough to be my grandson.

See also: The Hookup Contest; a Boy for Valentine's Day

The Twink Who Wasn't Interested

I never approach younger guys. They have to make the first move.  I don't want to become known as one of those "creepy old guys" who aggressively grab and grope and won't take "no" for an answer.

Besides, I don't really need to.  Every since I turned 40, I've been getting cruised by every twink in sight.  The question isn't, "Can I hook up with that 23 year old?"  It's "Shall I hook up with him right now, or wait until later?"

If a twink I like shows no interest, I just let him go and wait a few minutes for the next to show up.

Except for Gabe.  He showed no interest, but I kept trying anyway.  I couldn't help it.

Meeting #1:
He was the MC at a gay trivia contest fundraiser for the LGBT Pride Festival: a cute nerd in his 20s, rather feminine, the kind of gay guy who spends all of his time with heterosexual girls.  Long haired, weird red-plastic glasses, lots of weird plastic bracelets, but one of the cutest guys I have ever seen, with a nice tight physique and an obvious bulge.   Definitely my type!

I won first prize with my knowledge of the first state to legalize gay marriage, the first gay character on a prime time tv program, and the date of the Stonewall Riots.  That would surely impress him!

Nope.  He handed me a gift card.  "Here's your prize -- congratulations."   No cruising, no phone number.  Go figure.

Was he involved in a relationship?  Many twinks are monogamous, before they discover the joys of sharing.

Through the gay grape vine, I discovered that Gabe was a recent graduate of the university, an art major, now working as a graphic designer.  He was dating Colton (top photo): a hairy bear cub, a regular at our M4M Parties and a devotee of public encounters at a local cruising spot.  So monogamy wasn't the problem.

Why wasn't he interested?

Meeting #2:
A Vegan potluck in July.  Different glasses, different hair, I didn't recognize him at first.

This time Gabe brought his "life partner," Sasha, a pug dog, who immediately found its way onto my lap.

Gabe sat on the floor at my feet so he could pet Sasha while we played some sort of board game.

This is great!  I thought.  "We're bound to get some hand-touching while we both try to pet the dog!"

Nope.  He was careful to not be petting at the same moment that I was.

Again, no phone number.  I went home and friended him on Facebook, but he ignored my chat requests.

I checked Grindr, Adam4Adam, Hornet, all of the gay dating apps.  He wasn't there.

What was going on?  Why wasn't Gabe hitting on me?   Was I a twink magnet or not?

Meeting #3: Sort of.

He was leaving the gay-friendly coffee house down the hill as I was coming in.  I said "Hi," and he gave me an odd look, not aware of who I was.

Meeting #4-6 More of the same

I forget how many times I saw Gabe, coming and going, at events, across crowded rooms.  Sometimes we would exchange a little small talk, sometimes not. I should have written him off.  But he was so cute!

Meeting #?: Another vegan potluck.

Last week while out jogging, I tripped on some uneven pavement and fell on my face.  Three stitches on my eyebrow, plus a major black eye.  The next day I was in pain, but I went to the potluck anyway

Gabe was wearing a gay pride t-shirt.  I walked up and said hello, and recounted my accident for the 800th time that day.  "Do you think I should drop out of that beauty contest?" I concluded.

He laughed.  "No, you're still beautiful."

If he wasn't going to make a move, then I would!  "I'm getting really bored, hanging around the house all day.  Are you doing anything after the potluck?  We could...you know...do something."

Yes, it did sound that lame.

He shot me a pained look.  "Um...well, I'm supposed to hang with my friends...um...would you like to come with us?"

A pity date?  But ok.

Gabe's friends turned out to be three girls, who took us to a straight bar downtown for cocktails and gossip.  I felt a little out of place during their discussions of couture and Maroon 5, but at least I got to squeeze Gabe's hand under the table.  And afterwards, he accepted an invitation to my apartment.

As we sat on the couch, I couldn't help asking "What took you so long?  I've been trying to attract your attention for months."

"What?  When?"

 "The first time we met, at the trivia contest."

"When you took your prize and walked off without even giving me your phone number?"

I paused.  "What about that potluck last July?"

"You mean the one where I sat at your feet for an hour, and you never touched me?"


Ok, this was getting weird.  "I've seen you like a dozen times, and sometimes we say 'hello,' and sometimes you don't even talk to me."

"Yeah.  I figured, why bother pursuing someone who obviously isn't interested?"

"Well, I didn't want to be a creepy old guy who hits on every twink in sight."

He sat me down on the couch and drew me into a long kiss. "You're too hung up on age."

Maybe I should be a creepy old guy more often.

See also: The Boy Who Had Never Been Kissed; The Hookup Contest