Showing posts with label father-son. Show all posts
Showing posts with label father-son. Show all posts

Saturday, July 30, 2022

"On Your Knees, Boy": Johnny Sheffield Almost Becomes Tarzan's Lover

Born in 1931, son of stage star Reginald Sheffield and socialite Louise Van Loon, Johnny Sheffield was already a star at age five, playing "Pud" in the Broadway play On Borrowed Time.

In 1938, MGM movie Tarzan Johnny Weissmuller picked him out of 300 hopefuls to play his adopted son, Tarzan Jr., renamed Boy, in Tarzan Finds a Son!  He kept the role going for eight movies at MGM and RKO.

As the years passed, Boy co-opted Jane's role as Damsel in Distress: in the climactic scene of every movie, he was tied to something and about to be killed or violated while Tarzan rushed to the rescue.  Tarzan and Boy became the chief jungle couple, while Jane took to staying home in the Escarpment, or leaving altogether ("visiting America").

Big John and Little John were inseparable off-camera, too.  Weissmuller was married to Beryl Scott at the time and having innumerable affairs with men and women, but it was Johnny Sheffield who appeared with him at the Brown Derby and the Trocadero, at movie premieres, on drives up the coast to Malibu.  When Johnny was fifteen, Weissmuller bought them a house on the beach near Santa Barbara, where they could get away for weekends of swimming, fishing, and sunbathing, just the two of them.

In the 1940s, no tongues wagged about the "couple."  Many people were not aware that LGBT people  existed, and those who did thought only of swishy queens. Johnny Weissmuller was 6'4" and all muscle, a "real he-man."  No way he could be a "swish."

And, in fact, there was nothing sexual going on:  Weissmuller never touched Johnny in that way. 

Even as a teenager, when he developed a beautifully muscled physique and a dazzling matinee idol smile.

Even when the Tarzan series ended and they separated, Big John to play Jungle Jim (1948-1955) and Johnny to star in his own Bomba the Jungle Boy series (1949-1955), Big John still treated him as a little brother, a son.

Johnny found this odd -- since around his 15th birthday, every single person he met, man or woman, boy or girl, without exception, wanted to peek under his loincloth.  And he gave quite a few of them the opportunity: Tommy Cook, his costar in Tarzan and the Leopard Woman; Peggy Ann Garner, his costar in Bomba the Jungle Boy; Cesar Romero, Bobby Driscoll, Jean Simmons.  Why was Weissmuller immune to his trademark flirting?

He was especially interested because he had heard from several of Big John's former lovers that he was gifted with the biggest cock in Hollywood, a veritable third leg.  Johnny was always a bit self-conscious about his size (barely 5"), and anxious to see what the cock of a Greek god looked like.

One day in the summer of 1953, they went swimming, and Big John, as usual, carefully turned his back to put on his swimsuit.  Johnny had had enough. "Why don't you ever show me your manhood?"  he asked.  "You'll show any stranger on the street.  You're more proud of it than your Olympic medals.  Aren't I important enough to rate?"

Big John turned around, startled.  "Of course you are," he said.  "But you know, it's not just a look.  When I show them, they always want to touch it, and then they want me to go to bed with them, and I don't want you to end up in my bed.  You're my son, my Boy, not some random fairy."

Johnny chuckled.  "I promise I won't go to bed with you.  Lord knows I get enough offers as it is."

Big John still refused, but Johnny persisted, and cajoled, and flashed his trademark flirting smile, and finally he said "You're a little pain in the neck, you know that?  One look, fine, but no touching"

They went back to the house, to the master bedroom, and Big John dropped his swimsuit. Johnny stared: his penis hung down about 4", long and thick even when dripping wet from the ocean. His balls hung down even farther.  Johnny always thought that the key to a man's erotic power was in the size of his balls, not his dick.

Johnny couldn't help himself -- he reached out and lightly cupped Big John's balls.  His own penis started to stir.

Big John had a weird expression on his face, stern like a schoolmaster facing a class of dullards.  "On your knees, Boy!" he commanded.

Johnny didn't know if he meant "Boy" the character, but he obediently dropped to his knees and put his hands around the hardening cock. Now it was at least 9"!

"No, Boy, with your mouth."

Johnny had gotten head a lot, but he had never given head.  That was just for women  -- and queers, like Cesar Romero, right?  But this was Big John asking -- no, commanding!

He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and Big John's cock became hard as an iron rod, thrusting past his tongue, hitting the back of his throat. Johnny gagged and spit, grabbed Big John's butt cheeks to steady himself, and prepared for the onslaught.

Johnny was too busy trying to do a good job to find it erotic.  What was he supposed to do with his teeth?   Was he supposed to use his neck and jaw, or wait for Big John to enter him?  What would he do with the sperm?

And suddenly the thought hit him with the force of a gigantic penis.  Would he and Big John now be...um...boyfriends?  A pair of queer lovers?  Would Big John leave his wife?  How could either of them continue their careers as queers?  Billy Haines had to retire...and...

Suddenly Big John spurted down his throat.   Johnny ran to the bathroom to spit it out and wash out his mouth.

They didn't become lovers.  In fact, Weissmuller was rather cool and distant for the rest of the day.  They didn't see each other again until his son's birthday party, nearly a month later, and after that only rarely.

Whatever bond they had was broken.

The next time someone asked for a peek beneath Johnny's loincloth, he told them in no uncertain terms to back off.

Johnny retired from acting in 1955, got a degree in business from UCLA, and spent his life in farming and real estate.   He lost contact with most of his old Hollywood friends.  Johnny Weissmuller, Maureen O'Sullivan, Ford Beebe, and Tommy Cook got Christmas cards.  Trying his best to put those days behind him, Johnny refused requests for interviews and autographs.

As the years and decades passed, requests grew fewer, fans grew older, John himself grew older.

He concentrated on his home in Chula Vista (a suburb of San Diego), on his wife Patricia, on his children -- he helped his  sons Patrick and Stewart start a successful construction company -- on his grandchildren.  No one recognized him anymore.

On the rare occasions that he saw an old photograph or clip from one of his movies, Boy and Bomba seemed like other people, with no connection at all to John Sheffield of Chula Vista, California.

He never told anyone about that afternoon at the house in Santa Barbara when he and Weissmuller almost became lovers, until one day in July 1989 when his 23-year old son -- the quiet, bookish one, the one who didn't like sports and was shy around girls -- came to him and said "Dad, I've got something to tell you...."



See also: Cesar's Three-Way with Desi Arnaz Jr. and Dean Paul Martin; Tarzan's Boy Johnny Sheffield; Matt Hooks Up withTarzan's Grandson.

Thursday, June 16, 2022

Guys Tied Together

I've always had a fantasy about two guys tied together, probably dating to those old Tarzan movies where Tarzan and Boy would be tied together. You can make them anyone you want: police officers, captured soldiers, coworkers, televangelists, teammates, thieves.

















.  Fathers and adult sons.


















Enemies tied together mouth to mouth, as if they are kissing.






















I'm not a big fan of back to back, since the bottoms aren't able to interact much.














But it does allow you to interact with them more freely.





Face to face, with mouths and cocks touching, is my favorite.

More after the break.




















Tuesday, August 3, 2021

Fondling the Biggest Schlong in Hollywood

Hi, Boomer,

In one of your stories, you said "I don't think 1930s film legend Jackie Coogan would tell his 12-year old grandson Keith Coogan, about the hookups of his youth."

Well, my Grandpa Sammy told me all about his hookups!  He was born in 1922, but didn't come out until 1990, when his wife, my Grandma Lonny, died.  After that, there was no stopping him -- he moved to Palm Springs, cruised in leather bars, went to bear parties, joined Gay and Grey clubs --  nonstop schmoozing and screwing.  And whenever my boyfriend and I drove up from West Hollywood to visit, he told us the raunchiest stories about his youth.







Here's one about Milton Berle's penis.

[Comedian Milton Berle (1908-2002) was famous for two things:

1. Being the host of Texaco Star Theater, an early comedy-variety tv show (1948-1956)  that everybody watched -- it was single-handedly responsible for selling 300,000 tv sets.

2. Having the biggest penis in Hollywood.  It was so famous, it was even mentioned at his funeral.]





The Catskills, June 1939

In the summer of 1939, Sammy was a high school student in Queens.  Like many Jewish boys from the City, he worked summers in the Borscht Belt, the resorts of Sullivan Count, New York.  He was an all-around athlete and a state tennis champ, so he landed a job as a tennis instructor and life guard at Grossinger's, the biggest and most elegant of the resorts:

 35 buildings, indoor and outdoor pools, three restaurants, big name acts like Glenn Miller and George Burns.

And Milton Berle, the 30-year old comedian who had been playing the Borscht Belt since he was 15, plus appearing on the radio and in movies like Radio City Revels.  He had a standup comedy act involving nonstop patter, joke after joke that had the audience rolling in the aisles.  When they weren't gazing at him with that vacation-enhanced horniness -- he was goodlooking, well-built -- he filled out a swimsuit beautifully

Berle always had a girl or two on his arm, but Sammy still hoped he was queer, or at least open to late-night blow-jobs from his buddies.  He cozied up to him, tried to drop subtle hints, but Berle got the wrong idea:

"There's plenty of skirts up here in the Catskills, Sammy, if you don't mind them a little on the plus side of 30.  These dames have been dreaming of romance with the lifeguards all winter.  With a little finesse, you can get an invite into a different bed every day."

Sammy had no interest in skirts on either side of 30, but, he figured, there must be plenty of swell fellas in the Catskills, too.  Soon he had a profitable business, letting aging queens go down on him for $1 a pop.  He could do it three times a day (taking Shabbat off), and make $18 per week.  His regular job only paid $20!

No doubt the registrar at CUNY never realized that Sammy's tuition was paid with blow jobs.

Sammy served in Italy during the War, finished college, and went to work as an civil engineer. In 1947 he married a Catholic girl named Lonny, hoping that marriage would "cure" him of being queer.  As it turns out, Lonny was rather adventurous, and had no problem with his proclivities -- as long as there was no "setting up housekeeping," he was free to schmooze and screw all he liked.  Sometimes he even brought home tricks for them to "share."

Las Vegas, July 1971

As the years passed, Sammy saw Milton Berle on The Texaco Star Theater,  and then doing guest spots on Dick Powell, F Troop, I Dream of Jeannie, Red Skelton, Jackie Gleason, Batman (my Dad was a big fan).  He heard the stuff about Berle's schlong.  Enormous!  Gigantic!  Phil Silvers saw it at the urinal and said "You'd better feed that thing, or it's liable to turn on you."  Alan Zweibel got a look when Berle guest-starred on Saturday Night Live -- "an anaconda...a pepperoni."

He was upset that he never got a chance to see it during the summer of 1939 -- or better yet, feel it.  Or better yet, go down on it.

In the summer of 1971, he saw that Berle was headlining at Caesar's Palace, so as a special 25th-anniversary present, he surprised Lonny with a trip to Las Vegas.

The 63 year old Berle wasn't quite as handsome as he used to be -- but who among us is?  But he remembered Sammy from Grossinger's all those years ago, and invited him back to his suite for a drink.

"You ever take my advice, and go door to door banging the Geritol chicks?" Berle asked.

"No, no -- turns out I'm a one woman man," Sammy said.  "I don't think I'm big enough to satisfy a multitude anyway.  Not like you....hey, do you think I could get a peek?"

Berle shrugged and pulled it out of his pants.  About 5" soft, and thick around.

"Hmm....not too bad. But I've seen bigger."

"On who, King Kong?  You'll never see a bigger one, I guarantee."

"Well, maybe it's big.  My eyes aren't so good these days.  They play tricks.  Do you mind if I feel it?"

Berle hesitated.  "I don't get offers to do that, except from fairies.  You're not a fairy, are you?"

"Like I told you, I'm a one-woman man."

"Ok...I guess you could take a grope.  You're sure you're not a fairy? I don't want a fairy touching me there."

Sammy began to get angry.  What happened to live and let live?  Hadn't Berle ever heard of Gay Liberation?  But he said "I swear I'm not a fairy" and wrapped his hand around the shaft.  He jerked a couple of times.

"You know, my hands aren't so sensitive anymore.  Better I should taste it."  Before Berle had a chance to answer, he leaned down and ran his tongue over Berle's head.

"Ok, that's enough," Berle said, pushing him away.  "Bigger than you thought, huh?"

"Not bad.  Well, I should be going."  Sammy stood and walked out of the room, but turned back and said "I had one boyfriend who was bigger.  You should try it with a black guy sometime."

Berle's eyes widened as he realized that he had just been fondled and licked by a gay man.

Was Grandpa Sammy Telling the Truth?

 Berle was apparently quite homophobic, even more than usual for men of his age.  In 1999, a real estate company ran an old photo of Uncle Miltie in drag, with the caption that every queen needs a castle, and he promptly sued, reasoning that someone might see the ad and think he was gay.  At the age of 91.

His "private joke file" contains a lot of homophobic jokes:

What do you call a gay dentist?  A tooth fairy.

I'm not sure he would allow a same-sex fondle, even with a guy who he thought was straight

See also: Milton Berle: Television's First Drag Queen

Friday, May 25, 2018

Father-Son Bondage

I don't usually pay attention to cmnm.net (Clothed Men/Nude Men).  It has videos of guys forced to strip and fondled a bit, but with no bondage and no sex, what's the point.

This story was slightly different: father and son bondage.  They weren't actually tied together, nor did they have sex -- they were forced to kiss, and then the (adult) son had to watch Dad being screwed.

Plus they look nothing alike.

But it's a start.






It's easy to find pictures with "dads" topping their adult "sons," but hard to find  pictures with bondage, especially with dad and son both tied.

Tagame has a manga with a father and son in Tokogawa Japan captured by the bad guys.  They "accidentally" become intimate while tied together, but most of the story involves them being humiliated and used separately.












This video has the bad guy tying up father and son and forcing them to have sex with each other.  Not bad, except the son is pushing 30 and the dad is barely past 40.  You need a bigger age differential for the fantasy to work.














These two are good.  The guy on the right is taller and heftier, so there could be a 20-year age difference.  The only problem is,  they're side by side, not together.













Another size difference that suggest a father-son dynamic.  But again, the two aren't actually doing anything.

More after the break








Sunday, October 22, 2017

A Date with Two Gay Dads


Plains, October 2017

Dads with their children are incredibly hot.

Ok, not this way -- I don't want to be double-teamed by a biological father and son.






But at festivals and street fairs, at restaurants, in line at the movies, having a kid in tow increases your attractiveness by about 500%

 The attraction seems to be in the paradoxical juxtaposition of innocence and experience, the sexless and sexual.  Dad is nurturing you, but his arousal and orgasm created you.  You are walking, talking proof of his sexual potency.

So when I saw two dads at Octoberfest, holding the hand of their 3-year kid between them, visions of sharing rushed through my head.






They were both twinks, so my cruising was bound to succeed:  Chad was tall and slim with dirty blond hair, a goatee, and a basket.  Rod, more muscular, Mediterranean-looking with a broad open face, clean-shaven.

Their kid was named Will, after the titular character on the mega-homophobic sitcom Will and Grace.

Chad grew up in a small town in Minnesota, met Rod in college, and convinced him to move to another small town to restore the old opera house.  Now he was working on various historic restoration projects, while Rod was mostly a house-husband, cooking and cleaning and watching daytime soap operas.

I didn't ask how Will came about, but I assumed it was through artificial insemination.  It didn't make a difference: they had a child, innocence derived from experience, sexless derived from sex, and I wanted them in my bed.

I invited them over for dinner Wednesday night, expecting of course that they would get a babysitter.

Instead they brought a bottle of wine and a chocolate cake. And Will.

Ok, no sharing tonight.

No sex games or nudity.

No discussions of celebrity hookups, gigantic penises, or dates from hell.

What else do gay dads talk about?

Their kid: "He's so smart.  He already know his ABCs... Will, settle down! and he can count to...Will, don't chase the cat!  ...Will, use your inside voice!"

College: "I took a class in your field.  Do you know professor...Will, don't run in the house..Professor...Will, don't touch that, it looks expensive...Do you have any gay students?...Will, take that out of your mouth!  He just gets excited meeting new people."

Gay Pride: "We went to Gay Pride in...Will, get your hands out of the dip...Minneapolis.  We marched with the Gay Fathers...Will, if you don't want that cherry tomato, spit it into my hand, don't smush it on the couch.....It's a great group...Where's your bathroom?"

Maybe Will would like to watch a video?  I have some cartoons...

TV: "We love American Horror Story...it's so gay-positive....
Will, don't touch that...and we're going through Star Trek, the original series, on Netflix...Will, do you need a nap?...Kirk is totally hot, don't you think?"

Time to eat.  Bob made vegetable lasagna and a salad, which Will ate with his hands, picking up a piece of lasagna, showing it to his dad, asking "What's this?", and repeating for each slice.

Food: "There's a pizza place nearby that serves a 10 pound pizza.  It's free if you and a friend can eat the whole thing...Will, that's not a toy...I went with my brother-in-law, who is this massive truck driver type, and even we couldn't get through even half of...Will, use your fork."

I cleared the dishes while Bob dished out the chocolate cake, which Will ate with his hands.

Then, nerves frazzled, ears ringing from the constant yelling, bloated from lasagna and cake in the same meal, and nauseous from watching the kid eat with his hands, I said goodnight and shooed them out the door.


 I won't be inviting Chad, Rod, and Will over again for a long time.

Not until Will looks something like this.

Call me in 15 years.

See also: Nude Photos of Dads and their Adult Sons.

L

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