The Bed-Switching Freshman at the Chocolate Moose

I was saddened to learn that the Chocolate Moose, a landmark ice cream place on Walnut Street in downtown Bloomington, is going to be demolished to make way for a generic office building.  The distinctiveness of local culture vanishes for faceless uniformity, yet again.

The Chocolate Moose was a quirky little building shaped like a chocolate chalet.  You went to the  window to order soft-serve ice cream, floats, shakes, hot dogs, sloppy joes, that sort of thing.  No indoor dining, but there were a couple of picnic tables.

It was only a block from the apartment Viju and I shared during my second year in graduate school at Indiana University.

It was open until 2:00 am, so we often dropped by after cruising at Bullwinkle's, especially if we struck out (if we were successful, we took our hookups to Bob's Burgers instead).

The later it got, the better the sightseeing -- half-drunk fratboys pushing soft-serve cones into each other's faces, shirtless jocks licking on snow cones until their tongues turned blue.

In spite of the beefcake, there  wasn't a lot of cruising going on.
1.Most of the customers were straight.
2. There weren't a lot of places to hold private conversations.
3. Once you're ready for ice cream, you're probably too emotionally raw to handle a hookup.

But I have a good hookup story involving the Chocolate Moose.

Bloomington, May 1984.

Viju and I head out to Bullwinkle's, about five blocks from our apartment.

There's a boy pacing around the entrance, with that deliberate-but-nonchalant look of someone trying to get the nerve to go in.

He's very young, probably just 18 (which would make him five years younger than me), short, slim, pale, not my usual type, but very cute, with black hair, an oval face, very red lips, and a little blush in his cheeks.

We make eye contact.  I start to say something like "It's not so bad inside," but Viju pushes me through the door.

"What's the matter?  Didn't you think he was cute?"

"Oh, yes, definitely worth it!  But I was worried -- he might be an undercover cop.  The minute you say something sexy, bang!  You're finished!"

I wait awhile, but the Freshman never comes in.  Viju and I set out to cruise, but we really don't have our minds on it -- after seeing the super-cute guy at the entrance, everyone seems second-rate.

We cruise for an hour or so, but no one comes to mind.  Finally we leave.

On the way home, we pass the Chocolate Moose.  The line is half a block long.

"Want ice cream?" Viju asks.

"No, I'm not waiting in a line that size!  You go on.  I'll see you at the house."

I leave Viju waiting in line, return to the apartment, and sit down to watch tv and read a book.

A half hour passes.  Then 45 minutes.  How long was that line, anyway?

Did Viju decide to go back to the bar?  Did he get kidnapped?  Should I go out looking?

Then I hear footsteps on the stairs.  Viju comes in -- with the Freshman, still carrying his malt!

"This is Jerry," he says, his arm around the boy.  "He's a freshman, planning to major in economics."

"I saw you at Bullwinkle's," I say, trying to be nonchalant.  "So you finally went in?"

"Um...no...actually, we met at the Moose," Viju says.  "We started talking in line, and...well, you know."  He turns to the Freshman.  "Meet my roommate, Boomer."

The Freshman looks at me.  "Hi," he says softly.

"Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

He shakes his head.

"Then we'll just be going to bed.  Goodnight."

Viju draws him into a kiss right in front of me, almost as if he is trying to make me jealous.

Arm in arm, they vanish (there was no sharing in those days).  Soon I go to bed.

Our bedrooms are right next to each other, down a little hallway from the living room, and we always leave our doors open a crack for ventilation, so I hear everything that happens in Viju's room.

Usually it's fun, a lot of moaning and thumping and "Yeah, like that!" and "I'm getting close!", plus a glimpse of semi-tumescent penises as the hookups walk past my door to the bathroom to wash up afterwards.  But tonight I feel left out and jealous.  If only I had stopped for ice cream, the Freshman would be in my bed right now!

I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of someone climbing into bed next to me.  The Freshman!

Naked, his tight smooth chest and skinny belly glowing in the pale light from the window, his penis average sized but beautifully shaped.  I can't see his eyes.  He must have gotten up to go to the bathroom, and accidentally picked the wrong door.

"Um...Viju's next door," I murmur.

"Shh," he whispers.  "I'll take care of everything.  Just leave everything to me."

He climbs atop me.  He kisses my chest, my abs.  His hand finds my penis.  I stand, aroused.  I feel his mouth and tongue.  

Bed-switching would be quite common in West Hollywood, but I've never experienced it before.

Will Viju be outraged tomorrow morning?  Will he accuse me of betraying him?  Am I betraying him?

Tomorrow can take care of itself.  I turn the Freshman over onto his back and finish by kissing him and thrusting between his legs.

See also: Bed-Hopping in Japan; The Ex-Con at the Ice Cream Stand

The Bed-Hopping Boy in Japan

Osaka, Japan, July 1986

When I was living in West Hollywood, my ex-boyfriend Alan, the Pentecostal porn star, moved to Japan to start a gay Pentecostal church.

I know, odd idea for a country where less than 3% of the population is Christian.

I managed to get a scholarship to study Japanese that summer, and moved in to his tiny apartment on a noisy street in the Kita Ward of Osaka. There are beds, tables, and chairs available in Japan, but Alan insisted on traditional furnishings, sleeping on mats on the floor and eating off a coffee table.

Every day between 8:00 am and 2:00 pm, Alan met with his students -- 8 to 10 per hour, talking about current events and writing essays.  I went to Gold's Gym, then to my class in Japanese Literature or to the Joto Library to study Japanese.

At night we went cruising.  The West Hollywood condemnation of casual hookups didn't apply in Japan -- in fact, most gay men were closeted, with wives and girlfriends, and preferred hookups to dates.  Often they didn't even want to spend the night.

I concentrated on the gay bars -- Physique, Popeye, Kuro, Leibnitz -- clustered in the Doyama-Cho neighborhood.  Alan sometimes came to the bars, too, but mostly he hit the bath houses and sex clubs.

There wasn't actually much cruising in Japanese gay bars.  You didn't approach the guy you liked.  You asked the club owner or bartender to introduce you.  The few gaisen (Japanese guys who like foreigners) usually preferred older men, so I struck out a lot.

But Alan, who was infinitely attractive to all Asian guys, didn't.  He brought someone home almost every night.

In a tiny one-room apartment (216 square feet, about the size of a bedroom in the U.S.), the roommate gets to watch or join in by default.  Except for Minoru.

One night I was alone in the apartment, having struck out at the bars, when Alan came in with an Cute Young Thing -- in his 20s, short, slim, baby-faced.  Later I discovered that he was 19 years old, studying German at the University.

They were so busy kissing, groping, and ripping their clothes off that they didn't notice me until they were nearly naked.  Then Minoru froze.  Smiling with embarrassment, he whispered something in Alan's ear.

Alan turned to me.  "Boomer, this is Minoru.  He's very conservative, and he doesn't like to be watched.  Could you take a walk?"

"You're kidding!" I exclaimed. I had never been kicked of the apartment before.

"Just for an hour or so."

I roiled with anger, but, I wasn't actually paying rent, so what could I do?  I walked down to the street and mingled with the noisy partying salarymen for an hour.

When I returned, they were lying naked on Alan's mat.  Minoru quickly slid on his underwear.

"Is it ok to come in now?" I asked sarcastically.

"Sure.  We were just about to go to sleep."

I undressed, climbed onto my own mat, and switched off the light, but didn't doze off.

After a few minutes, Alan started to snore.  As if on cue, Minoru crawled over to my mat and started groping me.

"Hey, you're Alan's date!" I exclaimed, startled.

"Oh, he doesn't care."

"Wait..." I murmured.  "At least ask him."  I raised my voice a bit.  "Alan!  Do you mind if Minoru and I get together?"

"What?" He raised his head and glanced over sleepily at us.  "No, do what you want."

Minoru pulled my ear close and whispered "Tell him to go away.  I don't like it when someone watches."

See also: The Bed-Switching Freshman at the Chocolate Moose.