Lane's Bear Boyfriend and Infinite Chazz

West Hollywood, January 1995

Lane was a big fan of a gay comic that appeared weekly in Frontiers, about an assimilated couple: they lived in a straight neighborhood, had mostly straight friends, and had problems involving kids and in-laws.

"That's what life should be like," he said one night. "If the world wasn't so homophobic, we could move down to Anaheim, buy a house, and adopt a couple of kids, just like..."

"Just like our oppressors?"

"Just like straight people.  And look -- one of the guys is short, slim, and Jewish, and the other is tall, goy, and muscular, just like us!"

"Must be a sign," I said, busily channel surfing.

One Sunday night in January, we went to a book signing of gay cartoonists at the Different Light Bookstore.  Tim, who drew Lane's strip, looked nothing like his characters: he was about 40, and big, bigger than me everywhere:  6'8 to my 6'1, and about as wide as he was tall, with impossibly wide shoulders, thick heavy biceps, enormous hands and a big belly.  I swear if he lay down on a bed, he would take up the whole thing!

Add a thick black beard, leather chaps, and a leather vest festooned with silver skulls, and you have a cross between a heavy-metal rocker and a Hell's Angel.    No wonder there was no line at his table.

Lane rushed us over.  "I love your work!" he gushed.  "Does it reflect your real life?"

I expected a big, booming voice, but Tim was actually soft spoken.  "No, it reflects what I want life to be -- a 'normal' life, with a house, a job, a partner, and kids, where gay and straight don't matter."

Ugh!  I came to West Hollywood to escape the "house, job, wife, kids" cage!  I left Lane to gush some more and headed over to meet Donelan.

When we reunited, Lane didn't talk about Tim, but he was very energetic in the bedroom that night.  I was certain that he was fantasizing about Tim

Lane liked his men big, the bigger the better: tall, massive, muscular, fat.  I was much taller than him -- we looked like Mutt and Jeff walking down the street -- but I couldn't compete with Tim.

A few days later, I came home from work to find Lane and Tim sitting on the couch. Not kissing or fondling, but Tim was so big that he couldn't sit on a couch without pressing his leg and thigh against the guy next to him.

I was certain that they had been in the bedroom!

I roiled with jealousy.  We were allowed to see other guys, as long as we brought them home to "share" the bedroom activity. Sex without sharing was cheating.

"Having fun?" I sniped.

"We were just waiting for you to get home," Lane said with a guilty grin.  "We're going to go out to dinner."

Grumble, grumble.  Ok, I guess.

We piled into Lee's hatchback -- Tim was too big for the back seat, so I had to take it.  On the way to the restaurant in a straight neighborhood, we stopped at the 7-11 for something, and Tim almost slammed the door on me!

"Sorry -- I didn't know you were getting out of the car."

Yeah, right.

After dinner, we returned to the apartment, but Tim didn't come in for sharing.  He looked around to make sure no one was looking, then hugged us both at the same time and gave us each a wet, gross kiss.  I reached down to grope him and found Lane's hand already there.

That night Lane was less than enthusiastic in the bedroom.  Because he had already had some bedroom calisthenics earlier in the day?

About a week later, Lane announced: "Tim has invited us out to visit him in Temecula on Friday."

Temecula?   

A far, far southern suburb, about 1 1/2 hours away from West Hollywood, where Tim lived in the house he inherited from his parents, where he had three cats and belonged to a gardening club and saw his two daughters from a heterosexual marriage on weekends.

Ugh!  Sounds like what I moved to West Hollywood to escape.  Besides, I had a vested interested in keeping Lane as far away from his boyfriend as possible.  I was pretty sure that ten minutes after Tim said "Move in," Lane would have the U-Haul rented and the "Dear John" letter written.


"Driving all that way in Friday night traffic?  No, thanks!" I said.

"Well, how about if we leave here at 2:00, and get there at 3:30, before rush hour starts?"

What?  Lane knew that I worked at JobTech from 8 to 5 Monday - Friday!

"We can't make it.  I have a job, remember?"

"It's contract.  You can take the day off whenever you want."

"Sure, if I don't want to make any money that day."

Lane paused.  "Hey, do you mind if I drive over by myself?  I'll be back by 10:00 pm, I promise."

I glared at him.  "Sure, no problem."

As Friday neared, I became more and more apprehensive.  Lane would probably be spending the afternoon in bed with his boyfriend!  Plus he would be experiencing the sedate Straight World lifestyle of the comic strip.  Mowing the lawn, calling the plumber to fix the sink, planning the garden club picnic, bringing a casserole to the hetero couple next door, advising the daughter over her boy trouble.

Ugh!

In a year or two, they would be inviting me to visit them in Temecula, to meet the in-laws and the kids.  They would serve coffee and cake in the living room, with a picture window looking across to the neighbors' house across the street, where the kids were playing catch in the front yard....

Friday, February 4th

I went to work as usual, but couldn't concentrate, worrying about Lane dumping me to go suburban with the motorcycle bear Tim.  Finally I decided to drive out to Temecula and catch them in the act!

I claimed to not be feeling well and left at noon.  I didn't want to drive all the way down to Temecula myself, so I called Infinite Chazz, who was from Orange County and knew his way around the suburbs.

We met three years ago, when I was working at a camp for juvenile delinquents.  Now he was living with his parents and taking classes at Cal State Fullerton: 20 years old, slim with short brown hair, a long face, a tight smooth chest, and an impressive Bratwurst beneath the belt.

We called him Infinite Chazz because he was infinitely attractive, sure to cause jaw-dropping stares in every gay guy who came within five feet of his dazzling smile and even more dazzling bulge.  He visited every couple of weeks, to "share" and make the guys at the synagogue or MCC die of envy.

At 1:30, I picked up Chazz at his parents' house.  We stopped to grab lunch at a Carl's Junior, then and drove another hour to Temecula, arriving at 3:00, at just the right moment for Lane and Tim to begin their illicit bedroom activity.

Sure enough, Lane's car was parked in the driveway.  The upstairs window was open.  That must be where they were doing it!

We knocked.  Tim immediately came to the door.  Fully clothed.  "Um....hi?" he said quizzically.

Thinking fast, I said "Hi!  I decided to come out after all."

"Great!  Glad you could make it!  Lane's out in the garden."  He reached out his bear paw to Chazz.  "And this is...."

"My friend, Infinite Chazz."

"Well, come here, let's have hugs all around."  He wrapped us in his massive arms and gave us each a kiss.  I reached down to grope him, and found his hand on Chazz's basket.

That night the four of us hooked up.  Tim had a Mortadella+, beercan thick, with an enormous head.  I got to go down on him for a few minutes before Infinite Chazz took over.  Then he topped Chazz while kissing Lane.  Meanwhile Chazz went down on me.

Tim was quite energetic for a man-mountain.

Turns out that there was no illicit bedroom activity going on.  Tim drew bears in his comic strip, but in real life he liked smooth, slim twinks and Cute Young Things.  He liked Chazz.

See also: I Sneak Chazz into His Boyfriend's Bedroom; Leonard and Larry

The Surprise in Comic Book Guy's Bedroom

Wilton Manors, April 2004

I like lost souls: shy, uncertain, newly-out.  I like to draw them out of their shell, show them the sights and sounds of the gay community, find the jewel in the rough.

Of course, sometimes it backfires, like with the Ugly Guy Makeover.  And Comic Book Guy.

I met him through a mutual friend in April 2004, a couple of weeks after the Worst Date in Florida History.  He did not look like Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons -- he was in his 30s, a little taller than me, with an athletic build, a hairy chest, wavy red hair, and a beard that for some reason got shaved off between our first and second dates.

Definitely a lost soul -- cute, but with passions guaranteed to turn off the horniest Cute Young Thing at the Manor.

1. Family.  Comic Book Guy was an an actual Florida native -- he had parents, brothers, sisters, cousins, nephews, nieces, and a 100-year old grandmother, all within a 20-mile drive.  In fact, 50% of his conversation involved an upcoming birthday party, graduation, recital, play, or something for some relative.

2. The other 50% of his conversation involved comic books: sizes, shapes, fine vs. near fine, the penciling styles of obscure artists, plot inconsistencies, anachronisms, crossovers.

 I read a few comic book titles -- some Ducks, an occasional Archie -- but I hadn't paid attention to the Marvel and DC multiverses for years.  It was...complex.  Infinite Earths, the Death of Batman, the rebirth of the Silver Surfer, The Avengers, the Justice League, crossovers, reboots...my head was spinning.

 Naturally, I accepted his invitation to the premiere of The Punisher, although I had never heard of the character.

Date #1:  The Punisher, then Chinese take out and back to his apartment in Oakland Park.

Comic Book Guy showed me his collection of comic books and memorabilia, including the letter he received from Stan Lee of Marvel as a teenager, when he complained about a storyline with the Hulk being nearly raped by two flamboyant gay stereotypes.  The notoriously homophobic Lee laughed it off.

We sat on the couch and listened to music -- yes, they were torch songs -- and kissed and groped.

Then abruptly, Comic Book Guy stood.  "Well, it's late.  Thanks for a nice evening.  G'night."  He practically pushed me out the door.

I gaped in surprise.  In Florida, you always engaged in physical intimacies on the first date. Occasionally a guy might want to "take it slow," but that required an apology, an explanation, and no kissing and groping. 

So I chalked Comic Book Guy down as "not interested."  But he called me the next day and asked me out again.

"Maybe his lover is out of town," my housemate Barney told me.  "He's waiting for him to get back, so you can 'share.'"

"No -- he wouldn't be kissing and groping me if he was waiting for a lover to come back."

"Maybe he didn't clean his bedroom," Yuri suggested.

"Well-- maybe.  But the rest of his house was spotless."

Date #2:  Indian food, followed by dancing at the Manor, then back to his apartment for more torch songs.  More kissing and groping.  I started undressing Comic Book Guy on the couch, but he moved my hand away. "Well, it's late.  Thanks for a nice evening.  G'night."

Wait -- you definitely always had physical intimacies on the second date.  I couldn't even think of an excuse not to.

"All I can think of," Barney said, "Is that he's a pre-op transsexual who doesn't want you to know that he's still got a vagina." (The term transgender was not yet common.)

"Hmm -- wouldn't you discuss that before the first date?"

"You should, of course.  But sometimes people don't."

Date #3:  Looking at cute guys at the beach, followed by a visit to a comic book store, an antique shop to find a gift for his brother's birthday, and dinner at the Greek Islands Taverna.

"I met a transsexual guy the other day," I told Comic Book Guy.  "Born female.  He was taking hormones to lower his voice, but he still had his female sex organs.  Very nice guy, very hot."

"I don't get transsexuals," he said.  "I mean, it's ok if that's your thing, but I'm a man who's into men."

Ok, not transgender.  Then why was he keeping me out of his bedroom?

Back to his apartment to watch The X-Men on DVD.  More kissing and groping!

It was time to push the issue.

"I'm too tired to drive all the way home," I said.  "I'd better spend the night."

Comic Book Guy looked doubtful.  "Well...I can set you up on the couch."

"Come on -- this is our third date.  You definitely, always, absolutely get into the bedroom by the third date.  Isn't it about time?"

"Well--ok.  Let's go."

He took me into his bedroom.  It was spotless.  But the air conditioner was booming at full force.  It must have been 50 degrees.

"I like it cold to sleep," he explained.  Then he turned on a cd player full of torch songs.

"Cold and noisy?" I asked.

"I can't sleep without music playing."

"Great -- always a good idea to get depressed before you drift off to sleep."

Then he turned off all of the lights.  With his room heavily curtained, it was black.  I could see nothing at all.

I hate utter darkness!  It makes me think that I'm blind!

"Um..couldn't we have a night light? What if I need to go to the bathroom?"

"Oh, no, I can't sleep unless the room is completely dark!"

"This is definitely not going to work!", I thought.

I could hear him taking off his clothes in the darkness.  Then he was taking off my clothes.  I hugged him -- more for warmth than for affection -- and we fell onto the bed.  He drew a thin sheet over us.

"Would you please turn down the air conditioner?  I'm freezing!"

"No -- I can't sleep with it hot."


"Then turn off the music!  It's depressing!"

"No -- I can't sleep without it."

"Well, can you at least turn on a light so I can see you?"

"No -- I like the dark."

I might as well make the best of it.  Sighing, I pulled down his shorts and reached for..

Something tiny.  Microscopic.  The smallest I have ever seen -- or rather, felt.

That was our last date.

I feel bad: Comic Book Guy probably thinks I dropped him because his size was inadequate.

No, it was because of his cold, dark, noisy room.

But wait a minute -- he never called me back.

Maybe my size was inadequate for him!

See also: The One Time a Guy Has Criticized My Size; The Darkroom Bait and Switch.

Tintin Porn

Teenage reporter Tintin (here played by Jean-Pierre Talbot) and his foul-mouthed companion, Captain Haddock, appeared in 26 French comic albums (1930-1976), adventuring in such exotic locales as Egypt, Tibet,  America, and the Moon.  They have been translated into over 100 languages.  Although often derided as old-fashioned, as blandly heroic, Tintin is still popular among adults and children alike.

He comes from an era where children's adventure stories typically omitted hetero-romance, so there is none.  Neither Tintin nor Captain Haddock display the slightest heterosexual interest.  Instead, they live together, rescue each other, become jealous over the male competition, and walk side by side into the sunset, The gay subtexts are frequent.

And the fan re-imaginings.

Tintin rarely appeared shirtless in the original strips, and when he did, he had a non-descript cartoon physique.  So why not give him a chest?

Or make him and the Captain nude altogether?

I like how Tintin's pubic hair reflects his trademark wave, but his penis is rather small.  He's an adult, not a child.

 A muscular, bulging Tintin, and a Haddock with a shaved chest and a cock ring.

No nudity, but a nice chest for Tintin, and his relationship with Haddock is depicted as openly erotic.

A bit more explicit.  Notice that Tintin is wearing Haddock's captain hat.  I don't know why Haddock has blank Orphan Annie eyes.

A gag strip in which Tintin discovers Haddock's previous relationship with Popeye.  I don't care for absurdly oversized penises, but I like Tintin's chest hair, and the fact that he's about to top Haddock.  Older guys get very tired of always having to top the Cute Young Things.

See also: Tintin and Captain Haddock

Archie Andrews Naked

Want to see Archie naked?

Not K. J. Apa, who plays the teen-angst version of the venerable comic character on Riverdale.

The comic book character himself, an icon of our childhood, our preteen image of what being a teenager would be like.















During my childhood in the 1960s and 1970s, the  comics generally presented Archie with a nondescript physique, while lavishing attention on pinup models Betty and Veronica. 

But there were exceptions, and during the 1990s and 2000s, bodies by Michelangelo became the new normal in the Archie universe.

Fan artists on Deviantart.com and Rule 34 have obligingly produced some images of Archie naked. Usually he's having hetero sex, but there are a few with him alone.

Or with Jughead.

Sometimes they take panels from actual comic books, and add a penis.  That's the easiest method, but because the comic panels are quite small, the results are hard to see.  

And the physiques tend to be nondescript.

And the Archie of the comic books is usually depicted as 16 years old.  That means that nudity is ok, but arousal and sexual positions are illegal.

Better to draw your own, to give him a physique.

And make sure he's 18.

Bill and I Rebel Against "Discovering Girls"

Rock Island, July 1971

When I was a kid in the 1960s, my favorite comics were the Harveys (Casper, Richie Rich), followed by Gold Key jungle heroes (Tarzan, Korak, Brothers of the Spear), and then Archie, and maybe some Marvel and DC if I could get them.  Disney's Donald Duck was not as low on the list as Bugs Bunny, but it was down near the bottom.

The problem was that Donald led a double life.  I liked the stories where he was an adventurer, brave, resourceful and intelligent, setting out with his rich Uncle Scrooge to explore lost Atlantis, the Yucatan, Tibet, Antarctica, or the Seven Cities of Cibola, in plotlines as macho as Treasure Island, as passionate as Time Tunnel.  It was a man-only world, with no damsels in distress to be rescued and no girls waiting back home at the story’s end.

In fact, no one expressed any heterosexual interest at all, though the nephews sometimes swooned over male crooners and teen idols.  (During the 1990s, Don Rosa retconned the characters to give Uncle Scrooge a long-ago romance with dance-hall girl Glittering Goldie).

But in other stories, Donald transmutated like a zombie into a single father living in the town of Duckburg, where he was saddled with a series of dismal jobs: janitor, gas station attendant, door-to-door salesman, delivery boy. And  he had a girlfriend, Daisy Duck, who was constantly natting her disapproval of  every single one of his interests, hobbies, goals, and dreams (precisely like Poil's disapproval of Spooky's passion for scaring).

The two could not be more different. Donald exuded toughness and aggression, Daisy was dainty to the point of idiocy. Donald bellowed at baseball games, Daisy drank tea at the Tuesday Afternoon Ladies’ League. Donald puttered around in junkyards, Daisy puttered about in her petunia bed.







It was disgusting! Donald had not only abandoned his life of swashbuckling adventure, he could not even enjoy the simple pleasures of boxing matches and working on cars. Instead, he sat bored on a frilly white chair at the Bon Ton, while Daisy tried on hats. Why would he do it? If they shared no common interests whatsoever, why would he even want to hang out with her?

In "The Double Date," Daisy and Donald go on a double date with Clara Cluck and Rockhead Rooster.  Donald and Rockhead exhibit an instant, eye-bulging attraction to each other, and become so engrossed in discussions of cars and sports that they ignore the girls.  They even dance together at a party.  Daisy and Clara agree that "They shouldn't see each other again."

One rainy afternoon in the summer of 1971, when we were sitting on the floor in Bill's family room, reading comic books, I brought up my concerns.  "I don't get it.  Donald Duck has a lot more fun on his adventures with Uncle Scrooge, and he doesn't anything that Daisy likes.  Why does he hang out with her?  What's the big deal?”

Bill's older brother Mike happened to be passing through on his way out, wearing a raincoat and tossing his keychain in the air. He pulled the comic from my hands and leafed through it, murmuring “Hmm…very eenterest-ing,” like the Nazi spy on Laugh-In. Then he returned it with a grin. “Een mine professional opinion, Uncle Scrooge ees a boy, und Daisy Duck ees a girl.”

“So what?” I asked.

Mike in college

Mike  laughed, and reached down to tousle my hair. “So what!” he exclaimed in his normal voice. “Just wait ‘til you discover girls. Then you won’t ask ‘so what’? You’ll say ‘gimme her number!’”  And he was gone. I heard him repeat “so what!”, chortling to himself, as he clomped through the kitchen and out the back door.

Suddenly chilled, I scooted over to sit next to Bill, our backs against the couch.  He smiled, and we sat together, quietly.

Abandon the Seven Cities of Cibola to drink tea from fragile cups and discuss poetry! The idea was absurd!

See also: Heterosexualizing my Childhood Hero