Scott Baio's Hookup with His Cousin and the "Fantasy Island" Guy

Of all the gay rumors I heard about Scott Baio, the most outrageous was the alleged three-way he had with his cousin Jimmy Baio and older actor Ricardo Montalban.

I heard several different versions from several guys, but it all boils down to three basic plots:









Story 1:

It was 1977, and 17 year old Scott has just finished Blansky's Beauties, while 15 year old Jimmy had just finished with The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training.

Scott's father, a canny stage dad who knew his way around strategic casting couches, arranged an introduction to the dapper Mexican-born Ricardo Montalban, age 56, then filming the first episodes of the Saturday-night old-person's favorite Fantasy Island (1977-84).

Montalban had seen Jimmy in The Bad News Bears, and asked that he be included to "sweeten" the deal.

They met at a hotel in Hollywood.  My source went into detail about the sexual activity, but I won't repeat it here, since Scott and Jimmy were both underage.

Story #2

It was 1980, and Scott, age 20, was playing Fonzie's cousin Chachi on Happy Days, while Jimmy, age 18, was a bigger star, playing Billy Tate on Soap.  

59-year old Montalban, who was filming Fantasy Island at ABC's Burbank studio, was a fan of Soap, and sometimes came to watch rehearsals.  He and Jimmy, who was gay but closeted, soon began a romantic relationship.

When Scott heard about Montalban's proficiency in bed and enormous 10" penis, he begged Jimmy to let him watch.  Montalban agreed.

They met at Scott's house in Studio City.  After playing pool and drinking some wine coolers, they went into the bedroom, where Scott watched as Montalban and Jimmy kissed and fondled each other, then got undressed.

As Jimmy was going down on Montalban, he motioned for Scott to join them.  Scott eagerly got undressed.  His 6" was already aroused.

Montalban told them to kiss and rub their erections together, while he topped Scott.  But Scott couldn't take his penis, so Montalban changed his mind: he topped Jimmy while Scott was going down on him.

Then he ordered Scott to bring himself to orgasm while they watched.

The hookup was never repeated, and Jimmy and Montalban broke up a short time later.

Story #3:

It was 1984, and Scott, age 24, was starring in Charles in Charge, while Jimmy, age 22, was scrounging around for tv guest spots after the cancellation of Soap.

Jimmy often went to the cruising area in Griffith Park, and one day he saw the 63-year old Montalban there.  They had met several times, but neither knew the other was gay.

They went back to Montalban's house on Oriole Street in the Hollywood Hills and hooked up.

 Jimmy was an anal bottom, but this was during the AIDS crisis, so he confined himself to going down on Montalban's enormous penis, kissing, and interfemoral.

Montalban suggested BDSM activity in addition to vanilla sex.  Jimmy agreed, as long as his cousin Scott, who was well known as a BDSM bottom, came along.

They met at Montalban's house, which had a fully equipped BDSM dungeon.

Montalban forced them to strip and fondle each other.  Then he chained them together for light whipping and clothespins on their nipples and bellies.

Then Jimmy had to go down on Montalban while Scott remained fully aroused without touching himself.  If Scott lost his arousal, he would get spanked.

He got spanked.

Jimmy didn't like the BDSM scene, so it was never repeated.  He and Montalban broke up shortly thereafter.

Which Story is True?

Theoretically, all three: Scott has been the subject of many gay rumors, and Jimmy, who now lives in New York City and has never married, is probably gay.  Ricardo Montalban was a devout Catholic, married to his wife Georgina for over 60 years, with four children and no gay rumors that I can find.  But that doesn't mean he wasn't interested in occasional same-sex activity.

#1:  I find it very unlikely that the suave, sophisticated Montalban saw The Bad News Bears in Breaking Training.  And although I've heard about the casting-couch-pimping father before, Montalban seems an unlikely candidate: he had been in many minor movies and tv shows, but was not particularly famous, and was in no position to advance Scott's career.

#3: Scott has been the subject of BDSM rumors, and the details of Montalban's residence and penis size are accurate.  But Montalban was living with his wife and his youngest son Vic at the time.  It is unlikely that he had a BDSM dungeon in his basement.

#2: Sounds most realistic.  By 1980, Montalban knew Scott and Jimmy from their guest spot on a May 13, 1979 episode of Fantasy Island (Jimmy guest starred by himself on an October 31, 1981 episode).  A studio meeting makes more sense than a cruising area. If any of them is true (and they may all be pure fabrications), this one is.

See also: The Top 10 Rumors about Scott Baio; Scott Baio and the Hard Master.

20 Uncles, Cousins, and Nephews on My Sausage Sighting List

Many guys have told me that their first inklings of same-sex desire came when they saw a cousin or uncle naked.  Sometimes they even had their first sexual encounter with a relative.

It makes sense -- uncles and cousins live far away, so you don't see them often, and the "mystery" necessary for sexual desire is retained, but there's a familial intimacy that makes sausage sightings much more likely than with strangers.

Here are my top 20 family-member sausage sightings, gropes, and grabs.

My Family

Ken, my brother.  Lots of times.

Terry, my sister's husband.  A bit homophobic, but still, I got a glimpse in the locker room when we stripped down to work out together.














Dad's Family, the Davises

Cousin Joe.  My very first sausage sighting, when I was 7 1/2 years old and went to the bathroom late at night, to see my older cousin there, washing off in the sink.  I saw him again, fully aroused, in high school.

Cousin George.  From South Carolina, exactly my age.  When I went to visit him at age 10, we took a bath together, and slept in the same bed, naked: "only fools wear pajamas."

Uncle George.  His father.  When we went swimming, we all changed clothes in the same room, and I got a good view of his cut Mortadella+ hanging down.







Cousin Phil.  One Thanksgiving evening my brother and I had to share a room with my older cousin.  I got not only a sausage sighting, but a sausage grope and fondle.

Cousin Donnie.  Actually my third or fourth cousin, from Canada.  Grandma Davis brought us out to visit one summer.  I got a good view in a bathhouse at the beach.















Mom's Family, the Praters

Uncle Paul, my mother's youngest brother.  He taught me how to pee "against the wind," and of course had to pull it out to demonstrate.  But I'm sure that the Naked Man in the Peat Bog was one of his friend.

Cousin Graydon, his son.  When he was grown up, I tried to get a sausage sighting, but didn't make it.  But my boyfriend Troy got one.

Uncle Edd.  When I was ten years old, Cousin Buster and I spied on him in the outhouse, hoping to get a glimpse of his "gun."  I saw something else instead.

Cousin Buster.  We spent a lot of time together, so I got several sausage sightings, including one when he was fully aroused.

My Kentucky Cousins.   The summer when I was twelve years old, we went down to Kentucky to visit my Uncle Ell and his family.  My three boy cousins and their two friends and I went skinny dipping in the creek.  Lots of butts.

Uncle Ell.  They didn't have running water in Kentucky, so they took baths by heating water on the stove and pouring it in a bathtub.  Uncle Ell went first.








My Indian Relatives

There was a complicated story that I didn't figure out until I was an adult.  As a kid all I knew was that we sometimes visited Grandma Rani in the Potawatomie Nation.

Cousin Javon.  Grandma Rani's grandson, so my cousin.  During an "enemy interrogation" game, I pulled down his pants and got a sausage grope.

Uncle Clyde.  I had to go to the bathroom while he was taking a shower.  He invited me to come in anyway. A glimpse of his massive penis through the opaque curtain.

My Kentucky Kinfolk

Eastern Kentucky, Summer 1973

My mother was born in the hills of eastern Kentucky, and moved to Indiana as a child.  She always felt like an exile; the hills were her true home.  So she was a big fan of all things Southern, from hayseed comedies to Glen Campbell

We drove down in a camper in the summer of 1973, about a month after I saw two boys kissing at Longview Park Pool, to visit her older brothers, uncles and aunts, and sundry kinfolk left behind in the hills.

My Uncle El lived in a cabin like that in the Beverly Hillbillies, with electricity from a generator outside, and tv, but no running water.  There was an outhouse back by the chicken coop.

There was no town, just a feed store a mile away, where you could get ice cream and candy, if you didn't mind eating it beside giant bags of fertilizer.

No books of any sort.  Not even comic books.  I saw a Bible in a great-aunt's house.

No teen idols -- even the teenagers listened only to Country-Western music.

They only got one tv station, from West Virginia, with The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family on Friday nights, but otherwise nothing good on.

But:  Uncle El and his wife had something around 12 kids, with three teenage sons and some toddlers still at home. My cousins (El, Graydon, and Dayton, who I met for the first time at Uncle Paul's wedding) had tight, muscular chests and thick biceps, and wore only overalls or cut-off jeans.

At night, since water had to be trotted up from a pump outside, we had to bathe together.  And we slept three to a bed, wearing only underwear, pressed together in the night.

They had two friends, Robbie and Sam -- I never knew if they were brothers, cousins, or lovers -- who drove us in a rickety red pick-up truck up the mountain to a stream where we all went swimming.  Nude.

Not one of them ever mentioned a girl, or asked me about what girl I liked.

One night they drove us into Salyersville, about 10 miles away, for a drive in movie: Cahill, U.S. Marshall, starring John Wayne as a sheriff whose two sons escape from prison and rob a bank. Later the Duke and Danny (Gary Grimes) try to return the money.  They were father and son, but the erotic tension between them was palpable, especially on a hot night in the hills, sitting in the back of a pickup truck with a group of tanned, shirtless musclemen.

I know now that Eastern Kentucky is one of the least gay-friendly regions in the U.S.

But in 1973, I wanted to stay forever.

Instead, we spent a week at Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

See also: The Shy Boy at the Bathhouse; and My Grandpa Howard's Gay Connection

Troy's Sausage Sighting of My Cousin Graydon

Lots of gay men have told me that their first sexual experience came with cousins: mutual j/o in the bathtub, oral behind the barn, anal during a sleepover.

Not me.  My cousins all lived hundreds of miles away, so we didn't get a lot of contact, at best two visits per year, at Christmas and in the summer.

Still, during my childhood, I accidentally got four sausage sightings and one grope: Joe, Phil, George, and Buster, four of my six boy cousins (not counting the ones from Kentucky).

Leaving Ed, 12 years older than me, and Graydon, 14 years younger (born in 1975, the only son of my Uncle Gus and Aunt Lynn).

When I moved to West Hollywood in 1985, Cousin Graydon was still prepubescent, so there wouldn't have been much of a point to a sausage sighting.

But as he grew up, for some reason he bonded with my parents and sister, and after they moved to Indianapolis, he often drove down to visit, whether he was living in Auburn, Warsaw, Fort Wayne, or Grand Ile, Michigan.  Our paths crossed during several Christmas and summer holidays.

The young adult Graydon was tall and beefy -- he worked in construction, which gave him a presentable physique.  A bright, open face and a shock of dirty-blond hair.  Very cute.  A very visible bulge on the right side of his jeans.

I wanted a sausage sighting.

But whenever we visited Mom and Dad at the same time, I got the spare bedroom, and  Cousin Graydon took the fold-out couch in the study (later the home gym/sauna).

So no covers kicked off the bed.  No morning wood.

No "accidentally" running into him during a late-night bathroom visit.

When I suggested that we go jogging, Cousin Graydon went in there to strip down and change clothes.

This was getting frustrating.  How hard should it be to get a sausage sighting of your kid cousin, when he's sleeping in the room right next to you?













Indianapolis, December 24th, 2010

My boyfriend Troy and I have driven out to Indianapolis from Upstate New York.  We arrive bearing presents for my parents, my brother and sister, my nephew, and...sure enough, Cousin Graydon.

36 years old, unmarried but heterosexual, still working in construction.

Bearded, with a tattoo on his bicep, but still buffed.  Still with a very visible bulge on the right side of his jeans.

One of the dogs leaps onto his lap and accidentally lands on his bulge.  He grimaces and runs his hand over it.

I really want a sausage sighting.

So this year I go all out.

 His Christmas present is a retro Hawaiian swimsuit, so I can watch him change "to make sure it fits."

He changes in the bathroom.

Well, at least I get a bulge sighting.

That night I try to stay awake, waiting for a late-night trip to the bathroom, a half-opened door, and an "accidental" sausage sighting.  Eventually I fall asleep.



December 25th

We always open our presents on Christmas Eve, so there's nothing to do on Christmas Day but have dinner.  

In the afternoon, Troy and I work out in the home gym, and then hit the sauna.  Cousin Graydon joins us -- in his underwear!

It's a small home sauna, very cramped with three people.  I can see his bulge very clearly.

But that's not a sausage sighting!

"You know what they do in Finland after a sauna?"  I tell him.  "They take off their clothes and run around naked in the snow."

"No way I would do that!"  Graydon exclaims.

It's no longer about the sausage sighting.  It's the principle.  I've seen four of my six male cousins naked without even trying.   Why is this one such a pain?

Later I "accidentally" leave a book in the home gym, so I can go to retrieve it when Graydon is already in bed.

No sausage sighting.

This is getting urgent.  Graydon is going back to Michigan tomorrow!

Again I stay awake into the night, waiting for a bathroom visit.

No bathroom visit.  Eventually I fall asleep.

December 26th.

After breakfast, Graydon leaves for Michigan, and my parents go to church.  Troy and I say that we're going to hang around the house, playing with the dogs and working on our laptops.

The moment we're alone, Troy takes my hand.  "Guess what?  I accomplished something that you've been trying to do for years.  All it took was a little luck."

I listen with increasing consternation.

In the middle of the night, Troy woke up with indigestion, and went into the kitchen to look for some Alka-Seltzer.  Graydon was there, standing over the sink eating a turkey sandwich, while the dogs looked on, begging.

One of the dogs thought that the tassel on Graydon's bathrobe was a toy, and started tugging on it.  The bathrobe fell open.  

Troy couldn't help staring.    

Graydon quickly wrapped up again.  "This never happened," he said with a grin.

"So, how was it?" I ask dismally.

"Fantastic!  Cut Kielbasa.  Low-hanging balls.  You should have been there!"

Well, there's always next year.

See also: Sausage Sighting of My Cousin Buster; My Uncle Gus's Wiener

Nude Wrestling in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin

Rock Island, July 2017

Bob and I are on a road trip from the Plains to New York. We spent the night in Rock Island, Illinois, my home town.  Now we're having egg white omelets and fruit cups at the Quad Cities Pancake House.

"So, what's on the schedule for today?"  Bob asks.

"Chicago, about three hours from here.  We'll hit a couple of the museums, spend the night, and then drive on to Cleveland tomorrow."

"Would you mind if we take a little side-trip first?  I have a cousin I haven't seen since we were kids.  It's a couple of hours out of the way."

"Where?"

"Fond du Lac, Wisconsin."

4 hours out of the way!  But this is Bob's trip, too, so he should have a say in the itinerary.  Besides,  I have a history with Fond du Lac.


During my senior year in high school, although I was still Nazarene, I became obsessed with all things Catholic.  I read The Seven Story Mountain and The Dark Night of the Soul, learned to say the Rosary, and even went incognito into a Catholic Mass. I didn't actually convert, but I was considering it.

 And I considered applying to Marion College in Fond du Lac, Wisconsin.

Dad even drove me up for a tour.  I remember a vast snow-covered campus with round white buildings, pristine, pure, as quiet as a cloister.

You could feel the presence of God everywhere.

I imagined living in an austere dorm room, all white, empty except for a bed with white covers, some statues of saints, and a shelf of contemplative classics: the Little Flowers of St. Francis,  The Cloud of Unknowing.  Of walking among buildings of brilliant white other-worldly splendor every day, en route to my classes in medieval philosophy, Catholic theology, Ecclesiastical Latin, and Koine Greek.


Saying the rosary, walking the Stations of the Cross, going to Novenas, blessing myself with holy water before daily Mass.


Spending every day in communion with the Divine.

I decided to go to Augustana instead, but ever since, Fond du Lac has remained entrenched in my mind as a place of peace and serenity, as close as you can get to heaven in this life.

"Could we go to a Catholic Mass while we're there?" I ask.

Bob blinks.  "Well, it's Wednesday, and I'm not Catholic, but...ok, if you want.  I'll text my cousin."

On the four hour drive to Fond du Lac, Bob tells me more about Cousin Tark (short for Tarkington).  He's older than Bob, a big brother who used to babysit him and sneak him into R-rated movies, until he went away to college in Wisconsin, and then got a job in Fond du Lac.

"Was he cute?" I ask.

Not an athlete, but big and tall, with a thick beefy chest and nice biceps.

"Any sausage sightings?"

"Man, we used to wrestle in the nude.  I remember it getting hard once!  Really big -- and thick!  Man, that thing was like a beer can!"

 A beer-can penis somehow seems out of place in a world of quiet contemplation.  Surely trivial matters like sex fade away when you are in the presence of the Divine.

Fond du Lac, Wisconsin

We arrive in Fond du Lac at around 2:00 pm.  Tark doesn't get off work until 5:00 pm, so we go to Lakeside Park and walk along the lake.

I try to imagine how different my life would have been if I had gone to Marian, and stayed in Wisconsin, instead of going to Augustana, then Indiana University, and then West Hollywood.  Would I have been to 10,000 daily masses by now?  Said the rosary 20,000 times?  Spent my life in quiet contemplation of the Divine?

Next we go to St. Paul's Cathedral.  No Mass is going on, but I bless myself with holy water and light a candle in front of a statue of the Blessed Virgin, while Bob texts on his cell phone.

Then Marian College itself, which is a disappointment: an Erbert and Gerbert's sandwich shop in the student union, a jazz concert coming up on Friday, a sports team called the Dockspiders, and "A Beginner's Guide to Star Wars" in the student newspaper.  Hardly contemplative or otherworldly!

At 5:30 we go to Joe's Fox Hut, a rather scary dive bar next to the army induction center, with a Schlitz Beer sign out front.

The server takes us into a dark, dismal room with country-western music blaring, and hands us menus: pizza! corn dogs!  garlic bread!

Nothing healthy on the menu.  Even the chicken breast comes with french fries and cole slaw.

Suddenly a very tall, chubby guy with short hair and a reddish-brown beard sneaks up behind Bob, motions for me to keep quiet, and grabs him.  Bob yells.

"Gotcha!"

Bob hugs him.  "Hi, Cousin Dweeb. This is my boyfriend, Boomer."

Tark slides into the booth next to me and shakes my hand.

"Cousin Dork, you're all grown up -- sort of.  You're still scrawny -- and dating your professor!  How did you pull that off?"  He nudges me.  "I'll bet the little guy gets all A's, huh?"


"He's not actually in any of my classes."

"Well, there's always next semester."

He orders a sausage-mushroom pizza with mini corn dogs on the side, and tells us about his job as an auto detailer.

"It's great -- they bring the cars right to my house, and I do the work in my driveway.  No overhead.  Sure beats working in a stuffy office all day -- or teaching a bunch of whiny brats."

"True," I say.  "But some of those whiny brats are cute."

"I heard that.  Man, if I was a professor, I'd be inviting every gal in sight for some extra tutoring in my office.  Maybe a little oral exam, huh?"

I don't like him.  In a world of quiet contemplation, all he can think of are corn dogs and oral sex.

Eventually his girlfriend Diane joins us: a music professor at Marian specializing in jazz history.

Jazz?  Not Gregorian chants?  

We go to a place called the Backstage Bar and Grille to drink beer (soda for me and Bob) and listen to live music, more pop than jazz.  Loud!

Then we go back to Diane and Tark's house to drink more beer, listen to more music -- loud! -- and play with their dogs and cat,.  Finally it's time for bed: they put us up in an upstairs bedroom with race car posters and stuffed animals.

Bob and I strip down.  "They seem nice," I say.

"Yeah.  He hasn't changed.  A little fatter, but still like a big brother."

We start kissing and fondling.  Bob pushes me down onto the bed.

I look up to see Tark.  Grinning, naked.

He motions me to keep silent.  Bob is kissing my chest.  Suddenly Tark grabs him from behind.

"Nude wrestling!" he yells, dragging a giggling Bob to the floor.  "Rowdy Roddy Piper versus the Dynamic Dork!"

No, we didn't "share."   But I did get a sausage sighting of his beer-can penis.

Yes, that makes up for the absence of quiet contemplation in Fond du Lac.