Comic Books and Cocks at the Furniture Store

This story moved to RG Beefcake and Boyfriends.

Yuri and I Meet the Emo Boy of London

London, June 1, 2007

I arrive at Heathrow Airport at 5:00 am. Yuri picks me up and takes me to his tiny, incredibly expensive apartment near Soho Square, in the heart of London's gay neighborhood.

His boyfriend Michael is just getting back from the gym: a bodybuilder, naturally, in his 40s, ripped but going a little to fat in the belly, with an oval face, a severe haircut, and several tattoos.

He grunts and squeezes my hand too hard.

Over breakfast, I  evidence no knowledge of British football, and make the newbie mistake of complaining that the people in London are rude.  You never criticize the country you're visiting!


Michael glares at me.  "Gotta go to work, but we'll meet for dinner tonight, yeah?  Burger King?  Or do you prefer McDonald's?  Some other kind of burger?"

"Boomer likes Thai food!" Yuri exclaims, to defuse the situation.  "Patara on Greek Street, 6:00, ok?"

They kiss, and Michael leaves.

Yuri has taken the day off, so we go sightseeing: the British Museum, St. Paul's Cathedral, a walk along the Thames, shopping in Soho.



"Michael is a nice guy -- trust me," Yuri says.  "He just needs time to know you."

"I was hoping that we could get together in bed again.  Are you monogamous?"

"No, we share. But I didn't tell Michael about sharing with you.  He's jealous, I think, because we lived together for a long time.  You can ask tonight, maybe."

At dinner, Michael is still surly.  When we go back to the apartment and sit on the couch to watch tv, Michael sits between me and Yuri.  I grab his knee, but he pushes my hand away.  Then, overcome by jet lag, I doze off.  I vaguely remember someone stretching me out on the couch and putting a blanket over me.

June 2 (Saturday)
I get up at dawn and go into the bedroom to awaken Yuri and Michael with hugs, and hopefully get an invitation into their bed.

"Sorry we overslept, mate," Michael says, pushing me away.  "We'll be up soon -- just give us a minute for private time, right?"

I don't mind not "sharing" Michael -- I've been with lots of bodybuilders.  But I want to hold Yuri in my arms again.

We have breakfast and go to the gym together, where Michael and I can compete over who can bench-press the most.

Afterwards I try to score some points by suggesting that we go on a tour of Wembly Stadium, where Londoners gather to watch football, but Michael says "Sorry, I'm very busy today.  But you and Yuri go on.  Get your sunglasses and cameras, and take a tour of Buckingham Palace.  Maybe Prince William is taking a shower, yeah?"


He is joking, but since Prince William is 25 years old, it's obvious that he's into young guys.  Yuri is 31, but could pass for a teenager.

Yuri and two of his friends drive me out to Stonehenge, and later we rendez-vous with Michael at the Gay Hussar, near their apartment.  It isn't actually gay-specific; it serves Hungarian food.

"What do you want to do tonight?" Yuri asks.  "We can go cruising.  There are lots of nice gay bars in Soho."

"Sure, that would be great. Would you guys mind if I brought someone home?"

"Not at all," Michael says, "If you don't mind blankets on the floor."

I'll bet if I bring a twink home, Michael will suggest more than that.  

Yuri hands me a guide book.  All types of gay bars, just like in West Hollywood.  Leather -- drag -- older guys -- twinks -- and Indie!  Obviously British slang for Indian.  This must be a bar for South Asians and their admirers, like the bars for black and Asian men in West Hollywood.

"How about this Indie bar just off the Strand.  I love South Asian guys!"

"It doesn't..." Yuri begins.

"Now, Yuri, don't be rude, like Londoners.  If our guest wants to go to an Indie bar, he can go to an Indie bar."

So we go to the Retro Bar.

You guessed it -- Indie doesn't mean Indian.  It's a type of music: Independent, not signed on to a mainstream record label.  Often local groups with an eccentric sound.

How was I to know?  I haven't listened to popular music regularly since around 1985. I think Avril Lavigne is a French children's author, and Fergie is Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York.

Indie music is horrible, all screeching and incomprehensible lyrics.

And the patrons are very young, barely out of their teens.  Some are probably in their teens.  We are the only guys over 25 in sight.

I like twinks as much as the next guy, but I feel very out of place in their hangout.

Besides, they aren't clean-cut, muscular college jocks.  They are emo, Goth, and scene kids: thin, pale androgynous, with straight black hair, hoodies, shirts emblazoned with cartoon characters, mascara-ed eyes, multiple tattoes, and pierced everything.  Not my type at all! Certainly not worth bringing home in the hope of fondling Yuri.

We commandeer a pedestal-table and order expensive juice drinks.

"The guys here are cute, yeah?" Michael says with an evil grin.  "So many Desis (South Asians)!  But the music is horrible, all screeching and shaking.  Not a lot of David Cassidy!"

I'm not going to let him know how uncomfortable I am!  "No, Indie music is great.   I had no idea.  I really love - the Futureheads."

"A Daddy who likes the Futureheads?"  someone says.  "And an American!  That's random, isn't it?"

I turn.  It's an emo kid, short, slim but with some muscle, dark skin, and a fringe of beard on his mascara-ed face.

"I'm Nehal.  Care to dance?"

Apparently my superheroic attractiveness to twinks works in England as well as America.  And, as it turns out, Nehal is a South Asian emo kid.

We dance, flirt, kiss.

"I'd invite you home," Nehal says, "But I stay with my parents, and they're old school conservative and that."

 "I'm staying with my friends.  They said I could bring someone over, as long as you don't mind blankets on the floor."

He glances at the pedestal table, where Michael is watching Nehal hungrily, and Yuri is looking bored and gesturing at his watch.

"Three Daddies!  Hot!"

First time I ever heard the youthful-looking Yuri described as a "Daddy."

"Maybe I could convince them to move us into the bedroom tonight, yeah?  If you don't mind sharing the wealth."

Before the night is over, I see both Michael and Nehal naked.  But more importantly, I hold Yuri in my arms again.  It feels like going home.

A Sikh Sausage Sighting at Barney's Gym

Wilton Manors, March 2003

I've always been attracted to religious guys.  There's something erotic about the juxtaposition of the physical and the spiritual, muscles and Bibles, penises and prayer shawls.

I've dated or had other experiences with religious guys (not necessarily clergy) from several Christian traditions, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, and paganism.

But not guys from some of the lesser-known religions, like Druze, Jains, Zoroastrians, Baha'is, and Sikhs.

The Sikhs, followers of a monotheistic religion founded by Guru Nanak (1469-1538) in northern India, are particularly interesting.  They have uncut hair, beards, turbans, white cotton underclothes, iron bracelets, and kirpans (ceremonial swords).

The men all have the middle or last name Singh ("lion").  They often choose macho careers like police officer, soldier, or bodyguard.  Physical fitness is very important; quite a large number are bodybuilders.

Are you getting the idea?

Unfortunately, their religion tends to be highly conservative, obsessively heterosexual-marriage oriented, and homophobic.  I've never met any out-and-proud gay Sikhs, or even Sikh guys on the downlow.

There was a Sikh gurdwara (worship center) near my first apartment in Los Angeles, so I often saw them walking down the street or shopping at the 7-11.  They gave us cool, disdainful Attitude, refusing to acknowledge our existence.

Once I was talking to a group of friends when a curious Sikh child started walking slowly toward us, staring as if mesmerized.  But his mother screamed "Katala!  Katala!  Get away!"

Katala doesn't mean gay in Punjabi.  It means murderer. 

So much for my goal of hooking up with a Sikh!

Fast forward to 2003: I'm living in Florida, working at Barney's gym, and a Sikh named Narveer Singh comes in and asks for a tour.

Doesn't he realize that the gym caters mostly to gay men?   I don't want him screaming katala!

So I ease into the subject: "As you can see, we draw a diverse crowd.  Old, young, different races and religions.  Mostly men, though we get a few women."

"Good, good.  I wanted a gym with mostly men, to avoid the temptation, you know.  Where is your free weight room?"

"A very diverse crowd," I emphasized.  "A lot of young, single guys come here....um, a lot of gay men."

"Good, good.  Could I try out the treadmill?"

"We..um..don't discriminate.  Black, white, gay, straight, everyone is welcome."

"Good, good. What hours are you open?"

"We offer family memberships, so your wife or partner can work out with you.  A lot of gay couples get them."

"Oh, my wife goes to Curves [a female-only gym].  Could I do a trial workout?"

Narveer must be completely oblivious!  He buys a membership and begins working out every morning, just as we open, wearing a tight blue sweatsuit that accentuates his beneath-the-belt gifts.

So even if I can't hook up with a Sikh guy, I can at least get a Sausage Sighting!


Easier said than done.  Sausage Sightings in the gym have to be very discrete.  No open gawking -- you have to arrange to "accidentally" be in front of him while he's naked in the locker room.

But Narveer comes to the gym in his workout suit and leaves immediately afterwards. He never uses the lockers, shower, or sauna.

I wander around the gym, sometimes offering him instructions on stance and reps, sometimes just watching from a distance at his lean, muscular frame and blatant bulge.

Come on, God, give me a break -- don't I even rate a Sausage Sighting?  

Then one day Narveer comes in wearing a business suit, carrying a gym bag.

"You're looking chipper today," I tell him.

"Oh, I have a job interview nearby, so I thought it would be easier to go directly from the gym rather than driving all the way home again."



Today he's going to use the locker room!  Certainly the shower, maybe the sauna.

I wait until he's finished with his workout, give him a few minutes, then grab a clipboard and head back to the locker room.  I hear the shower running, so I "decide" to check the temperature and water pressure.

I walk past Narveen's stall.  His back is turned to me!

"How's the water pressure?" I ask.  "We've had a couple of complaints...."

"It's fine, it's fine."

I go out to the bathroom to "check" something else.

Narveen comes in while my back is turned.  I wait for him to finish urinating, and then turn back.  He's already at the sink, washing his hands, his penis hidden from view.

Darn!  So close!

I go out to the locker room to make sure all of the locks work.  Narveen stands on the scale to weigh himself, dropping his towel to the side.

Now's my chance!  "Um...that scale is running low.  Let me check the calibration."

"Or I could just let you see it."   Narveer steps off the scale and faces me.  His Bratwurst+ hangs down in full view.

He knew what I was up to all along!  "Oh..um...." I stammer, blushing.  "You..."

"Well, what do you think?  Am I big enough to attract gay guys?

"I would date you," I admit.

"Thanks!  My wife didn't believe me -- she said 'You're crazy -- none of the gay guys at your gym are into you -- you're not big enough!'  She owes me five dollars!"

He turned and headed back to his locker.

See also: Cruising Priests, Preachers, Monks, and Rabbis; The Naked Gods of Southern India; The College Kid's Kovbasa

The Joy of Public Sex: 12 Hookups in Public Places

Which would you prefer, the very attractive, gigantic guy reclining on a nice soft bed, or the equally attractive, equally gigantic guy sitting on the dirt against a hard brick wall?

Hookup websites list lots of places to have anonymous sex in public: restrooms in shopping malls and on college campuses, heavily-wooded parks, secluded beaches.  But I've never understood the attraction.  It's dangerous, illegal, and uncomfortable.  Why not just invite him back to your apartment?

I haven't had a lot of experience with the practice of public sex, but there have been times when I gave in to temptation and took care of things right there on the spot.

Tyrone. My second sexual experience, in high school, with Tyrone my workout buddy, took place in his car in the high school parking lot.

The Levee  In Rock Island a lot of men went cruising at the levee, and had sex right there in their parked cars.  I was too skittish to do it there, but I did go home with Professor Burton, who held the annual handcuff parties.

The Photojournalist.  During my senior year in college, I hooked up with a student in my Photojournalism class.  We didn't have anyplace to go -- I lived at home, and he lived in the dorm -- so we went to the stacks in the library -- deserted on a Saturday night -- and went down on each other in the PK section (Sanskrit, Pali, and Hindi).

The Airport Restroom. Trapped at Lambert International Airport in St. Louis later that year, I learned about cruising in public restrooms.  Six guys, including a buffed businessman in a suit and tie.

New Delhi. When I was visiting India, just after getting my M.A. from Indiana University, Viju took me to Jahanpanah City Forest in Delhi.  You see someone you like and follow him into the bushes.  I met Arshad the Zoroastrian, who took me out to dinner and then on a tour of the spiritual pilgrimage sites in Delhi.

Oxford, Mississippi. Later that summer, on the way to my first teaching job in Hell-fer-Sartain, Texas, I spent the night in Oxford. Mississippi, and went down on three country boys in the woods outside of the Faulkner mansion, including Elmer, a University of Minnesota undergrad who came back to my hotel to spend the night.

The Rest Stop. On the way back, I stopped at a rest stop in Arkansas, and saw a guy masturbating through a glory hole.

The Cathoic Boy. At a conference at Notre Dame, I met a Catholic undergrad, who took me to a path that went around St. Joseph lake on the Notre Dame campus.

Ankara.  In the spring of 1989, during my semester teaching in Ankara, I found that Turkish men were cruising each other constantly, in the park, on the metro, in the hamams.  A lot of the college boys cruised in the wooded hills beyond Bilkent University, but I met an older guy there: Turkish moustache, furry chest, thick Bratwurst.

The Truck Driver.  During the Great Redneck Roundup of 1995, we stopped at a rest stop near Laramie, and I climbed into a truck cab with the driver.

Macy's. One day my effervescent, outrageous friend David tried to get me to pick up a clerk at Macy's and go down on him in the restroom.  But I wimped out and made a date with him instead.

The Restaurant Kitche. During my summer in Paris, I went to Suam Thai for dinner almost every night, and got extensively cruised by the chef.  One night he invited me into the kitchen to discuss something, and one thing led to another.  We ended up having sex in the supply room.

My Office.  When I was living in Manhattan and commuting to Long Island to work on my Ph.D., I I had three choices: take hookups home on a two-hour train ride; borrow Yuri's apartment; or entertain them in my office -- in a secluded corridor in the Social Science Building.

I shared with three other graduate students.  But I knew their schedules, so it was safe.

Still, every time I brought a hookup in, I listened carefully for the sound of a key in that lock.

Nothing in public since 2001 -- I have an apartment with a nice soft bed, only about ten minutes from here, so....

The Zoroastrian Who Did It Six Times a Day

Delhi, India, June 1984

During the summer of 1984, just after we got our M.A. degrees in English, my friend Viju invited me to visit his family in India for two weeks.

Except for trips to Agra and Varanasi, we spent most of our time in Delhi, hanging out with his parents, sister Aruna, and old university friends, We went to a bodybuilding competition, a lot of shopping malls, and since I was interested in religion, a lot of temples and mosques.

There were no gay bars, bathhouses, community centers, or gay organizations  in India, but there was a lot of public sex in Jahanpanah City Forest.  You saw a guy you liked, nodded, and followed him into the bushes.

Viju said that it was perfectly safe: although "sodomy" was technically illegal,  the police didn't believe that it existed in India, so they didn't patrol.

I was a little hesitant, but when a tall, slim, very dark skinned guy in his 30s smiled at me, Viju whispered "Go for it!"  I followed him into a little copse, where he was already unzipped and aroused, his dark Bratwurst with a thick mushroom head a striking contrast to his white pants.  As I went down on him, I felt his hard muscular chest under his shirt, then moved around and grabbed his butt.  He groaned.

A moment later, he finished with a shudder, then pulled me to my feet and drew me into a kiss.  "My name is Arshad.  You are an American, yes?"

"Right.  I'm here visiting my friend."

"I guessed that.  I love American boys -- you have an energy, an excitement."  I felt him becoming aroused again.  "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"

"I'll have to ask if Viju has plans for us..."

"Invite him along, too.  The Host at 8:00?  But first, if you're not too tired..."

He pushed me to my knees again.  This time took a little longer, but not much.  Three or four minutes, and he groaned and shuddered and thrust deeply into my throat.

The Host turned out to be a very bright, airy, and expensive restaurant on Connaught Circus, about a half hour by car from Viju's house.

Arshad arrived with a date for Viju: Noel, slim, redheaded, with a British accent.  They were coworkers at an engineering firm.

"But originally I am from Ahmedabad, in Gujarat," Arshad told us.  "A Parsi.  Have you heard of us?" .

Parsis -- Zoroastrians!  The ancient monotheistic religion that competed with Christianity in the first and second centuries.  Ahura Mazda and Ahriman, light and darkness, order and chaos.   The Avestas.  Zarathustra.  Fire temples!

"You are very intelligent as well as handsome," Arshad said, cutting me off.

"Boomer is very interested  in religion," Viju said.  "Me, not much.  I look toward the future, not the past."  He grabbed Noel's hand -- or crotch, I couldn't tell -- under the table.

"Then you must let me take you on a tour of the spiritual sites of Delhi.  I will take tomorrow off from work.  There are temples for Hindus, Sikhs, Jains, Baha'is..."

"Christian churches, mosques..."  Noel added.

"A Zoroastrian fire temple?" I asked eagerly.

"Of course, of course," Arshad said, looking down at the menu.  "We will tour that as well."

 We finished the evening at Arshad's apartment.  Noel and Viju took the guest room, and Arshad brought me into the master bedroom, where I went down on him four more times, with kissing in between.

Six times in one day!  My jaw ached, and my throat hurt from the constant banging.   Yet Arshad never touched me beneath the belt.

Oh, well, at least tomorrow I would see a Zoroastrian fire temple.

After breakfast -- and two more throat-bangings  -- Noel and Viju left, and Arshad drove me out to Ahinsa Sthal, about a half-hour drive south of his apartment.  Sacred to Jainism, with a 13-foot statue of Mahavira.

That was impressive.

Then another half-hour drive east to the Lotus Temple, sacred to the Baha'i religion.

Ok, but what about the Fire Temple?

Back into town, 30 minutes north to the Jama Masjid, a huge mosque.

I already saw it, but ok, I didn't mind seeing it again.

Back to Arshan's apartment for lunch and another bedroom session.  Twice in ten minutes!

Ok, my jaw is sore.  What about the Fire Temple?

Another 30 minutes around Connaught Circus to the Lakshi Narayan Mandir, a Hindu temple that I had already visited.

It was late afternoon.  We had been reverent all day.  I was getting "church fatigue."  Not to mention "jaw fatigue."  Who would ever have thought that you could get tired of oral sex?

"Next the Sacred Heart Cathedral" Arshad said. "It's only a few blocks from here."

Interesting, but I had seen Catholic churches before.

"Could we go to the Fire Temple now?  It's getting late."

He looked away.  "Sure, sure, I suppose.  It's only a few blocks away."

We got into his car and drove east on Nehru Boulevard.  Just past a gigantic hospital complex, we turned right on Bahadur Shah Road.

"The Parsi Anjuman is there on the left," Arshad said as we zipped by.

It was a small, square building with a pillared portico and some vaguely Babylonian fretwork.

"Hey, aren't we going to stop?"

"Oh, there's nothing much to see inside.  And I'm getting hungry.  Shall we have dinner?"

"Hey, what gives?  We spend all day touring the sacred sites of Jains, Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Bahai's, and Christians, but when it comes to your own religion, you zoom past at 80 miles an hour."

"Sorry.  But...it's just that..."  He stroked my knee.  "One who is unclean may not enter the temple."

"Non-believers?  That's ok, I don't mind not going in."

"Not you -- me.  I'm unclean. I'm the one who has spilled his seed.  My religion teaches that those who do such things are like dogs, filthy beasts."

I looked at Arshad.  Did he actually believe that nonsense, think of himself as a filthy beast?  It was hard to tell.  "Well...my childhood religion, the Nazarenes, have some crazy beliefs, too.  I suppose I wouldn't want to give you a tour of the their church either."

But still, the "filthy beast" statement made me feel uncomfortable.  After dinner, I refused another bedroom session, and asked Arshad drop me off at Viju's house.  We exchanged addresses, but didn't write.

Modern Zoroastrians seem to be more accepting of gay people, at least in the U.S.  I saw an article on a gay Christian-Zoroastrian wedding held at the chapel of Northwestern University.

See also: 20 Preacher Penises; a Bodybuilding Contest in India

Arjun and the World's Strangest Pickup Line

Boca Raton, Florida, May 2003

Arjun was a student in my Sociology of Religion class in the spring of 2003, the semester after Tom the Young Republican: college age, South Asian, short, dark skinned, handsome, with a tight, solid physique.

He didn't talk very much in class, gave short, halting answers when called on, and turned in a series of nondescript, C-level essays.

Until we got to the lecture on New Age Religions.

Seems that he was devotee of the Urantia Book, written between 1925 and 1934 by seven spiritual beings, who  delivered it, page by page, over 2000 in all to Chicago physician William S. Sadler and his disciples. At first they wanted to keep the amazing revelations to themselves, but finally in 1955 they consented to publish it.

There are no churches, ministers, rituals, or dogmas of any kind.  People meet in small study groups.

In my brief research for my Sociology of Religion lecture, I didn't, see a lot of moral instruction or discussions of our ultimate purpose n the universe.  It's mostly a compendium, an Encyclopedia Galactica.

The government, politics, demographics, and economics of the hundreds of planets in our universe (and other universes), with the jobs and duties spelled out as precisely as any human resources handbook.

Gabriel is the Chief Executive of our universe, Nebadon.  Beneath him are the Supreme Council, the Council of Supreme Santion, and a number of High Commissioners, Celestial Commisioners, Most High Assistants, and so on.

Whoa.


Well, it goes on like that.  For volume after volume:

"Spiritual status is the measure of Deity attainment, Adjuster attunement. The achievement of finality of spirituality is equivalent to the attainment of the maximum of reality, the maximum of Godlikeness. Eternal life is the endless quest for infinite values."

Yeah, I don't get it either.

Of course, our job in Sociology of Religion is not to evaluate the worth or validity of a religion, but to look for the sociological factors in its membership.  Why do people follow it?  How do they practice it?  How does it fit into the rest of their lives?

Arjun knew: "I grew up Hindu," he told us.  "There's no evidence that the gods exist.  But the Urantia Book is scientific.  It's concrete.  It's about real life, not myths.  If you read it, you'll know."

You can't argue with someone about their beliefs in the classroom, so I let it slide and moved on to another New Age religion.


But after class Arjun approached me.  "Have you read it?"

"The whole thing?  Well, I do have to research more than 30 religions in this class..."

"I can show you the most important parts, that deal with the life of Jesus Christ."  He hesitated, and looked down at the floor.  "Are you free later?  We can get a cup of coffee, and talk about it...."

Every student who belongs to a proselytizing religion tries to convert me, and besides, I have a rule against socializing with my current students, so I politely refused.

A couple of weeks later, Arjun appeared at my desk after class again.  "Ron Tramontino, the head of our Urantia Study Group, is giving a talk on Saturday.  He's a great guy.  He runs a karate studio and writes books.  Maybe you would...."  he trailed off.

Was he still trying to convert me?  Regardless, I don't socialize with current students, so I said, "I'm busy Saturday, sorry.  Another time."

At another time, he brightened.  "When?"

"Um..well, after classes are over.  Next summer I'm free."

"Ok!!"

He finished the class, got a C, and vanished.  I didn't think anything more about it until a couple of weeks after finals, when I was busy prepping for my summer school class.  Arjun knocked on my office door.

I thought he wanted to petition for a higher grade, but instead he said, "Professor...er, now that classes are over, may I call you Boomer?"

"Sure, I guess."

"I know you like karate, so I got tickets to the AAU National Championships, at the Convention Center in Fort Lauderdale."  He paused.  "And afterwards I know a place that has Nepali food."

Finally it dawned on me -- Arjun was asking me for a date!

Well, he wasn't my student anymore, and he was cute, so why not?

I braced myself for more discussion of the Urantia Book, but instead Arjun talked about sports -- he was a devotee of judo, karate, and mallauddha, or Indian wrestling.  A little boring.  I actually tried to push the conversation back to the Urantia Book, or at least a New Age topic, but he didn't seem interested.

He was living with his conservative Hindu parents, who knew that he was gay but didn't approve, so we had to go back to my house to spend the night.

Nice physique, nicely shaped Bratwurst, a little reserved in bed.  He just lay there.  I had to do all the work.

We dated for a few weeks, mostly going to boring martial arts tournaments.  Arjun never wanted to talk about the Urantia Book again, no matter how often I brought it up.

Had he just been using it as a very weird cruising line?

See also: Cruised by a Young Republican.

Yuri Tricks the Bear into Sharing

Old Westbury, New York, Fall 1998

When we were living in New York, Yuri and I sometimes took the train to Old Westbury, where Ravi and his partner Claude held monthly "bear parties."

Ravi was in his 40s, South Asian, with a very hairy chest. I never found out what he did for a living.

Claude was in his 20s, from England, a biology student at Adelphi University, slim and smooth, with an enormous penis, easily a Mortadella+.

They lived in a big house, square, white, and ultra-modern, with a pool, a hot tub, and a game room.

They charged $5 for admission, to cover the cost of the snacks, condoms, lube, and towels.

The rules of the bear party were:
1. You had to be nude.  You could bring a towel to sit on, but no wrapping it around yourself.
2. No discussions of women or feminine beauty.
3. No sex in the living room, dining room, or kitchen.  You had to use the game room, tv room, or pool.
4. Use a condom for anal.
5. No attitude.  Let other guys watch, go down on you, or lend a hand.

But Ravi and Claude never participated in the activities.  They stayed in the living room, keeping track of the guests, taking the money, making sure no one stole anything.  Ravi sometimes went back to address a problem, but Claude never left.  It was as if he was on a leash.

Why host a "bear party" if you're not going to participate?  Or even watch?

And there was another problem: Yuri was interested in Claude.  He usually liked his guys a little older and more muscular, but the Mortadella+ was exceptional.

Besides, they had a lot in common.  They were both international students.  They were both newly out (Claude had only dated two guys before moving in with Ravi).  They liked the same movies and tv shows, like the Britcom Mr. Bean.  

Yuri took to spending most of his time in the living room, talking to Claude.

"Well, if they're holding bear parties, they must have an open relationship," I said.  "Why don't you ask him out?"

"I asked him,  He wants to go with me, but he says they are not open."  He paused.  "But I know Ravi does things.  When he goes to the back, guys go down on him.  He doesn't tell Claude."

"That doesn't seem fair."

Yuri shrugged.  "I don't want to tell him, and get in the middle.  But what can I do?"

I suggested a little double play.

1. Yuri and I went to the party together, stripped, and wandered off separately.

2. I waited until two guys started doing anal in the game room. Then I ran to the living room and told Ravi, "Hey, there's two guys in the kitchen doing anal without a condom."

Violating the two biggest rules of the party?  Ravi stood immediately and followed me back.  But the guys were in the game room, and upon inspection, definitely using a condom.

3. Ravi apologized for interrupting them and turned to me.

I shrugged.  "I guess they moved.  But as long as you're here..."  I knelt and started going down on him.

4. At that moment, Yuri, who was lurking nearby, took the half-full tray of  mini-quiches from the snack table and deposited them in the refrigerator.  He ran into the living room.  "Hey, you are out of mini quiches," he told Claude.

"Really?" Claude asked, beaming. "They went fast."  They were his prize recipe, the centerpiece of his snack array.

"Can you get more?"

"Ravi will get more out when he comes back.  He just has to drizzle them with melted butter and microwave them for thirty seconds."

"You are the cook.  You must do it."

Claude looked uncertain.  "Well....I have to man the front door."

"It will take a minute.  Please...they were really good."

Claude was persuaded.  He followed Yuri to the kitchen, where the mini-quiches were indeed all gone.  And I was going down on his partner.

5. "Hey, what are you doing?" Claude exclaimed.  Other guys stopped their activity to watch.  Would there be fireworks?  Recriminations?  A packed suitcase?

No.  Yuri took Claude by the hand and led him to Ravi.  They began to kiss.  Then Yuri knelt and took my place, working on them both at once.

He ended up spending the night and introducing Ravi and Claude to the concept of "sharing."

See also: Third Wheel to a Muscle God.