My Sausage List

I am particularly attracted to guys who are gifted beneath the belt,

I've never rejected someone for having a Vienna Sausage.  Small can be just as nice, and in many situations it does the job better.

Besides, by the time I get around to checking, the guy has already won me over with his winning smile, sparkling conversation, or body by Michelangelo.

But bigger has a definite aesthetic appeal.  And when you get together with friends and swap stories, like fisherman bragging about their biggest "catch",  it's never about Vienna Sausages.  It's all about Polska Kielbasa:

So here are some of the biggest, or at least the most memorable, "sausages" I ever "cooked."







Only guys I actually went on dates with -- no glimpses in the shower room or cruising at the sauna (those are on my Sausage Sighting List). And only if I had an intimate experience with the guy -- just fondling doesn't count.

I'll use the following scale:

Kielbasa: supersized, 8 inches (20 cm)
Mortadella: the stuff of dreams, 9 inches (23 cm)
Kovbasa: Are you kidding? 10 inches (25 cm)

Add .5 inches for each +.

College
Peter, the Orthodox priest with the pushy Mom.  We dated when I was a senior in college.  I hadn't been with many guys at the time, so I didn't realize how remarkable he was beneath the belt. Mortadella+

Texas
Dick, my grade school bully. We met at JR's in Rock Island, when I was back home for Christmas in 1984, and got together whenever I returned for the next few years. Kielbasa+

Carl (left) the cowboy cop, who didn't approve of guys who believed in God. We dated briefly in Houston in 1984. Kovbasa

Jasper, the teenage hustler of Bourbon Street, who couldn't get fully aroused.  Kovbasa++++

West Hollywood
Alan, formerly a Pentecostal Porn Star (top photo).  When we met, he was Student Clergy at the Metropolitan Community Church.  We dated in 1985, just after I moved to West Hollywood. Kielbasa+

T, the thug wannabe who Alan and I met at the Catch One in Los Angeles. Mortadella+

Mohammed, the doctor who came by for a house call on Christmas Eve.  Mortadella

Halil, a Turkish bodybuilder who I met during my semester in Ankara in 1989.  He had a girlfriend, but still invited me to share his bed at a bodybuilding competition in Istanbul. Kielbasa+

Jester, the Blind Guy with the Footlong, who Fred dated after he broke up with Matt. Kovbasa++++

Infinite Chazz, the juvenile delinquent I met at work, called "infinite" for his Mortadella+ and for his infinite attractiveness to every man he met.










San Francisco

Corbin, the guy my friends Zack and Drake fixed me up with, who told a story about choosing a small but handsome guy over someone who was ugly but hung.  Mortadella+

New York

Garan.  We met in San Sebastian in 1999, when Yuri and I went to the Basque Country of Spain in search of the world's biggest penis.  He actually asked Yuri for the date, and was surprised but accommodating when I showed up, too. Kielbasa


Blake, who I dated in New York in the fall of 1998, and performed the "roommate switch" on. (left) Mortadella+

Ozzie, the NYU Undergrad from Morocco, who hooked up with John F. Kennedy Jr. and refused to leave my room in the rain Kovbasa+


Barry, the Colonial Williamsburg boy from Long Island.  Mortadella.

Jermaine, the Biggest Guy on My Sausage List: a very cute Harvard undergrad who I met in Boston in 2001.  He  had the annoying habit of asking "Who's your daddy?" every five seconds, even though I was substantially older. But he made up for it with his intellect, and with his Kovbasa+++++

Stefan, the Icelandic Photographer, who Fred dated after Jester.  Kovbasa

Florida
Janik, from at the Horseman's Club in Amsterdam in 2003.  He invited me to live with him in a small town in Friesland. I only lasted a few days. Mortadella

 Jake, the alpaca cowboy that Yuri and I shared.  Kovbasa+.
















Ohio

Remy the Jerk.  A Halloween party date from hell with a total *hole.  Even his Kielbasa couldn't save the evening.

Farshad  from Morocco.  We met in France in 2007. Mortadella+

Ari, the linguist in Dayton in the fall of 2007, who was cute and everything, but wouldn't shut up. Kielbasa


Upstate

The Satyr, one of the The Gang of 12 from Upstate New York.  We had one date in the fall of 2008, and then I switched to his boytoy/roommate/boyfriend (who must have felt like a muppet). Kovbasa+

Troy, the French major who became my partner for around five years. Kielbasa.

Plains

 Jimmy, the Boy Toy.  Or rather the roommate of my two platonic friends.  I expected a night of "sharing" but got a date.  Kielbasa

Jameer.  I became his Boy Toy, even though I was twenty years older.  Mortadella+

Gabe, the twink who wasn't interested, but we became friends, and shared on occasion.  Kielbasa+

Todd, the nephew of the guy I had my first sexual experience with, back in high school.  Kielbasa.

Justin, the shy supersized guy at the gym.  Not much of a physique, but: Kovbasa++++.

See also: My Sausage Sighting List; 12 Sausage Fondlings, Gropes, and Grabs

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....

Alan Cruises a Cop

Paris, March 1989

During my terrible semester teaching in Ankara, Turkey, my friend Alan the Pentecostal Porn Star sent me a airplane ticket to visit him in Paris.

Alan was my best friend in West Hollywood, fun but exhausting, rushing headlong from wild scheme to wild scheme, his frenetic energy making him constantly "up."  No quiet nights at home, no nice safe museums or art galleries: lights! colors! music!

Plus he had no sense of tact, decorum, or the consequences of his actions.

The morning after we broke up, he called and asked me to have brunch with him and his new boyfriend.

When he saw a high school boy aroused in class, he asked "Do you want to go to the bathroom and take care of that?"

And now he wanted me to drop everything and fly to Paris for a week?

Well, it was Paris, after all.  And I was anxious to see Alan again after six months.

He had put on a few pounds -- actually about 20, a victim of French sauces and limited gym facilities.  But he still had the same frenetic energy, the same fervor -- and the same unbrindled erotic desire.

On the way into town on the Metro, he kept pointing out cute lycee boys, burly working-class men, languid immigrants, and timid tourists.  "It's like a candy store, isn't it?  So many men, so little time!"

He had a tiny one-room apartment on the fifth floor of a building on rue Chapon, in the heart of Le Marais, about two blocks from the Pompidou Center, walking distance from  Notre Dame and the Louvre.

He didn't mention the gay Pentecostal church, his ostensible reason for moving to Paris: he had a job teaching literature at the American School went to the American Church on the Quai d'Orsay, and had a circle of friends, mostly ex-patriots.  He showed every intention of staying in France permanently.

During the daytime, I was on my own.  I had only been to Paris once before, so I did all the tourist things -- the Louvre, the Luxembourg Gardens, Montmartre, even the Eiffel Tower.

Paris was great for jogging, but gyms were rare -- I finally found a health club with an assortment of free weights, but I had to buy a month membership to get in.

At night we cruised.

There weren't a lot of gay organizations in Paris -- at least, not as many as in West Hollywood.  But the venues for sex made up for it.

Bathhouses, bars with back rooms, video stores with glory holes.  A different one every night.

"I'm in vacation mode," I told Alan one morning at breakfast in a patisserie -- which, as the name implies, offered no choices that weren't 98% sugar.  "So the West Hollywood rule against tricking doesn't apply.  But you've been here six months.  Have you been tricking every night?"

"It's another world," he said, chomping on an eclair.  "Sex isn't something shameful -- it's an ordinary part of life.  Did you know gay sex has been legal here since 1805?  Guys think nothing of going into a bar with a dark room on the way home from work and going down on five guys.  Even straight guys, with wives and girlfriends waiting at home."

"Straight guys?  You're kidding!"

"Boomer, straight and gay don't apply here.  I swear to you, 80% of the men in this city are available right now, and the other 20% you have to buy a drink first.  Come on -- point out a guy, anyone you like, and I'll bring him home for you tonight."

Yeah, right -- an ex-porn star would have no trouble picking up someone in a gay-owned patisserie full of gay men in the heart of Le Marais.  But what about a straight guy out on the street?

"Ok -- what about -- him?"  I pointed out the window at a police officer watching us suspiciously, to make sure no one was having sex.

He was undoubtedly cute, a square face, short hair, muscular chest, meaty arms, big bulge.  But in 1989 the police were not our friend.

They were homophobes, out to arrest us for solicitation for saying "hello," lewd conduct for holding hands, sodomy for kissing.  They stood around outside gay bars, hoping to intimidate people from going in.  Even crime victims weren't safe from jeers, name-calling, and assaults.

A vice cop almost arrested Alan in the early 1980s.  No way was he going to risk another arrest!.

Alan paled a little, but gained fortitude from another bite of eclair.  "Not a problem, no problem at all.  I'll just go invite him over after work tonight."

While I stared open mouthed, he walked out the door, walked right up to the cop went over and struck up a conversation.  He pointed me out.  The gendarme smiled and waved at me, and a moment later walked away.

Alan returned.  "Ok, his name is Antoine, he gets off at 6:00, so he'll be at the apartment a little after.  You'll be going down on him by 6:30."

I stared, open-mouthed.

"We won't go out to dinner until afterwards, ok?"

Was he putting me on?

"I have to get to work.  See you tonight."

I went to the gym, the  Lachaise Cemetery to see Oscar Wilde's grave, the Shakespeare and Company bookstore, Luxembourg Gardens (again), and finished up wandering around the Sorbonne, thinking about my upcoming "trick."  Was Alan putting me on?  Or would he bait and switch, picking up a guy who looked sort of like the cop?

At a little after 6:00, I returned to the apartment.

Alan had pulled the couch out into a bed, and was sitting next to Antoine the Cop!  Not in uniform -- wearing a black button-down shirt and jeans.

Of course, you change into street clothes after work.

"I brought you a little present," Alan said.

Antoine the Cop didn't even wait to be introduced -- he pulled me down onto the bed on top of him.  I unbuttoned his shirt and ran my mouth over his smooth, very hard chest while he and Alan kissed.  Soon I had worked my way down to his crotch.  After fondling him for awhile, I unzipped him and pulled out his long uncut Bratwurst.  No public hair -- he must shave.

I started going down on him. At the first stroke, I felt Alan's hand on my shoulder.

 It's too soon for your turn! I thought.  But I looked up.

He was gesturing at the clock.  6:30 exactly.

See also: Alan and I Share the Kept Boy;  Alan's Three Arrests; Alan's Substitute for Sharing

The Turkish Bodybuilder

Ankara, Turkey, January 1989

In September 1988, everything was going wrong.  I passed my qualifying exams for my Ph.D. in Comparative Literature, but my first committee nixed my dissertation topic, and my second committee was insisting that I llearn a new modern language.

My car was starting to fall apart from driving 100 miles per week in L.A. traffic.

Even with 3 jobs, I didn't make enough for USC tuition.  I owed $20,000 in student loans and my credit cards were maxed out.  I was thinking of bankrupcy.

Living in a gay ghetto, surrounded by 30,000 gay men, I hadn't had a relationship in months (Richard Dreyfuss  and the ex-boyfriend of President Reagan don't count.)

It was time for a change.



The Chronicle of Higher Education listed several job openings for the spring semester, including Bilkent University in Ankara, Turkey.

The Middle East!  I remembered my long-ago plan to "escape to Arabia" with my junior high boyfriend Dan, and Todd, the Lebanese boy who was my "first time."

And it would be a good base for trips to Greece, Egypt, Israel, and the Balkans.

They wanted a specialist in Victorian literature.  I hated Victorian literature.  No matter -- I said I was writing my dissertation on Dickens and Balzac, and got the job.

On January 16th, 1989, I flew with two suitcases and a box of books from Los Angeles to Washington DC, then to Munich, then to Ankara, where a dozen college boys were waiting for me.  They asked about my trip, grabbed my luggage, drove me to my tiny furnished apartment on the campus, and though I was jetlagged, made sure I got a tour of the city and a refrigerator-full of groceries.

What I liked about Turkey:

1. Turkish is not an Indo-European language, so there are few cognates, not even for common words like "car" and "restaurant."  How much of this menu can you figure out?  It was a lot of fun to study.

2. Visiting the Museum of Anatolian Civilizations, followed by iskender (lamb with tomato sauce and butter on pita) at the Uludag Kebabcisi

3. Whenever I needed anything, or even if I didn't, a dozen university students were eager to help.

4. Men and women were socially segregated, so it was not at all uncommon for a heterosexual man to spend all of his leisure hours with men

5. The Remzi Kitabevi (bookstore) had a huge English section.

6. Turkish homoerotic oil wrestling.

7. You could see Columbo, Star Trek, Head of the Class, and Perfect Strangers dubbed in Turkish.

8. There were lots of muscular, hirsute men who were not the least bit shy about physical contact.

9. Everyone was technically homophobic, but the homophobia was aimed at feminine or passive men, not same-sex activity itself.

Just as I noticed in India, cruising was everywhere: in the metro station, in the park, in the hamam (bathhouse).  Same-sex activity was an ordinary part of life for most men, their main sexual outlet before marriage, and often after.

10. Turkey invented bodybuilding, and nearly everyone I met competed in the Young Bodybuilders Clubs, the Gymnastics Association, or the Heavy Weight Lifting Association.  Like Halil, who had a girlfriend but still invited me to share his bed at a competition in Istanbul.

By the way, Kielbasa+