Comic Books and Cocks at the Furniture Store

This story moved to RG Beefcake and Boyfriends.

Comic Book Guy's Date with Porn Star Jeff Stryker

West Hollywood, November 18,  1987

It's the day before my 27th birthday, a Wednesday, about 11:00 pm.  I have spent the last hour and a half cruising at Mugi, the gay Asian bar in Hollywood.

In West Hollywood in the 1980s, in the first years of the AIDS epidemic, you don't go to the bars looking for someone for that night -- only sleazoids and druggies go home with someone they picked up right then.  You talk, maybe kiss and grope a bit, and make a date for a few days later.

Which presents a problem:  After two hours of looking at hot guys, and probably kissing and groping more than one of them, you're revved up, full of energy, excited, horny, and rather lonely.

I've been striking out, which makes the horniness and loneliness worse.  I'm tempted to go to the Gold Coast, the sleaze bar on Santa Monica and La Jolla, and pick up a sleazoid, someone I don't even find attractive.

Instead I use my usual plan for assuaging the horny/loneliness: I go back to my childhood, when I used to buy comic books at Schneider's Drug Store.

Book Circus, on La Jolla across the street from the Gold Coast, sells mostly gay porn, but there's an eclectic selection of used books -- I've bought 19th Century Russian Literature, the Bhagavad-Gita, and The Fleischer Story (about the studio that produced Betty Boop and Popeye Cartoons).  Plus general interest magazines like Time and Newsweek, and comic books.


It's mostly empty at this hour: I see a sleazoid who struck out at the Gold Coast recharging his engine with a copy of Advocate Men; an elderly bespectacled queen browsing in the used books; a couple of street kids or hustlers, hard to say which, wandering aimlessly about without looking at anything.

The night manager  looks up from his half-eaten hamburger and french fries and glares at me.  His name is Jacob, but I'm going to call him Comic Book Guy, after the character on The Simpsons, because now I can't see or hear him in any other way: in his 40s, dark beard, fat, with chubby hands and a gigantic belly, always dressed in a tank top and shorts, even in the winter, nasal sarcastic voice, elitist disdain of anything you decide to buy.

Oddly enough, Comic Book Guy is not without friends.  He usually has two or three guys hanging out by his counter, Sometimes they sneak him over gin-and-tonics from the Gold Coast, in spite of the "No Food or Beverages" sign.

Sometimes they go back through the "Employees Only" door with him.  To do what, I can only guess.

The comic book section is well-stocked with non-DC and Marvel titles.  Gladstone reprints of classic Uncle Scrooge stories from the 1950s.  The perennial teen beefcake of Archie.

It's like I'm back in Rock Island, browsing at Schneider's Drug Store, like I'm warm and safe in my attic room, while Mom and Dad watch tv downstairs, and there's leftover Harris pizza waiting for me in the refrigerator.

I choose two Ducks and two Archies, plus an Advocate and the porn magazine Inches, brace myself for Comic Book Guy's  sarcasm, and head for the checkout counter.

Sure enough, he wipes his hands on a napkin and announces  my titles, loudly: "An infantile news magazine...a magazine for men who have struck out at the bars to beat off to...two infantile picture-books about talking ducks...and Archie comics!  I take that back...you plan to beat off to Reggie Mantle!"

Everyone is looking.  I redden with embarrassment.

"Give me a break!" I exclaim.  "Lots of guys read comic books."

"Do you have someone at home to sound out the big words for you?" Comic Book Guy says with a sneer.

I pull out my wallet and try to hand him a bill.  "Just can the sarcasm and ring me up."

"I'm sorry, the kiddie lit is only for sale until 10:00 pm.  If you would care to return in the morning..."

"That's not a rule, and you know it!"

He smiles and looks blatantly down at my crotch.  "Or I could give you the books tomorrow at 6:00 pm sharp, when you arrive here to take me out to dinner."

Weird way to ask a guy out!  "I'm sorry, tomorrow is my birthday.  I'm having a party...."

Comic Book Guy grins.  "I would be delighted to be your date at your birthday soiree!  Pick me up here at 6:00 pm. sharp."

I'm tired, horny, lonely, and dazed.  Almost by rote, I say "Sure, that will be great."

  He takes my money, counts out my change,, and bags my books so quickly that I'm not sure what happened. "Don't beat off to Reggie too much tonight.  You'll need your strength."

November 19, 1987

I spend the next day going to USC, the gym, and Muscle and Fitness, and agonizing.  I don't find Comic Book Guy attractive -- he's too old, too fat, and too sarcastic for me -- plus you never invite someone on a first date to your birthday party -- plus the other party guests will be West Hollywood gym rats who won't accept a sarcastic chub.

But I didn't get his number, so I can't call and cancel.  Just not showing up would be rude...and I wouldn't be able to go into Book Circus again...

I end up telling Marcus, who is hosting the party, to expect one more, then driving out to Book Circus to pick up Comic Book Guy.  He's wearing a different tank top and shorts.  He pulls me into a wet kiss, then puts a flabby arm around my shoulders and escorts me to my car.

"I'll take the back seat -- do you mind?  It's hard for me to fit into the passenger side.  Besides, we need room in the front seat"

"You're bringing a guest?" I ask, fuming.  My date has a date?

"We have to pick up your present.  Sorry I didn't have time to wrap it.  Here's the address."

Grudgingly I drive us to an apartment in Westwood.

"We're going to be late," I growl.  "What's the big..."

"Patience, young grasshopper."  Comic Book Guy gets out of the car and goes inside.  About ten minutes pass, while I stare at my watch and wonder if I should just leave him there.  Finally he emerges with my present.

Jeff Stryker, the most famous gay porn star of the 1980s.

Apparently he often did personal appearances at Book Circus, and he and Comic Book Guy became friends.

I don't get to go down on Stryker: he wins the "who can get aroused fastest" contest, but refuses his prize,  -- ten minutes in the bedroom with me.  He sends Jacob instead.

 Jacob turns out to be good at kissing, cuddling, and oral, with a presentable 6" penis.  And a lot of porn star friends.

No, we don't date again.

See also: Nude Photos of Jeff Stryker

Why Is a Comic Book Store Like a Gay Bar?

Rock Island, July 1976

Remember the Summer of 1976?

Bicentennial celebrations in every city.

Movies: Silent Movie, Murder by Death, The Omen

TV: Welcome Back Kotter, Barney Miller, Bob Newhart, 

Music: "Afternoon Delight," "You Should Be Dancing," "Shake Your Booty"

Books: The Heritage of Hastur, A Midsummer Tempest, Interview with the Vampire

And this issue of Uncle Scrooge, with Scrooge and company traveling to Unsteadystan in search of "The Treasure of Marco Polo."

But it was impossible to get in Rock Island.  The price of new comics had gone up from 15 to 30 cents in just two years, and would double again by 1979.  Schneider's Drug Store and Readmore Book World no longer stocked them.

If you managed to get a ride to the Mall, you could find a few scattered titles at the Waldenbooks, but  nothing reliable - and you had to listen to a clerk's snarky "Going to do a little heavy reading tonight?"

Then I heard through the grapevine that a store specializing in comic books, the Comics Cave, had opened on 19th Avenue in Moline, about a mile from my house.

An easy summer walk.

I didn't have any friends who were still into comic books, so one Thursday afternoon in August, I walked down by myself: 20th Avenue to 46th Street, up to 19th Avenue, across the border into Moline, past the A&W, the Eagle Supermarket, the Belgian Village where we often stopped for Vander Reubens, and finally to the Comics Cave.

A storefront with rows of old and new comics in boxes, and new issues in a display rack.  Mostly Marvel and DC, but a whole section of "Kid's Comics," with Archie, Harvey, and all the Gold Key titles.

Plus a box of discards, including a lot of Four-Color Dell titles from the 1950s.

I was in heaven!

I brought a pile of comics, enough to clean out my allowance, up to the counter.

Moment of truth: would the clerk let me buy Archie, Harvey, and Gold Key comics without ridicule?

Yep -- no jabs, no digs, no "got some heavy reading to do tonight?"

I became a regular, stopping in at least once a week, usually on Thursdays when the new issues came out, through high school and college.

And not only for the comics: for the beefcake.  

Chad, the owner, wasn't really attractive, a little chunky, with a sharp face, an intolerably big nose, and a red beard. But the customers were exclusively male.  A scattering of little kids and adults, but mostly high school and college-age boys.

A science major in tight jeans leafing through back issues of The X-Men.

A skittish football player picking up the latest issue of Superman.

Two tall, thin, androgynous guys, obviously boyfriends, making plans to go to the Chicago Comic-Con and meet Stan Lee.

Chad and a cute redhead discussing whether the new Captain America tv series lived up to the comic book.

No discussions of girlfriends, no interrogations about which actress you would like in your bed, no "isn't that woman hot?"

A roomful of guys looking at, thinking about, and talking about muscular men.

It was like a gay bar, without the hookups.

No wonder I went back week after week.

A Boy With Daddy Issues Rips My Clothes Off

Plains, May 2015

Ever since I wimped out on Raphael, the Gay Psychic Angel, who was perfect in every way except that his arms didn't work, I have felt guilty.  I should have called -- I would have called -- except I kept imagining becoming his boyfriend, and being responsible for helping him eat and dress and use the bathroom -- how shallow!

So I decided that if I ever had such an opportunity again, I would go for it without hesitation.

The opportunity came in, of all places, a comic book store on the Plains.

I always feel out of place amid the fanboys and fantasy gamers, self-conscious about my age more than anything, so I rush in, get what I need, and rush out again.  But on that Saturday afternoon in May 2015, there were two guys standing in front of the New Arrival rack.

One was a hefty, bearded bear in his 40s.  He was picking up titles and showing them to his friend, who was small, slim, in his 20s.

And had cerebral palsy.

Back in college, I dated Jimmy, the Bodybuilder on Crutches, but his cerebral palsy resulted only in some stiffness, so he had to use crutches to get around, and some motor actions were difficult.

This guy had spastic movements (uncontrollable spasms in his arms), spasticity in his hands (they bent back), and gait disturbance (one leg dragged behind).

He turned and smiled at me. "We're almost done."

Slurred speech, too.

"Oh, don't worry.  Take your time."

He continued to smile.  The cruise was unmistakable.

I should say something else.  "Um...I heard that IDW is coming out with a new Donald Duck title.  Funny how Disney titles never last."

"Well, you know fanboys are fickle. My name is Andy."

"Boomer.  Pleased to meet you."

He swung his body to stretch out his curled, curved hand.  I took it and squeezed.  For some reason, I was surprised that it was warm.


By now his friend was staring at me suspiciously.  "This is my warden," Andy said in his slurred speech. "His job is to make sure I never have any fun."

"Roy -- Andy's Dad,"  he grunted.  "The one with the car."

Ok, I was being cruised by a guy who was thirty years younger than me, with spastic movements that kind of freaked me out, in a comic book store, in front of his father.

Time to seal the deal!

"Have you had lunch yet?  There's a pretty good Chinese place down the street that I like."

"We're going for pizza," Andy countered.  "You should come."

Roy grunted disapprovingly.  In retrospect, it must have seemed odd to watch his son pick up a strange guy twice his age.  Or did Andy do this all the time?

We had barbecue chicken pizza and garlic knots, while Andy's "spastic movements" kept rubbing his leg against mine.  I couldn't tell if Roy knew that his son was cruising me,  but it was obvious that he kept strict control over Andy's friends.  You had to prove yourself.

Turns out that Andy and I didn't have a lot in common.  He liked sports -- especially baseball -- and zombie movies and tv programs like The Walking Dead.

And he lacked most of the traits that I find attractive -- he was shorter than me, but slim, pale-skinned, and not religious.  I didn't get a chance to check on his beneath-the-belt gifts.

I was tempted to let the relationship slide,but then I thought of the Psychic Angel.  No way -- we were going forward, as far as Andy wanted!

Apparently I proved myself to Roy, as I got permission to solo with Andy the next day: a baseball game -- yawn -- then back to my apartment to kiss on the couch.

"I always liked older guys," Andy whispered, groping me with his curved hand.  "You're always so big!"

"It doesn't really get bigger as you get older."

"Ok, I guess I have Daddy issues, then."

"Well, your father is rather hot."

"Oh, I fantasize about him sometimes -- is that sick?  I want to tie him up and spank him.  You know, be the one in charge."

I could see where this was heading! "Sorry, I'm not really into that."  Andy probably couldn't tie ropes well, anyway.

"Ok, so...maybe I could like just tear your clothes off before we do it?  That would be erotic."

"Um...sure, I guess."

I put on an old t-shirt and jeans, and we went into the bedroom.  But old clothes are quite tough, apparently, and Andy's spastic hand movements couldn't get them to rip. I had to start the process with scissors.

The erotic activity that followed was a little disappointing.  Andy had a Bratwurst, very thick, with a foreskin that wouldn't retract -- but he was only into backside activity -- and a top.

I let him top me, but he worked so fast that I barely noticed.

Then I drove him home.

"This was fun," he said.  "Sometime you should meet my boyfriend.  He'd like you, too."

Boyfriend?  Wait -- I thought that Andy was a lonely shut-in who never got asked out, that I was doing him a favor by dating him.  "Is he an older guy?"

"Oh, no, he's in college.  All the college boys want to date me, but hardly ever anyone older.  But  older guys are fun -- they're always so grateful!   Well, bye!"

Wait -- was Andy doing me a favor?

See also Gay Psychic Angel; Cruised by my Mentally Disabled Neighbor