Donnie's Gay Sex Party with Jack Wild and Sid Kroft

Jack Wild (1952-2006) was the teen star of the Saturday morning life action show H.R. Pufnstuf, about a boy trapped in a distant magical land with a friendly dragon and a cranky old witch.  Gay subtexts abounded, and Jack, short, slim, androgynous, and cherubic-cute, became every gay boy's fantasy boyfriend.

After Pufnstuf, Jack's star quickly faded.  His later years were plagued by poverty, depression, alcoholism, diabetes, and finally cancer.  He was apparently heterosexual, with two long-term marriages and no gay hookup or dating stories, until this one, which is really about Sid Krofft:

Born Sydas Yodas in Greece in 1929, Sid became interested in puppeteering at an early age, and by 1948, he was touring with a  one-man puppet show, "The Unusual World of Sid Krofft," across Europe and the United States.  In 1957, while opening for Judy Garland, Sid found that he needed another puppeteer, so he enlisted his younger brother Moshopopulos or Marty (born 1937).

Soon they were busily working their puppeteering magic in film and on tv.  Given an opportunity to develop a Saturday morning children's series, they decided to make antagonists of H.R. Pufnstuf, a "friendly dragon" they introduced at the 1968 World's Fair, and the zany witch Witchiepoo from their stage play.  The two forces, good against evil, would be fighting over control of a lost boy and his...um...magic flute (Sid was a big fan of magic flutes).

Watching a rough cut of the movie version of Oliver! (1968), Sid decided that Jack Wild, the Cockney child actor playing The Artful Dodger, would be perfect as the young boy.  But how to get him to move to America for an extended commitment?

"I'll be his guardian in America," Sid offered.

"Not a chance!" Marty exclaimed.  "Your pad is not a suitable place for a young boy."  Although Sid was 39 years old, he had fully embraced the youth counterculture.  His four-bedroom "pad" in West Hollywood had psychedelic posters, strobe lights, and lava lamps, and it was constantly crowded with long-haired, tie-dyed Cute Young Things of both sexes.

Marty didn't ask which, if any, Sid was shacking up with.  He loved his brother, of course, and he had a live-and-let live attitude toward sexual oddities, but...he didn't need the details.

"I'll be his guardian," Marty offered.  "I have a wife and young children.  It will be a stable family environment."

Marty lived to regret that decision.

The 16-year old arrived in Hollywood in the summer of 1969, moved in with Marty, and proceeded to raise hell.

Jack was cheerful, energetic, and very cute, but a handful.  He came and went as he pleased; on the night of his 17th birthday, he skipped his party and stayed out all night!  He never followed house rules.  Marty had young children in the house, and he didn't like Jack bringing his hippie friends in to drink and smoke pot.

Hollywood, December 1969

Donnie was a 19-year old UCLA student, working as a gopher for the Kroffts: he got coffee, delivered scripts, and acted as best friend/handler to Jack Wild.

Today Jack would probably be fired for multiple instances of  sexual harassment.  He put the moves on everybody, male and female, young and old -- he even kept "accidentally" groping the H.R. Pufnstuf puppet, with a mortified Roberto Gamonet inside.

"You and me, yeah?" Jack said once, putting his arm around Donnie's waist and "accidentally" hitting his butt.  "Two mates, a little snogging.  Nothing wrong with that."

"You're only 17.  I'm in college. Besides, I'm not queer" Donnie said.  He was gay but not out, and he didn't want to get outed by tricking with the unpredictable star.

Jack flew back to England for Christmas, but returned on the 28th -- Donnie had to pick him up at the airport.  The next day, he dropped in to Sid's house to get his approval on something or other, and the Cute Young Thing who answered the door directed him to the master bedroom.

It was well after noon,so Don assumed that Sid was working in bed.  He thought nothing of it -- he knocked once and went in.




The room was semi-dark, light coming from a flashing strobe light.  All the sheets and blankets were torn off the bed, leaving a bare mattress.  Sid was lying on his back, between two Cute Young Things. One was going down on him -- Donnie could see only the back of his head.  The other was beating off while Sid cuddled him -- Jack Wild, the star of the show.

"What the hell!" Donnie exclaimed.

Jack looked up, grinned, and held out his penis. "Welcome back party, right?  Room for one more."

Donnie was a little worried that if he didn't demonstrate he was "cool" by participating, Jack would get him fired.  But to be honest, he was majorly turned on. Ever since the proposition, he had been fantasizing about the young star and his equipment -- a very hard 6-incher.  So after a moment of thought, he walked forward, knelt, and went down on Jack.

"That's it," Jack said.  "Do it like that, mate.  You're good, man...bloody good, you know that?"

After a few minutes, Jack pushed his head away.  "Too much for me, man.  Do Sid, while I watch."

Donnie wasn't attracted to old guys, and Sid had a very thick 8", bigger than he had ever been with before.  So after licking the head for a few moments, he tore off his shirt and pants and went down on the Cute Young Thing -- thin, short brown hair, a couple of tattoes, ruddy uncut 7".

Sid had his arm around Jack and was beating him off.  Donnie thought it odd that they weren't kissing; to give them an example, he raised up, pushed the Cute Young Thing down on the bed, and kissed him.  Soon they were doing the Princeton rub.

"Oi, a coupla lover-birds," Jack said.  "But you forgot the job I gave you.  Sid needs some attention, right?"

 Donnie reluctantly left the Cute Young Thing and went down on Sid.  The 8" gagged him; he started to cough. He resorted to sucking just the head while masturbating the shaft.  After a few minutes, Sid unexpectedly spurted down his throat.

Donnie ran down to the bathroom to spit out his load and wash his mouth out, and returned for his clothes.  Jack had finished and was wiping off with a sheet. The Cute Young Thing, still aroused, was smoking a joint.

"Give me a ride to Spiro's, that's the bloke," Jack said.  "And maybe there'll be some naughty bits waiting for you later."

But Donnie didn't hook up with Jack again, or with Sid.  He was too worried about being arrested -- gay sex was illegal in California until 1976 -- or losing his job -- or being outed as "queer" to his family.  And a couple of months later, after finishing the last episode and cobbling together the H.R. Pufnstuf feature film, Jack Wild was back in England.

Donnie stayed with the Kroffts during his last two years at  UCLA, through the Bugaloos and Lidsville, and he sometimes dropped in to say "hello" when they were working on Sigmund and the Sea Monsters, and Land of the Lost.  He noticed with some amusement that all of their tv series starred cute gay or bi boys.

Was Donnie Telling the Truth?

This story is actually from a friend of my friend David in San Francisco, who dated Donnie during the 1980s.  So it's third hand, and fifty years after the fact.

Sid Krofft has never been linked with any romantic partner, male or female.  He's probably gay: in 2006 he opened a nightclub on the corner of Santa Monica and Larrabee, the heart of West Hollywood (where the Different Light Bookstore used to be), featuring muscular go-go boys in cages.  

But an orgy with the 17-year old star of his tv show, basically his employee, is another matter.  Jack Wild's autobiography says nothing about any same-sex activity.

Could it have been someone else, transformed into Jack Wild through years of retelling?  Or did Jack's wild past involve sex with the boss?

See also: Pufnstuf

Troy and My Friend with Benefits

Upstate, September 2011

The problem with being a twink magnet is that younger guys aren't really experienced in the vagaries of sharing and three-way relationships, so hookups can easily turn into romance.

Sunday, September 18th
In Upstate New York, my partner Troy and I go to a Bear Party thrown by the Satyr.  When Riley comes in, I'm thunderstruck.  My jaw literally drops.  He is the most beautiful guy I have ever seen.

I wait while he strips -- slim body, average beneath the belt gifts, but who cares?  We chat.  I vageuly remember hearing that he is 19 years old, spent a year at the University but had to drop out due to lost financial aid, and now has a job at a party store. But I keep thinking "Why are we talking when we could be kissing?"

We spend an hour lying on a mattress in the Satyr's playroom.  The sex is over quickly; just touching him does the trick.  We spend the rest of the time kissing.  Afterwards he returns to our apartment for more kissing, and probably sex.  Who can remember?  Troy technically "shares," but mostly he just lies there.

Tuesday, September 20th.
We make an appointment for a hookup while Troy is at work.  Riley calls the night before, saying that he caught a cold at the Bear Party and feels miserable, but we can get together anyway as long as we don't do anything physical.

We end up picking up Chinese food to eat at home, then cuddling and talking for about an hour.

"Are you sure Troy is ok with us?" Riley asks.

"Oh, sure.  We have an open relationship.  We can have sex with other guys.  We just have to get together for the socializing."

"Isn't that the opposite of how open relationships usually work?"

During the next three days, Riley and I text constantly, friend each other on Facebook and Gay.com, and find out about each other's lives.  I begin thinking of a three-way romance.

Friday, September 23rd.
It's our third anniversary, so Troy and I invite the Gang of Twelve and some people from work for an anniversary party.  In the end there are 24 people in our small apartment, standing room only.  Riley is there, feeling better.   I try to be cordial and not touch him very much.

But some of the guys are suspicious.  I see the Satyr eyeing me, and the Klingon, who wasn't at the Bear Party, asks, "So, how do you two know each other?"

"Oh, we've known each other for a thousand years," I say.  And I really believe it is true.  We've always been together, and are just now reuniting.

After everyone else leaves, I invite Troy and Riley into the bedroom.  Troy says "No, thanks, you guys have fun."

Riley and I go into the bedroom and start kissing.  "Are you sure it's ok, making out with another guy on your anniversary?"

"We'll be together later, no problem."

We spend about an hour kissing, and then get around to the sex.

The next day Riley texts me: "Are you sure this is ok?" he repeats.

"Three way relationships are quite common," I tell him.  "As long as we don't date, Troy is fine with it."



Tuesday, September 26th

Riley and I make an appointment for a hookup at 11:00, just before lunch.  But he has to work late, and doesn't arrive until 1:30, and I'm so hungry that I insist we go out to lunch at a barbecue place first.

Then we spend our usual hour kissing and gradually getting around to intimacy.

"You had lunch?"  Troy asks later.  "That's a date!"

"We just grabbed lunch before jumping into bed.  Not really a date, just hunger."

"I don't like it!  He's younger and cuter than me, and a lot better in bed."

"That's not true!  Anyway, who cares?  You're my partner.  Riley is just a friend.  But I want him in our lives.  We're taking him out for his birthday Friday."

"What..birthday?  But doesn't he have real friends to do that with?"

"They're going out on Saturday.  Friday is for me.  Us."

Friday, September 30th
Riley comes over about an hour before Troy gets home from work, so I can give him his present, and we can make out.

"Troy is a little jealous," I tell him.  "We should try to include him more."

"I don't want anybody to be left out," he says.  "But whenever you ask him to share, he refuses."

"He wants to share in the socializing, not in the sex.  Just be sure you're really nice to him tonight."

We go out to dinner and then for frozen yogurt.  Back at our apartment, Troy and Riley discuss video games for about an hour, while I sit there, bored.  Finally I say "Who wants to go into the bedroom?"

Riley does.  Troy does not.

Afterwards I say "I can't wait to see you again.  When are you free?"

"Um...very busy week at work, getting ready for the Halloween rush.  Not until Thursday."

Wednesday, Oct 5th.

I spend the next week texting and facebook messaging Riley, with only a few, curt responses.  On Wednesday I don't hear from him at all.  Finally at 10:00 pm I text him: "What time can I expect you tomorrow?"

"Can't tomorrow.  Can we reschedule?"

"But...we made an appointment!  I've been waiting all week!"

"Sorry, the Klingon asked me for a date."

The Klingon!  That chubby nerd?  I roil with jealousy.

"But...you had a date with me!  I understand you wanting to back off -- things were getting very intense.  But you have to meet your commitments!"

Thursday, October 6th.

Troy says: "I've been thinking it over, and I don't want you to see Riley anymore.  Even if it's just for sex, sex can lead to falling in love."

"No problem," I tell him, "We broke up."

"You weren't dating, so how can you break up?"

I don't know.

See also: Troy's First Video Booth; Our Date with the Teenage Beach Boy.

Ryan's Three-Way with Harry Styles

Plains, October 2016

In search of celebrity dating and hookup stories, I've been asking all the gay men I know, with little luck.  But I got a good one last night, from of all places, Ryan H., the college track star I met two weeks ago while driving through small-town Illinois on the way back from a funeral.

Last night we were chatting on Facebook's instant messenger:

Ryan:  I have one for you.  Me and Harry Styles.

Me: For real, or a fantasy?  

Ryan:  Real.  Summer before last.

I quickly wikipedia Harry Styles.  Born 1994, member of the boy band One Direction from 2011 to 2015, five albums, five Brit Awards and four MTV Music Video Awards, "Live While We're Young" hit #3 on the U.S. charts, and "Best Song Ever" #2.  Just signed with Columbia as a solo artist.  

Google images shows Harry at several points in his life.  Rather cute in One Direction, but now he has androgynous long hair and a body-full of gross tattoos.


Me: So summer of 2015.  You were...17?  

Ryan:  Right.  Just after my junior year in high school.

Me: So how did you meet Harry Styles in your small town in Illinois?

Ryan: No, LOL, it was in Indianapolis [two hours away].  My family goes down for the weekend several times a year.  We go to a Pacers game or a concert, go to the Children's Museum, that sort of thing.  Well, this time my friend Sam came along, and there were so many of us that we got our own hotel room.

Me:  Were you and Sam a couple?

Ryan: Sam?  LOL.  He's a year younger than me, and straight!  I just like older guys.  But he's a sweetheart, my cuddly bae.  So we had it all planned out.  After they were all in bed, I snuck out -- Sam covered for me, right -- and I walked about seven blocks to the Metro [a gay club on Massachusetts Avenue].

Me:  You got in ok?

Ryan:  I had a fake id, and besides, look at me!  I've been flashing a smile to get whatever I want since I was little.

Me:  Well, you are rather cute.

Ryan: Def!  So I'm into silver foxes, hot ones like you, and this one really hot guy piques my interest -- in his fifties, tall distinguished, white hair and beard, nice muscular chest.  But he's already hitting on this cute, long-haired twink.  I don't care -- I go up and flash my smile anyway.

Me: Planning to steal the Silver Fox away?

Ryan: I don't know.  I thought maybe a three-some -- I never had one of those before. So I flash my smile, and Silver Fox gets that dopey grin -- the one you got when you saw me, right?  And the guy he's with looks a little jealous.  And I see it's Harry Styles from One Direction.  I was never a big fan, but every girl in school was into him, so I recognized him instantly.

Me: What was Harry Styles doing in Indianapolis?

Ryan:  I didn't ask.  I pretended I didn't even know who he was.

[A quick look at One Directions' website reveals a concert in Indianapolis on July 31st, 2015.]

Me: Did Silver Fox invite the two of you home?

Ryan:  We went to the Sheraton -- the same hotel my family was staying in!  So we waste no time -- the minute we get inside, Silver Fox and Harry start kissing.  I unzip Silver Fox and -- OMFG!  #Hung to his knees  #Super-stud.  Almost as big as you.  Can I see a cock pic?

[I send him one.]

Ryan:  Hot!  So I go down on the Silver Fox -- I'm really, really good at oral, by the way.  My mouth and tongue are legendary.  I unzip Harry, too, and go down on him to be polite.

Me:  How big was Harry?

Ryan: Kind of small, but nice anyway.  Very firm.  When you tell the story, make him a Mortadella, ok?

Me:  Ok.

[This bulge pic suggests a probable Bratwurst]

Ryan: Anyway, I decide I want some kissing action -- so I stand up and try to kiss them both at the same time, you know.  But they ignore me, strip off their clothes, and Daddy turns Harry over onto his stomach and starts topping him.  I take off my clothes and sort of hang around.  Daddy reaches out and gives me a feel.  Come on, I have the biggest cock in Champaign County.  I deserve more than that!

Me: Then what happened?

Ryan: I kind of kneel over Harry, and he tries to go down on me.  But it's a weird position, and he gags.  So I kiss him while he's being topped by the Silver Fox.  Really nice, by the way.  Are you into kissing?

Me: Sure, I love kissing.

Ryan: I can't wait until Christmas.  I want to spend Christmas Eve on the couch with you, wearing fuzzy sweaters, drinking eggnog and cuddling and kissing.

Me: Sounds great.  So, what happened next?

Ryan:  Nothing much.  I kind of crawled under Harry and went down on him while he was being topped. Then Daddy finishes with a gigantic roar and goes into the bathroom to wipe off.  I keep going down on Harry, but he pushes me away and goes into the bathroom, too.  I figure he's going to pee and will be back in a few minutes.  Then I hear the shower going -- Silver Fox and Harry are taking a shower together, leaving me alone on the bed, aroused, all by myself!

Me: Not cool.

Ryan:  I mean, I think I'm pretty hot, don't you?  And I have a gigantic cock.  Why weren't they into me?

Me: I don't know.  I'm into you.

Ryan: So I got out of there and went down to the fifth floor to my room, and sort of started crying in Sam's arms. #Miserable.  #Jealous.

Me: Not a positive experience?

Ryan:  Not at all!  I'd rather have the guy all to myself.  I want to take my time, kiss him, fondle him, get to know him.  And cuddle!  If you don't spend the night, what's the point?

Me:  I hear that.

Ryan: I can't wait until Christmas.  There'll be a package for you to open under the tree.  [Sends me a selfie, aroused.]

Was Ryan telling the truth?

Harry Styles was in Indianapolis in the summer of 2015, and he has been the subject of gay rumors, but there's no evidence that he's into older guys, or is in the habit of hooking up with random strangers in bars.

Ryan's story was obviously a cautionary tale about what to do and not to do on our upcoming Christmas date, and an attempt to pique my interest with references to his penis size, proficiency at oral sex, and attractiveness to men.  But he could have used any sexual experience -- why invent a liaison with Harry Styles, who I don't find attractive in the least?

Unless he really did have a three way with Harry Styles and a Silver Fox the summer after his junior year in high school.

See also: Picking Up a College Track Star; West Hollywood Stories of Dating and Hookups with Celebrities; My Christmas Date with the College Track Star.

Yuri and I Share the Boy Toy and His Daddy

Wilton Manors, February 2004

The main rule about sharing boyfriends and hookups was: a couple brought in a third person.

During the 1980s, it was always romantic partners bringing in a close friend or roommate.

By the 1990s, the couple could also be a pair of close friends, and the third person a stranger, as long as there was a date first.

But you never shared with four.  I can remember only a few times when that happened.  It was always a little weird, and made me feel uncomfortable afterwards.

1. The multiracial four way with Lane.
2. The live sex show that we put on for Alan.
3. Victor and his Sleazoid Daddy

During the winter, hundreds of wealthy snowbirds from New York invade Wilton Manors, clogging the streets, crowding the bars and restaurants, throwing money around -- and prowling for beach boys.  Suddenly Daddies have some Sugar Daddy competition, so if you're over 40, and you don't have a boyfriend by Thanksgiving, you're likely to go dateless through Valentine's Day.

It was Valentine's Day 2004, I was 43 years old, and I hadn't had a date since Thanksgiving.  An occasional hookup, some afternoons at the Club, and not much else.

So when Victor at Barney's Gym stopped me in the locker room and asked me for a date, I consented, even though he wasn't exactly my type.  He was in his 20s, muscular, with a smooth chest and a nice uncut Bratwurst, but his long, narrow face, tattooed biceps, and rings were a turnoff.

Over dinner at a Thai place in Oakland Park, Victor told me that he was Cuban-American, from Miami.  He moved to Wilton Manors two years ago, had a job as some kind of juice distributor -- and had a boyfriend, Jauvier.

"He's a snowbird.  He lives in New York, and only flies down to Florida in the winter.  So we're allowed to date other guys, but when he's in town, we have to share."

Ok -- Lane and I engaged in that sort of dating quite often back in West Hollywood.  What does this Jauvier look like?


"Oh, he's very hot.  An older guy -- a Daddy, like you.  Shorter than me, very muscular, blond, a short beard, super hung."

Blond?  "Isn't he Hispanic?"

"Well, more of a redhead.   In Spanish, rubio could mean either."

It seems that there are a lot of redheads in Peru, mostly of Irish, German, and Scandinavian ancestry.  They tend to live in Lima and the other large cities of the north, and in racist Peruvian society they tend to be middle and upper class, so they rarely immigrate to the U.S,

"There aren't a lot of blond Hispanic guys around," Victor said.  "Jauvier really stands out in a crowd."

Victor wanted to take me home that night to "share" his boyfriend, but I wanted to at least meet him first.  We weren't as trusting in the 2000s as we were in the 1990s -- being alone with two guys you didn't know was a bit risky.  So I invited Victor and Jauvier over for dinner a few days later, with Yuri and Barney.

Yuri was also in the middle of a dating slump, so he peppered me with questions about Jauvier.  Is he a bodybuilder?  How big is he?  Does he like Russian guys?

"The four of us won't share," I warned him.  "Lane and I tried that a couple of times in West Hollywood, and it was just weird."

"There won't be four tonight, naturally.  But if we are friends, Victor and Jauvier will ask me to share on many other nights."  

Yuri usually specialized in Middle Eastern dishes, but Victor asked for "Russian," so he made vareniki (vegetable dumplings), chicken tabaka, and cold borscht.

Victor and Jauvier arrived at 6:00, carrying a bottle of wine (I forgot to warn them that I didn't drink).

My first impression: ugh.  Jauvier was shorter than me, with a substantial v-shaped torso and a hairy chest. When we hugged, I felt thick, heavy pecs and an impressive beneath-the-belt package.  But he stank of cologne, he was wearing rings, and his face -- not so much ugly as sinister, balding, with gray hair that used to be red, and a villain goatee.

Ugh.

But I had to go through with it -- at this point it would be impolite not to share.  Besides, when you're going down on a guy, who cares about his face?

Then the sleaziness began.  Jauvier used feminine pronouns, made sexual double-entendres out of everything, and made crass references to telephone poles, enemas. and tampons during dinner.

Sample:  "Oh, please, she spreads her legs so wide, you could fit the Queen Mary inside and have room left over for six maxi-pads."

About his ex-boyfriend!

Victor laughed uproariously at his boyfriend's so-called "humor."

After dinner, we gathered in the living room for coffee and baked apples, and Jauvier said "So, I never been in a gang bang with five guys before.  Who goes first?"

Barney glared at him, came down with a sudden "headache," and retreated to his room.

"I must meet my friend at the Manor," Yuri began, heading for the door.


I grabbed his arm.  "No -- stay!"  I mouthed the words "share."

Yuri shook his head.

"Please," I whispered.

He shrugged.

The four of us went into Yuri's bedroom and stripped.  I immediately dropped to my knees and went down on Jauvier's impressive Bratwurst, while Victor went down on Yuri, and Yuri studiously avoided kissing Victor.

Jauvier pointed his penis at Yuri, who shrugged and went down on him.  Then Jauvier tried to throw his legs in the air, but Yuri refused.  He turned to me. I refused.

"Come on, girls," he said.  "Somebody has to be up for anal tonight!"

Yuri and I got into the 69 position, leaving no orifice available for Jauvier, so Victor mounted him for anal.

After sharing, spending the night is mandatory, but when Victor finished, we claimed an early day and pushed them both out the door.

Yuri glared at me.  "I do you a favor, so now you must share a guy that I want.  Anybody I want, ok?"

And I didn't even get a chance to do anything with Victor.

See also: Yuri's Revenge: the Cowboy with the Kovbasa+; and Lane and I have a Multiracial Four-way.

Our First Hookup with Infinite Chazz

Anaheim, California, February 1994

My job at at a camp for juvenile delinquents lasted for only about six months, from July 1992 to January 1993: too many crazy rules, too homophobic.  The only kid I really bonded with was Chazz, a cute 17-year old on a diversion program for vandalism and auto theft, who I helped break the rules to visit his boyfriend.

We stayed in contact, chatting in America Online chatrooms and sometimes talking on the telephone.   After his release, he moved to Orange County, about 40 miles from West Hollywood, to stay with his father and stepmother. He got his high school diploma, enrolled at Cal Stat Fullerton, and got a job at Disneyland!

"You and Lane should come down and visit," he said.  "I can give you a behind-the-scenes tour."

I hated theme parks: the crowds, the noise, the tacky tie-ins, the $15 ice cream cones.  Especially the Disney Main Street, a glorification of the racist, sexist, homophobic 1890s America of Walt Disney's childhood.

But I liked Chazz -- I felt like a big brother to him.  And Lane had fond memories of going to Disneyland as a kid.  So we decided to go down on a Thursday in early February 1994 -- a weeknight in the middle of winter shouldn't be too crowded.

 We checked into our room at the Sheraton around 7:00, picked up Chazz at his parents' house, and took him to dinner at a Mexican restaurant (tip: always eat first, so you don't have to buy the overpriced, saturated fat-laden theme park food).

It had been a year since I saw Chazz in person.  He had changed, or maybe I had permission to notice, now that he was over 18!  Thick arms and shoulders.  A far bigger bulge.  His adolescent features hardened into those of a classic leading man: a square jaw, a heavy brow, soft eyes, and a bright smile.


When we ordered our cheese enchiladas and arroz con pollo, Chazz excused himself and went to the bathroom.

"Why didn't you tell me that your Boy Toy was so drop-dead gorgeous?" Lane exclaimed.

"I know!  Last I saw him, he was a cute kid, and now he's a super-hunk!"

"I'd wear a gay-pride t-shirt to Liberty Baptist Church [where homophobe Jerry Falwell preached] just for a five-second through-the-pants grope."

"I didn't even think you were into twinks.  You like bodybuilders and hairy-chested, bearded bears."

Lane laughed.  "Sometimes a twink will turn my eye.  Remember Danny, my boyfriend before you?  He was a regular Trophy Boy.  And Chazz definitely does the trick.  Any chance of us sharing tonight?"

"I don't know.  Since I was his teacher at Camp Routh, he may not think of me as an erotic possibility.  He might not even be into older guys."

"Older?  Who you calling old, Sonny?!"

"I'm 33.  That's a huge age gap for an 18 year old.  And you're 38, old enough to be his father."

"Just suggest it, will you?"

"Well, I'll ease into the idea."

When Chazz returned, I said "This weekend we're going to see My Father the Hero, starring Gerard Depardieu.  He's very hot, don't you think?"

Chazz shrugged and said something about 20-year old Mackenzie Astin in Iron Will.

I pointed out a hot suit-and-tie guy in his thirties.  Chazz shrugged, but his jaw dropped at the hot teenage busboy.

Grabbing at straws, Lane told about his hookup with Cesar Romero, the Joker on the old Batman tv show.  "He was in his 80s, super hot and super hung, believe me!"

Chazz yawned and said "Before we go over to the park, I should tell you some ground rules:"

1. No physical contact. Hay people are technically allowed at Disneyland -- they can dance together since a lawsuit in 1984 -- but you still have to be careful.  You might not get kicked out for holding hands, but you can get yelled at or beat up.

2. Don't out me in front of the staff.  They're usually ok, but management is really homophobic.  They don't hire anybody who 'looks gay,'   You hear them complaining about 'fags' and 'fairies.'

3. You're my uncles.  Don't out yourselves, either, just to be on the safe side.

"Sounds fun!" I exclaimed, thinking "why are we doing this again?"

Oh, yeah -- Lane wants me to ask Chazz to "share."  After all that oldster-bashing, I don't think so.

Chazz directed us to a "cast member" parking lot, which was a lot closer than "guest parking," and through a secret side entrance that led to Adventureland (yes, we paid the admission fee).

It was a Thursday evening, but the crowds were still intense.  Lots of nuclear families with babies in strollers and overexcited kids, some hot Dads, an occasional teenager.


Chazz got lots of smiles back.  He was getting cruised by everybody.   Literally everybody -- men, women, teenagers, boys, girls, Aladdin and Princess Jasmine.

I pointed out various guys,  to check on how Chazz responded.  He uniformly rejected anyone who looked over 30, and squealed "Gross!" at Daddies and bears.  But high school boys brought a broad smile to his face.

"Do any of the 'guests' approach you and try for a date or a trick?" Lane asked.

"Oh, sure, all the time.  I can't stand the Creepy Old Guys -- they stand so close that you can see their yellowed, rotten teeth and smell their rank breath.  And they think they can impress you by talking about things from before you were born. As if!"

"How old are these Creepy Old Guys?" I asked.

"Oh, way old.  I bet some of them are even old enough to be my dad!"

Lane frowned.

"But I've made dates with a couple of guys my own age, you know, cute ones, ones I have things in common."

Our behind-the-scenes tour involved going into secret side-doors to avoid the lines of rides like Space Mountain and the Mark Twain Steamboat, going into little tunnels to see the animatronic Abraham Lincoln and the Sleeping Beauty Castle, and some shopping in a "cast member"-only store hidden behind one of the seemingly empty storefronts on Main Street U.S.A.

I found it all rather depressing.  I was just waiting for 11:00, when the park would close and this behind-the-scenes tour would have to end.

Finally, as the crowds were pouring through the front entrance through trams, Chazz led us to Adventureland, back into the small side exit, and out onto the still-bustling streets of Anaheim.  We found our car, and started on the way to his house.

Chazz looked alarmed.  "Hey, aren't you going to invite me to...you know, spend the night in your hotel room?  I thought you guys did that all the time."  He reached over and grabbed my knee.

"Not all the time," Lane said from the back seat.  "But sometimes, if we meet someone we both like."

""We didn't think you were into older," I said.

"Well, not Creepy Old Guys, like grandpas, but you guys, normal age, sure.  I been fantasizing about Boomer ever since he was at Camp Routh.  I have a thing for teachers, you know."

I turned around, and Chazz directed me back to the Sheraton.  We went up to the hotel room.

That night he got his nickname of Infinite, and not just because of his Mortadella+.

 See also: Lane's Bear Boyfriend and Infinite Chazz; Lane and His Trophy Boy; and My Scary Date with the Teenage Lawnboy

Alan Hooks Up with a Father and Son in Hong Kong

Norfolk, Virginia, June 1993

"Ok, time for my most memorable Hong Kong pickup," Alan says.

I'm visiting Alan and his partner and their friend Tarik in Norfolk.  Today we drove out to Colonial Williamsburg.  Now we're having a very healthy vegetarian dinner and swapping stories of sexual exploits in days gone by.

"Picture it: seven million people crammed into 426 square miles.  7 of the tallest buildings in the world.  Over 50 shopping malls, including Harbor City, with over 700 stores."

"It sounds awful," I complain.  "Everything I hate about big cities, the reason I prefer small-town gay neighborhoods."

"You don't know what you're missing.  The lights, the color, the shopping.  The 3.5 million Chinese men..."

"The 15 hour plane flight..." his partner Sandy continues..  

"Not to mention the horrific anti-sodomy laws," Tarik adds. "Life in prison for gay sex, not repealed until last year."

Alan glares at him.  "Need I remind you that your beloved state of Virginia still makes gay sex a felony?  That doesn't stop the guys down on Granby Street from cruising everybody in sight."

Hong Kong, Summer 1990

Alan was living in Paris.  Anxious to meet some Asian men, he spent his vacation in Hong Kong, shopping and sightseeing.  

Gay culture in Hong Kong wasn't well developed -- very few organizations, only three gay bars, only one very unsatisfactory bathhouse.  But street cruising was an art in itself.  Beaches, malls, parks were teaming with men, Chinese and Western, gay and straight. Most were available, some for free, some for pay.

One day he went sunbathing at Middle Bay Beach, where a lot of local gays hung out.  He saw a cute Chinese twink going down on an older white guy, who was pretending to be asleep.  

The older guy was a bear, very hairy, with a beard, thick muscles and a little belly. A thick uncut Bratwurst.  Not really Alan's type -- he liked slim, smooth chests. 

But he and the Chinese guy took turns working on the white guy, who then pretended to wake up and invited them all to his hotel.  

"An interracial three-way?" I ask, not impressed.  "You didn't need to fly 6,000 miles to get that.  Go to Mugi in West Hollywood."

"Or come out to the bars with Boomer and me later, and see who we find to 'share,'" Tarik says. "Maybe we'll get a Chinese guy, and have a three-race three-way."

"This is just the set-up," Alan says.  "It gets better."

They drove all the way up to the Crowne Plaza on Leighton Road, had their three-way, and the Chinese guy left.  The white guy invited Alan to get a drink in the bar.

His name was Cormac.  He was 43 years old, from Sidney, Australia, in Hong Kong working on some kind of business deal.  

"Hey, exactly my age!" Sandy exclaims.  "Alan knows how to pick them."

Cormac told Alan that he had been attracted to men all his life, but he married "because it was expected," and had three children.  He never had a same-sex experience until six months ago.  Now he was happily divorced and making up for lost time.

"My wife and kids have been a blessing -- they helped  me through all this.  Especially my oldest, Michael.  He sat me down one day and said, 'Dad, believe me, nothing will change if you just admit that you're gay.'  But he was wrong -- everything has changed -- for the better."

"Nice coming out story," I say.  "So, let me tell you about the time..."

"It's not over.  The best part is coming up."

"Your family sounds very supportive," Alan said.  "I'd love to meet them some time."

As if on cue, a twink appeared in the bar, carrying two shopping bags: in his 20s, slim, short brown hair, handsome face, wearing a red t-shirt and very tight jeans.  He grinned at Alan, then hugged Cormac.  "You've been busy, I see."

Cormac's son Michael!  It seems that Cormac brought him along on his trip to Hong Kong, as a way of saying "thank you" for helping him come out.  And he was gay! 

The three went out to dinner.  Michael was a high school history teacher, so he and Alan compared notes about inept colleagues, martinet administrators, and students who became aroused in class.  

Afterwards Cormac excused himself and returned to his room.  Michael and Alan went out cruising.  One thing led to another.

"So you brought him back to your hotel, and tricked with a father and son on the same day?" Sandy asks.

Alan smiles.  "I asked him to come back to my hotel, but I was staying way over on Victoria Road, and the Crowne Plaza was right there, so...."

There were two double beds in the hotel room.  Cormac was in one, under the covers, sleeping.  Alan and Michael quickly undressed and climbed into the other to kiss and fondle.  Then Michael started going down on Alan.

"...you were with Michael while his father was asleep in the next bed?" I ask.  We stare in shock.  Gay or straight, no father wants to wake up to see his son having sex!

"That's not what happened..."
 .
Alan had his eyes closed, so when a hand started fondling his chest, he assumed it was Michael's.  Then someone was kissing him.  Cormac!  

"A father and son together? Gross!"  Tarik exclaims.  "I mean, I like older guys, and sometimes I call them 'Daddy,' but a real father and son?  That's incest!"

Alan was somewhat surprised himself, but he figured, they were both adults, and there was no chance of pregnancy, so why not? Besides, they didn't actually do anything with each other; they took turns kissing Alan and going down on him, and then he went down on Michael while Cormac topped him (with a condom, of course).  Then Cormac returned to his own bed.

"Well, that takes the cake," Sandy says.  "I don't have anything nearly that weird, and I was quite the player, back in the day."

"That's not the best part, though," Alan says.

We wait expectantly.  What could top a story about sharing a father and son?

Alan pauses to let the suspense build.  

The best part was Michael's beneath-the-belt gifts -- the biggest Alan had ever seen, far bigger than his own porn-star-sized penis.  Easily a foot-long, Kovbasa++!

Leave it to Alan to find penis size more memorable than a night with a father and son.

See also: Alan's Partner and Their Boy Toy; Hooking Up with a Trophy Boy and His Dad; and I Spend the Night with Fred's Son

The Georgia Boy Hooks Up with the Waiter

Wilton Manors, February 2004

When I was living in Florida, Gerry was a fixture at Barney's gym.  He arrived around 6:00 am, and spent the next five hours lifting weights, on the treadmill, and hanging out in the sauna and whirlpool. Sometimes he returned again in the afternoon.

Before you get excited: he was quite elderly, small, slight, and wrinkled, with arthritis and back pain that limited his mobility.  His visits were strictly therapeutic.  And to look at the cute guys.

He had been out for only a few years. When you are living in Georgia, working as a third grade teacher, and married to a Baptist minister's daughter, you don't come out.  You would be fired and divorced instantly, and the court would deny you visitation rights to your children.

So he waited until he retired and the kids were grown up, served his wife with divorce papers, and moved into a condo in Wilton Manors.

Newly out, free to date for the first time since the Eisenhower Administration, he wanted to try everybody and everything. And older was attractive in Florida.  But you had to be robust, active, and dominant, a leather Daddy or a priapric satyr (look it up).  Like 63-year old Troy, who stole my boyfriend two years ago.  Gerry was short, small, and frail.

And you had to be out there  -- at organizations, on the gay beach, in the clubs.  Gerry didn't have the mobility or the stamina.

He occasionally met someone online by doctoring his photo and saying he was 55.  But they always made an excuse right away, or engaged in some desultory "pity" acts.

I shared his bed once, when he made a "hookup" date with a guy in Miami.  Neither of them had cars, so I drove Gerry down for the hookup, with the proviso that I got to watch or participate.  Unfortunately, the guy seemed to be mostly into me.  I had to keep physically pushing him toward Gerry.

Gerry was despondent.  He wanted a boyfriend, but he couldn't even find a decent hookup.

So Barney and I decided to play matchmaker.  We invited Gerry to brunch at the Courtyard Cafe, the Wilton Manors equivalent of the West Hollywood's French Quarter.

We each brought a "date" to introduce to Gerry.  Barney brought a retired football coach who worked out at the gym. I brought a professor of Asian Studies who I met at the Club.

Both were robust, active, and dominant.

Both ignored Gerry.

But the waiter didn't.

He was in his twenties, taller than me, rather slim, rather flamboyant, with a long face and a shock of brown hair. His nametag read "Rick: Georgia."

Waiters at the Courtyard Cafe always flirted for tips, but Rick seemed particularly flirty, and he immediately zeroed in on Gerry.

When Gerry ordered the Eggs Benedict, Rick exclaimed, "You must be a Georgia boy, too!  I can tell from your accent!  What you doing hanging out with all these Yankees?"

He asked Gerry's name, and said "Why, darlin'!  My drag name is Geraldine Delicious!  We're twins!"

Then he pointed out the side dishes by wrapping his arm around Gerry's shoulders.

When he brought our food, he wrapped his arm around Gerry again and said "Careful, darling, the plate's hot."

Then he brought us some sweet rolls for the table.  "On the house," he said, touching Gerry's shoulder again.   "Can't have too many sweet things in your mouth, can you?"

Gerry was grinning broadly.  He had never been the subject of so much attention before, not even when he was married.  "Hey, do you think he's really interested, or just a flirt?"

I decided to find out.  I said I had to go to the bathroom, and grabbed Rick on the way to the kitchen.  He smiled at me.  "Ready for the check?"

"The check and your phone number," I said, as if flirting.

"Sure thing, Daddy.  But only if you share it with that cute Georgia boy!"

"Gerry is your type?"

"You have no idea!  I've always been into older guys, and to meet one from back home, and a cutie-pie to boot!  I could just melt!"  He pulled the check from his pad and scribbled down his number.  "Excuse me, Daddy, I have to deliver the check right to the table, if you know what I mean?"

Three weeks later, Rick moved in with Gerry.

The relationship was a rocky one: within a period of six months, they broke up, got back together, broke up, became roommates, got back together again, and broke up again.

Gerry had the time of his life.

Trapped in a Junior High Locker Room

A few summers ago, I walked into the campus locker room after a long run, planning to shower and change clothes.  It was deserted, as one expects in the summer. But just as I dropped my underwear, the door burst open, and 50,000 kids ran in.

They were beside me, beneath me, above me, behind me, jostling, pushing, occasionally saying "Excuse me, sir," a blur of swim-sleek bodies and wet dripping hair and tiny hands fiddling with locks and swimsuits tossed to the floor.

Probably junior high age, at various stages of pubescence.  Some hard tight muscles, some thin, soft androgyny.  Some massive cocks and low-hanging balls, some nubs and pencil-dicks.  About half of them were aroused.

I grabbed my towel, wrapped it around my waist,  and inched my way through the crowd, murmuring "Excuse me, excuse me" as I collided with the occasional shoulder or arm, butt or dick.  A hand cupped my butt.  Whenn I turned, a freckled kid with braces was grinning "Sorry,  sir, I thought you were...."

Finally I extricated myself from the mass of bodies and found their handler, who was passing out towels as they pushed and shoved their way to the showers, three or four under each head.

"Junior high swim camp," he explained.

"I think I'll wait it out," I told him.  There would be no room for me to shower amid the throngs of exuberant 14-year old bodies anyway, and just looking made me uncomfortable.

Some of the physiques were impressive.  Some of the cocks were impressive.  And aroused.

Was it ethical to notice?









The high school wrestler in this photograph is 15 years old.  He's from Illinois, where the age of consent is 17, so it will be two years before an adult can legally date or engage in a sexual relationship with him.

Is it ethical to notice him?  Can you appreciate the aesthetic beauty of someone with whom physical activity would be inappropriate?

Certainly. Physical activity and aesthetic appreciation are two different things. You can enjoy the attractiveness of your boss, your students, your brother-in-law, your nephew, a stranger on the street, people who you would never consider dating or hooking up with. 

One proviso: no cruising or aggressively staring, which moves from aesthetic appreciation to sexual intent and, outside of a bar context, makes nearly everyone uncomfortable.  Straight men tend to think of it as a threat, and gay men, as creepy.











Another proviso:   Only persons aged 18 or older may be depicted aroused or in a sexual situation in photographs, film, or any visual art.  Teens can be arrested for taking selfies of themselves.

Nudity is permitted, but why take chances?  Never photograph anyone under 18 nude, with or without their permission.  [The guy taking this selfie is obviously in his 20s.]

A third proviso: Obviously, no dating or hooking up.  If your hookup looks young, card him.

Does noticing mean that you are a  p___?

Certainly not.

This is a pre-pubescent athlete.  Notice the big head compared to the body, the soft, square torso, the baby face.  He looks like a child, which of course he is.  You may find him cute, like a puppy dog, but not at all beautiful.
















These athletes are post-pubescent.  Notice the small heads compared to their bodies, the long, lean, muscular torsos, the tight faces.  They look like adults, and which of course they are, physiologically if not socially.

Noticing means that you are attracted to men, not children.