A Student Invites Me to Share His Bunk Bed

Jamaica, New York, February 2000

In the spring of 2000, I was living in the East Village,  taking classes at Setaukt University (two hours away) and teaching as an adjunct at Hofstra University (1 1/2 hours away), which took a little logistic planning.  Sometimes I spent the night with Yuri or a date to avoid going all the way back into Manhattan.

 That Thursday was one of my long days: up at 6, classes at LIU, teaching at LIU, gym, an hour train trip from LIU to Hofstra, teaching a three hour night class, and then an 1 1/2 hour train trip back to Manhattan.,

 By the time I got on the campus shuttle to the Hofstra train station at 9:30 pm, I was exhausted, and not looking forward to the next 1 1/2 hours.

Standing on the platform on a cold, snowy February night didn't help matters.

I wanted to doze or read.  I was in no mood for cruising or small talk.

No matter how cute the guy was.

So when Mason got on the train with me, I was not pleased.   He was one of the nondescript students in my introductory class last semester: a freshman, tall and thin, pale, with thick brown hair, glasses, a sharp nose, a weak chin, and acne.  Sort of cute, in a fresh-faced innocent way, but nothing spectacular.

He plopped down across from me and didn't say anything.  I saw a sizeable basket that I hadn't noticed in class.  Bratwurst, at least.

"Hi, Mason!" I said with my best smile.

"Hi, Mr. Davis," he said politely.  "Where you headed?"

"Penn Station.  "You?"

"Hey, me too!  I'm going to meet some friends at the Tunnel.  I've never been there before." 

A mixed gay-straight club on 12th Avenue, a few blocks from Penn Station.  Could Mason be gay?

He moved over next to me and started describing the club and his friends.  A few follow-up questions should reveal if Mason was gay or not.

But I didn't get anywhere.  Mason may be gay, but he wasn't open about it, and he wasn't cruising me.  I was too tired to press the issue, basket or not.

Another hour, with a change of trains at Jamaica Station and a short subway ride, and I'd be home in the East Village, where there were plenty of open, active gay guys around, most with sizeable baskets.

As we chatted, I found myself ignoring Mason to gaze out the window at the thick-falling snow.  It was coming down hard.  I wasn't worrried - trains can plow through anything.

At a little after 10:30, we stopped at Jamaica Station to catch the train to Penn.  Usually it was a five minute wait, or less.  But tonight, as we stood shivering on the platform for five, ten, fifteen minutes...

Could we have missed it?  It only came once an hour after 10:00 pm.

And the snow kept falling.

Just my luck.  Waiting on a freezing train station platform in the middle of the night with a nondescript, straight student.  

"Screw this!" Mason said suddenly.  "I'll go to the Tunnel some other time.  I'm getting a taxi, and going home."

"Ok, see you later."

He started to walk away.  Then he turned, saw me alone on the platform, shivering in the cold, and called "Hey, would you like to come home with me tonight?  Mom and Dad won't mind,  You can sleep in the guest room."

Suddenly Manhattan seemed an eternity away, and a warm bed in Mason's house sounded like a godsend.  

We got into a taxi and chugged about two miles through the snow to a duplex on 126th Street.  Mason paid, and led me through the front porch, instructing me to take off my snow-covered shoes at the door.

Mom and Dad were sitting on separate chairs in the tiny, old-fashioned living room, watching the 11:00 news on tv.

"I thought you were going into the City?"  Dad said, ignoring me.

"Snow is too bad out there -- we're almost snowed in."  He took my arm -- the first time we actually touched.  "This is my old professor, Mr. Davis -- I ran into him on the train, and I promised him Calvin's old room, if that's ok."

"Well -- it would be, ordinarily," Mom said, "But Aunt Joy's in there tonight, remember?"

"Oh, yeah."

I started to panic.  Another taxi ride back to the freezing cold train platform, for a train that came once an hour, maybe not at all..."I can sleep on the couch, no problem..." I began.

"How about I just put you up in my room?" Mason said.  "Don't worry, I don't snore."

I tried to remember the last time I shared someone's bed who wasn't a sex partner.  Not since I was a kid...or would he be a sex partner after all?

I wondered if Mason had planned all of this in advance.  A random encounter on the train -- the night his brother's room is occupied -- but how could he arrange for the snow, and the train that didn't come?  No, of course not...I was just goofy with fatigue.

"Sure, that will be fine."

Mason led me upstairs, past two bedrooms -- one with the door closed, presumably where Aunt Joy was sleeping -- and to the third.  Small, bookshelves, desk, dresser, posters, baseball mitt, dormer window looking down on the street.  And bunk beds.

"Um...would you like the top or bottom?" Mason asked.

I was too tired to answer.  "Be right back, got to go to the bathroom."  I found my toiletry kit in my knapsack and headed down the hall to brush my teeth.  When I returned, Mason was lying in the bottom bunk, shirtless, reading a book by a desk lamp.

"Hi, I thought I'd give you the top, since you're..." Mason began.  He didn't have time to say anything else.  "F* climbing," I thought, tearing off my shirt and pants and pushing into bed next to him.  "Scoot over, I don't do tops.  You like cuddling, right?"

"Sure."  He turned off the light and scooted down and held me.  Suddenly he was kissing my chest.

We didn't do much that night, but in the morning I found my way around Mason's firm, smooth physique and  uncut Bratwurst+.  I went down on him, and finished with interfemoral, with a lot of kissing afterwards, before his Mom called us "sleepyheads" and roused us to make the train back to Hofstra.

We ended up dating on and off for about six months, including "sharing" with Yuri and a weekend in Manhattan.

 I still sort of felt that Mason planned the whole thing.

See also: The Man in Black on Christopher Street.

The Ghost with the Kovbasa+

Bronx, September 2004

With a B.A. in art and part of a M.F.A. in Photography, 26-year old Zack is living in Soho, sharing a 1-bedroom apartment with 4 other guys (he gets the couch in the living room from 7 pm to 7 am).  He's trying to make a living with his photography, but mostly he works as a barista at a coffee shop in the Village, and supplements his income with extensive gifts from his boyfriend Mithos.

Mithos is 62 years old, a buffed, bearded daddy (he was married to a woman for 20 years, and has a son 9 years older than Zack).  Very sophisticated, well connected in the art community, and very free with his money.

He pays for all of their dates, plus whenever Zack needs art supplies or new clothes, he just pulls out his platinum card and says "I'll take care of it."

It's nice in some ways, but it also gives Mithos a lot of control in the relationship.  They go where Mithos wants, do what Mithos wants.  Even in the bedroom: Zack is into oral, but he finds himself getting topped every night, whether he wants it or not.  He's had his mouth on Mithos' cock maybe twice since they started dating, and Mithos hasn't gone down on him at all.

Which would be ok if Mithos allowed sharing, three ways, or hookups, but Zack has only convinced the conservative Greek to share twice -- with his own friends, aging artists who call him a "delicious boy."  The only other way for Zack to get oral is through sexual party games, which Mithos does allow: guess the penis, biggest penis contest, who can get aroused the fastest, whoever wins the trivia contest gets to spend 10 minutes in the bedroom with the guy of his choice.

They have a lot of parties.  Mithos has a loft in the attic of an old Catholic school converted into apartments (there are still crucifixes on the walls in the corridors, and statues of obscure saints in little niches).  It's probably haunted by generations of school kids terrorized by nuns.  It freaks Zack out a little -- he refuses to stay there alone -- but the loft is big enough for at least 20 guys to sit comfortably.

Naked would be nice.

Tonight they're having a comparatively small party, 8 or 9 guys, mostly Mithos' friends -- burly bears, aging queens, Bohemian artists with green hair and multiple piercings.

Benny seems a little out of place, a Midwestern farmboy type drinking beer among the artsy-Bohemians with their drambuies: no doubt a new refugee from the Straight World, probably starred in his high school drama club's production of Oklahoma, and now plans a career on Broadway.

A tall, broad-shouldered redhead in his early 20s with a fresh open face, blue eyes, freckles, and full lips.  Wearing very tight jeans, a very tight black t-shirt, and a cross around his neck.

Not gorgeous but interesting.

No, he doesn't act "off" in any way, not depressed, out of things, ghost-like.  He mingles, cruises, eats snacks, talks about art -- well, he's not too knowledgeable, so the most he can manage is an adoration for Michelangelo's David and "that guy who cut his ear off."  Cute.

The only thing "off" that Zack remembers later is: Benny doesn't talk about his past.  Most transplants to gay neighborhoods can't stop talking about the horrors of growing up gay in homophobic small towns.

Zack wonders who Benny came with, if he's someone's boyfriend, and more importantly, if he's open for "sharing" later.  Bringing Benny in will give Zack some leverage in the relationship.

He can't ask openly, of course, so he mingles, making some discrete inquiries.

Benny isn't here with anyone.  Mithos must have invited him separately.

"No, I never saw him before," he says.  "I thought he was one of your friends."

"He isn't, but I'd like him to be.  Maybe I could invite him to 'share.'"

Mithos frowns.  "A complete stranger?  Boy, you don't know where he's been.  He could be a hustler.  He could have crabs -- or worse."

Ok, no sharing.  But Zack can at least spend a few minutes alone with Benny, if he strategizes right.

The biggest penis contest!  Zack has a Mortadella+ -- 4 inches soft, 8 inches aroused.  He would win easily!

When it's time to play the party games, Zack suggests the "biggest penis" contest:  Five contestants line up, drop their pants, and get aroused, either by themselves or with the help of a friend, and an  "impartial judge" measures them.  "And the winner can bring anyone he wants into the bedroom for ten minutes," he adds.

To his surprise, Benny volunteers.

Well, that's ok, Zack thinks.  Nothing says you can't invite another contestant into the bedroom.

Zack, Benny, and three other guys line up and drop their pants.  Two begin playing with themselves, and a third has a friend go down on him.

Benny just stands there.

It's a monster, at least 6" soft, and thick around.  How big will it be when he's aroused?  A foot?

Everyone stares, even the other guys in the contest.

Benny just stands there.

Zack can't take it anymore.  "Can I help you with that?" he asks.

"No, thanks, I'm fine on my own."

He walks to the end of the line anyway.  "I insist.  My mouth is legendary."

"I can manage, really," Benny says.

"You....?"  Zack reaches down to fondle him.  And he is gone!

He doesn't walk away, or move aside.  He literally isn't there anymore.  Like how the witches on Bewitched used to vanish, except without the twing-sound effect.


Zack looks around.  The other guys are staring, confused.  "Where...um...."  he begins.

"I think he went to the bathroom," Mithos says.  "And he probably won't be coming out, you scared him so much with your sleazy come-ons."

"Huh?"

"Please, all night you've been looking at him like you're a starving dog and he's a tenderloin steak.  Could you be any less subtle?"

Ghost or Skittish Party Guest?

Zack asked the other guys who were at the party that night.  Most of them saw Benny back away, pull his pants up, and rush out of the apartment.  But two of them saw what Zack saw: a naked man vanish instantly.

In Chinese folklore, ghosts look and act exactly like corporeal people, except you can't touch them.  If you try, they will vanish.

Zack never spent the night in Miklos' loft again.  They broke up soon afterwards.

See also: An Interview with the Most Attractive Man in the World