The Worst Date in Ohio History: Remy the Jerk

Dayton, October 2005

For 20 years all of my friends and neighbors were gay men.  The guy on the next treadmill at the gym, the couple ahead of me in line at the grocery store, everyone I passed on the street was gay.  I got my news from The Advocate.   I bought my books in a gay bookstore.  I went to a gay church.

Now I'm living in Dayton, Ohio, in the midst of the Straight World.  There's one gay bar, on the other side of town, and no gay organizations except The Friends of the Italian Opera, a closeted group of gay retirees.  The nearest gay neighborhood is an hour's drive away.

I'm not adjusting well.  I have no friends except a "straight" Friend With Benefits.  I stop going to the gym, and gain weight.  I'm so depressed that I seek out psychological counseling.  And I have a series of crazy dates with sleazoids and jerks.

But tonight will be different.  It's a blind date, arranged by Clintin (who I hooked up with last February), so I haven't actually met him yet, but he sounds great: Remy, 36 years old, a history professor (specializing in 19th century America), who lives in the gay neighborhood of Germantown in Columbus.

His photo isn't great:  long, weasley face, villain goatee, pale skin, skinny chest matted with black hair.  But I'm willing to overlook those defects.

Ok, I have high expectations: we'll become boyfriends, I'll move in, and commute to my dreary job in Dayton, and get my life back to normal.

The Arrival

I arrive a few minutes early: weird white house, set back from the street, but in the heart of Germantown, a few blocks from the gay bars and restaurants.

Whoops -- one of his roommates is a woman!  Must be a lesbian, but still....

Instead of taking me into the living room, she escorts me upstairs to the bedroom to wait.  Remy is naked, toweling off from the shower.

"You're early!" he exclaims in a nasty tone.

"It's an hour's drive from Dayton, so I couldn't calculate exactly," I say defensively.  "Sorry for coming up here -- your roommate wouldn't let me stay in the living room."

"Yeah, she doesn't like me.  I'm only renting a room -- I had to move out of my house when I broke up with my ex."

Too much information for a first date!

Well, at least I got a good view.

The Dinner

There are a dozen gay restaurants in Columbus, but instead Remy takes me to the Milestone, a big, airy, freezing-cold restaurant that looks out over the downtown skyline.  He insists on a table outside, where we keep getting buzzed by the mist from a gigantic fountain.

The menu is all nouvelle-cuisine tiny-portioned gourmand stuff, with tiny pieces of meat and vegetables artistically arranged amid sprigs of cilantro and dabs of cumin mayonnaise.

There are three things I hate on a date: 1. to be cold; 2. to be hungry; 3. to be insulted.

Remy doesn't seem to realize that he is insulting me:
1. West Hollywood ("it's so superficial!")
2. My degree ("on of those fad degrees that will be useless in ten years")
3. My trip to Paris ("such a cliched destination.  why doesn't anyone ever go to Bucharest or Sarajevo?")
4. My singing voice.  How did he ever get around to that?

I don't have any particular reason to put up the top photo.  I just needed something to take my mind off Remy.

Have you ever noticed that jerks -- guys who are critical, inconsiderate, insensitive, and hurtful -- tend to be physically unattractive?  I certainly don't ascribe to the notion that beautiful bodies go with beautiful souls, but say you are attractive, so everyone is nice to you all the time.  Won't you learn to be nice?  And if you are constantly snubbed and rejected, won't you learn to be nasty yourself?




The Party

Next we're scheduled to go to a Halloween party at an apartment a few blocks from Remy's house.  It seems strange to go to a party on a first date -- too many distractions, too much competition.  But I haven't been to a good Halloween party for years, and I'm still clinging to the hope that we'll become a couple, and I'll get my gay life back.

We should have coordinated in advance.  I'm going as  Zorro, and he's going as Mark Twain, with a white suit, bushy white hair, and a white moustache.  Rather an odd couple, compounded by his rather gross makeup and the lit cigar he carries constantly as a prop.

There are about 30 guys crammed into the 2-bedroom apartment, a lot of hot bodies in skimpy costumes, but a lot of drinking going on.  The West Hollywood parties I used to go to had very little drinking -- when you choose your friends mostly from church and temple, you get a lot of teetotlars and "one glass of wine on my birthday" guys.  This is a room full of sloshing drunks, and stale with with marijuana and cigarette smoke.  And cruising.


Remy latches onto a Cute Young Thing, and before I know it, they're making out.

I've had enough!  "I'm ready to go!"  I tell him.

"Well, I'm not drunk enough yet.  Why don't you go back to the house -- my roommate will let you in.  I'll be back later -- and I may even have a surprise for you."  He nudges the Cute Young Thing.

No way!  In West Hollywood, the guy you begin the evening with, you end the evening with.  Friend, roommate, date, it doesn't matter -- you go out that door together, you come back together.  No abandoning them to pursue a trick.

And who "shares" on the first date?  That's not a date, that's a three-way hookup!

"I want to go home now!" I say, more firmly, squeezing his shoulder.  "Alone."

"Ok, ok," Remy says.  He scribbles his phone number, passes it to the Cute Young Thing, and escorts me out.

We walk back to his house through the crowds of gay-neighborhood partiers, mostly silent.

"You know, it wouldn't have killed you to share me with that Cute Young Thing," Remy said.  "He could do both of us."

"I want you all to myself.  I'm the jealous type."

"That's for sure.  Not your most attractive quality, I must say."

The Bedroom

After all that, why did I agree to spend the night with Remy the Jerk?

Three reasons:
1. I was cold, and wanted a warm bed
2. I was too tired to drive an hour back to Dayton
3. He had a penis.  A nice one -- at least 8".

Once I got past the alcohol and tobacco on his breath, Remy was a good kisser.  He tried to lower me onto his penis while we were kissing, but I refused anal, going down on him instead.  Then he moved into the 69 position to finish.  I finished in the interfemoral position, thrusting between his legs.

We fell asleep in each other's arms.  In the morning he gave me his telephone number, said "Next time with the Cute Young Thing.  I'll bet he can teach you a few tricks," and kicked me out without breakfast.

Still a jerk..

See also: The Huber Heights Horror.; a Hookup During a Job Interview

Desperately Seeking Kevin the Vampire

San Francisco, March 14th, 2003

A Friday.  I'm living in Florida, but back in San Francisco for five days, anxious to visit my old hangouts and re-unite with my old friends:

Drake the Teddy Bear Artist.
Corbin, the Gym Rat with the Mortadella+:
Clay, who I picked up in the restroom at Macy's
Wayne the Ex-Priest.
Matt, my ex-boyfriend's ex-boyfriend

And especially Kevin the Vampire.  When I left San Francisco, I was actually relieved to be rid of him:  his smoking, his elitism, his weird paranormal powers, his exhausting bedroom calisthenics.  But at least dating him was never dull.

David, the ex-Baptist minister who is trying to make up for lost time by hooking up with at least two guys every day, picks me up at the airport.  On the way to his apartment on Alvarado in the Castro, he tells me that Drake, Corbin, Clay, and Wayne have all moved away or gone incognito.

I'm disappointed.  Back in West Hollywood, almost everyone I knew is still there.  I could walk into the French Quarter or the Fautline, and it would seem like I never left.

David shrugs.  "It takes a lot to live in Gay Heaven.  Not only money, but stamina, determination, passion.  Most guys get burned out in a few years."

"Well, surely Kevin the Vampire is still around.  I can't imagine him living anywhere else."

"Dunno.  I just hung out with him because of you, so we haven't been in contact.  Why don't you give him a call?"

I am embarrassed to admit that in a year of dating, I never got Kevin's phone number.  He always called me, or showed up at my door.

"Well, do you know his address?"  David asks.  "We could do a drop-in."

"I never got his actual street address, either, but I know where his apartment is.  I've been there a hundred times."  I hesitate.  "Only...we might not be able to find it.  One of Kevin's paranormal powers was confusing visitors.  If he wasn't expecting you, you would get lost."

"Desperately seeking Kevin the Vampire, a paranormal adventure!" David exclaims.  "I'm in -- but only if we can hook up with some of the leads.  I'm running a little low on my quota."








Saturday, March 15th

We have breakfast at Orphan Andy's, and then take the Muni out to the Richmond, where we find Kevin's apartment with no problem.  It's on the third floor of a Victorian on 12th Avenue, just south of Clement.

When we knock, a cute black-haired twink answers the door, bleary-eyed, wearing only pajama bottoms.  He introduces himself as Rome (or Roam) and invites us in for coffee.

"I've lived here for two years now, but I know who you're talking about.  He was here when I came to look at the place.  Not my type -- I like them muscular, like you guys."  He puts his hand on David's knee.  "But big eyes.  Weird, hypnotic."

"Definitely one of his selling points," I say.

"Well, he sold me.  I ended up going own on him, right in front of the landlord.  And I'm never a slut!  Weird, huh?"  He pauses, lightly stroking David's knee.  "Sorry I can't help you out.  I have to go take a shower and get ready for work.  So...unless you want to join me..."

I wait in the bedroom while David and Rome make out in the shower.  When they emerge, I go down on Rome while David is topping him.  Smooth hairless chest, average sized, cut, a lot of moaning.

That night David hosts a party in his apartment.  He invites four guys, including Matt, the crazy Harvard boy who was with my ex-boyfriend Fred for ten years.  Now he runs a nude housekeeping service.  Matt's date is, of all people, Seth!

A cute science nerd in his 30s with a surprisingly muscular physique, a hairy chest, and a Bratwurst+ beneath the belt.  The teaching assistant in my chemistry class in 1997, now a chemistry professor at San Francisco City College.  He and Kevin dated after we broke up (or maybe before we broke up).

The ex-boyfriend of my ex-boyfriend is dating the ex-boyfriend of my ex-boyfriend!

The mind boggles.

"Kevin and I didn't really have a friendly break-up," Seth tells me.  "There was yelling, and crying, and throwing things, and that was just my friends, when I told them about it.  So I haven't seen him since.  Sorry I can't be of any help."

Well, Seth was of some help.  I got to go down on him again during a game of "Guess the Penis."





Monday, March 17th

While David is at work, I go to St. Mary's Hospital to see Marius (top photo), the Argentine German who was Kevin's boss and best friend.  He's in his 40s, a hairy muscle bear with an enormous uncut Mortadella, and religious, a devout Lutheran who once planned to become a minister.  I'm sure we would have dated, except that I only met him after I began dating Kevin the Vampire.

"Kevin quit a couple of years ago, and moved out of town," Marius tells me.

"Out of San Francisco altogether? That's odd."

"I know.   But with rents going sky-high, he just couldn't afford to stay here on his salary any longer."

So Kevin the Vampire abandoned Gay Heaven for the most mundane of reasons, his checkbook?  I am strangely disappointed.

"I have his address and telephone number back at my apartment, if you'd like to stop by later."

"Sure, that'd be great."

He smiles.  "We could have dinner first, if you're free."

I check with David -- he's fine with not feeding me.  So Marius and I have dinner at Thai Thai, and then go back to his apartment in the Richmond to spend the night.  I go down on him, and he finishes with interfemeral while we're kissing.

Tuesday, March 18th

The telephone number that Marius gave me for Kevin doesn't work.

Wednesday, March 19th

My last night in San Francisco.  I have to get up early to catch my plane, so David and I are staying in.  He's busy in the kitchen, making arroz con pollo with a salad and fresh fruit, when there's a knock on the door.

"Could you get that?" David yells.  "And if he's hot, invite him to stay for dinner."

Through the peephole I see -- Kevin the Vampire!

Shocked, I pull the door open.  "Kevin...what...how..."

He grins.  "Aren't you going to invite us in?"

"Sure, come in."  Us?  

He comes in, followed by a buffed guy in his 30s with a short beard, a v-shaped torso, and impressive biceps.

David appears from the kitchen, staring.  "Kevin...how did you get here?"

"By BART, of course.  I live in Milpitas now, in an actual house, just like Ma and Pa Kettle.  This is Charlie -- quite a beautiful specimen, isn't he?  And you should see his penis -- well, most likely you will, before the evening is over."

Charlie shakes hands with us, unfazed at being called a "specimen."

"How did you know I was back in town?" I ask.

"Well, Boomer, you've been calling me for five days.  You must have known that, sooner or later, I would answer."

"I haven't been calling you...the phone number Marius gave me didn't work."

He laughs.  "I didn't mean by telephone."

By the way, Charlie did have a very nice penis.

Sausage Sighting of Christopher Atkins

When I was living in West Hollywood, I met a lot of actors, some famous ones: Adam West, Cesar Romero, Gregory Harrison, Greg Williams, John Amos, Lou Ferrigno, Michael J. Fox, Richard Dreyfuss.

But only one is a Facebook friend today: Christopher Atkins

Here's why:

West Hollywood, June 1994

In the spring of 1994, my friend Infinite Chazz began dating Kris, a 19-year old baby-faced ginger boy who had been in Los Angeles less than a year, but had already been in some movies and tv shows.

You might know him as Kristoffer Winters, who played the Zilbor in Dude, Where's My Car (2000) and Clayton Gallagher in Shameless (2011-2012), and who is reputedly the boyfriend of  Jeremy Renner.

The full post is on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends

How to Host a Real West Hollywood Party

In West Hollywood our main form of entertainment was the Dinner Party. We hosted them, or were invited to them, at least once a week. They were a good way to catch up in those days before text messaging, meet your friends' new boyfriends, and of course, do a little sharing.

But you don't need to live in West Hollywood to host a real West Hollywood Party.  You can do it anywhere, even in small towns on the Plains.

The Date and Time:

Saturday night is best.  Ask everyone to arrive by 6:00, so they'll be there by 6:30.  You sit down to eat at 7:00, have the entertainment at 8:00, and the bedroom or bars by 10:00.

The Guest List:

The most that can sit comfortably in your living room, at least four, as many as eight plus you, your partner, and your housemates.

Only gay men, of course, and always an even number.

About half single and half partnered (romantic couples or best-friend pairs).  Try for a mix of races and ages, and be sure to include:

1, A celebrity.  Someone who is famous, at least locally. Actors are best, but musicians, politicians, and porn stars will work, too.

2. A newcomer, someone who has just come out.  A Cute Young Thing preferred, but not required.

The Pre-Dinner Refreshments:

Most of my friends didn't drink, so there was just an assortment of soft drinks, juices, and coffee and tea.  I suppose you could have alcohol, but not a lot.  Some of the guys will be heading to the bars later.

For appetizers, something simple, cheese and crackers, a veggie platter, or hummus with pita pieces.

The Background Music:

Either classical or a selection of gay-positive pop songs.  If you want to do the 1980s, I suggest:
1. "I'm Coming Out"
2. "It's Raining Men"
3. "Time Warp"
4. "Like a Virgin"

Never jazz, country-western, or show tunes!

The Conversation:

Before dinner, about half the conversation should involve gym routines, and the other half the latest movies and tv programs with gay subtexts or hunky stars.

Afterwards, it will be about sex, coming out, or homophobia.

If there's a lull in the conversation, ask guys to share one of the following:
1. Your coming out story.
2. The biggest penis you ever had.
3. A date from hell.
4. A celebrity date or hookup.

The Dinner:

We eat healthy all week, so the Dinner Party is a time to show your skill.  Fatty meats, cheeses, cream sauce, rich desserts, bring them all out. Make sure it's colorful and festive-looking.

 But don't prepare too much: half of your guests will just have a salad.

The Entertainment:

Usually a movie: fast, easy, and visual. But nothing serious or hard to follow: you will be chatting constantly throughout.  A gay classic, or an action/adventure movie with a lot of beefcake.

You can substitute a gay-themed version of Trivial Pursuit or another party game, or, if you have some willing volunteers and the group is cool with it, an erotic dance or a sex show.

The Bedroom:

After the entertainment, your guests have the choice of going out to the bars together, or "sharing."

If they opt for sharing, they get to mingle and decide who will be going with who.

A committed couple or pair of friends can go with any single guy, but single guys can't hook up with each other.  No more than three per room. .  And the activity must occur in private.

You should have at least two rooms prepared for sharing.  If more than six guys are interested, they will have to wait their turn.

Spending the night is optional.

Don't be surprised if you're invited to three or four West Hollywood Parties thrown by your friends next weekend.

See also: Jimmy the Boy Toy's West Hollywood Party

My Date with Robin Williams and His Mega-Hunk Boyfriend

West Hollywood, September 1985

When I first moved to West Hollywod, I expected to see (and meet, and date) celebrities all the time.  But during my first two months, I saw only four., and only met (and sort of dated) one.

So when my friend Marcus invited me to a Labor Day pool party hosted by his film-producer housemate, visions of celebrity beefcake filled my head.

Sylvester Stallone and Lou Ferrigno sunbathe nude.  

Harrison Ford in a speedo dives into the pool and splashes Steve Gutenberg.

Mel Gibson struts  about in his bulgeworthy Mad Max leather chaps.

Besides I heard about West Hollywood parties, where the games involve  penis size contests and the evening ends in the bedroom, with couples bringing in a third to "share."  Maybe me and Harrison Ford and Steve Guttenberg!

Marcus' house was in the Hollywood Hills, only a few miles from my apartment in West Hollywood, but through a maze of narrow, curvy roads named after Greek gods: Hercules, Zeus, Venus, Achilles.

On the way up Laurel Canyon Boulevard, the car behind me decided that I was going too slow, and zoomed around.  As it passed, I got a glimpse of the swishy queen in the passenger seat sneering at me.

It was Robin Williams (1951-2014), soon to become a comedy legend with starring roles in movies like Mrs. Doubtfire, The Fisher King, Hook, Aladdin, and Good Will Hunting.

In 1985 I knew him mostly as the effervescent fish-out-of-water Mork, an alien observer who misunderstood Earth customs and recited treacly morals on the tv show Mork and Mindy (1978-1982), but I had also seen him in Popeye (1980) and The World According to Garp (1982).

He was 34 years old, with rather homely face, but a thick, almost muscular frame and a fabulously fur-covered chest and belly.

Who knew that he was so swishy?

I followed the car as it turned right onto Mount Olympus Drive, then Electra, then Achilles.

We were going to the same party! Robin was gay!

 We pulled up to the valet parking station at the same time.

My jaw dropped: Robin's date was gorgeous! Mid-20s,tanned, Mediterranean features, v-shaped torso, massive shoulders, thick biceps.

"Hi, I'm Boomer!" I exclaimed.

"Pete," the date said with a friendly smile, shaking my hand vigorously.  Robin ignored me and touched Pete's shoulder.  "Could we go inside now?"

He shrugged.  They disappeared inside the house.

I was rather offender -- I naively expected all celebrities to be as friendly as Michael J. Fox -- but Pete piqued my interest, and Robin, swishy or not, was part of the deal.  I was definitely going to be sharing their bed at the end of this party!

Unfortunately, it turned out to be not a West Hollywood party after all.  A lot of men and women standing around in the living room, drinking cocktails and wine spritzers.

A few minor celebrities: C. Thomas Howell (Red Dawn), Tom Hulce (Amadeus), Dean Paul Martin (Misfits of Science).  With women.

I found Marcus out by the pool, where there was a more pleasant male-female ratio, plus hunks in swimsuits.  "Hey, I thought this was a West Hollywood party! All groping and three-ways!"

He grinned.  "It might get a little steamy later on, after the heteros leave."

"Great!  There's still a chance I can make it with Robin Williams and his super-hot boy toy."

"Robin Williams brought a date?  I knew he was gay, but I always figured he was too closeted to be seen with guys in public."

"Well, maybe he's coming out.  And you should see the hunk he's snared!"

 At that moment, Pete emerged onto the patio -- alone.  Seeing my chance, I brought Marcus as an excuse to talk to him.

"We're in town for a week," he told us, "While Robin is appearing at the Comedy Store."  So this wasn't their first date -- they were boyfriends.  "I miss San Francisco, and my home gym.  I can't wait to get back."

"I go to the Hollywood Spa.  It's a nice facility...." I began.

"Sorry, it's noisy out here," Pete said, leaning close.  I put my arm around his waist.  Marcus found someone else he needed to say hello to, and vanished.  "How's the free weight situation?"

Pete was cruising me while his boyfriend was in the other room?  He must want to "share. "Excellent.  I can get you a day pass, if you'd like to work out with me -- say tomorrow afternoon?  Robin, too -- a lot of celebrities work out there."

"Sounds great.  I'll have to check with the Boss, but I think we're free."

I laughed at his joke -- calling his partner The Boss!"


We had barely finished exchanging telephone numbers when Robin flounced onto the patio like a 1930s movie diva.  "I'm all done here," he said curtly.  "Let's go."

"I invited Pete to work out with me tomorrow," I said. "You're invited too, of course.  And afterwards maybe we could have dinner...."

Followed by sharing!

Robin glared at me, no doubt upset at someone cruising his date.  "Sorry, but I'm very busy. I'm working on some new material for my show tomorrow night."  He pulled at Pete's arm.  "Come on, we're done here."

Pete shot me a pained look and allowed himself to be led out.

We didn't work out together, but the next night Pete called and asked if I wanted to go cruising.  We went to the Gold Coast, where we looked at the hot guys, talked about San Francisco  -- surprisingly, he didn't say much about Robin, except that they had been together for less than a year.  We drank orange juice, kissed, and groped.

Then I followed Pete to a house on Crestview Street where all of the out-of-town performers at the Comedy Store stay.

We sat on the couch, and Pete pushed my hand down onto the bulge in his jeans.  He was already aroused.

Shouldn't we wait for Robin to get here?  "What about Robin...." I murmured.

"Oh, he doesn't mind," Pete said, unzipping.  His Kielbasa+, uncut, sprang to life.  I wrapped my hand around the shaft.

I started going down on him.  He leaned back and spread his legs and mussed my hair.  "That's good -- great."

I worked feverishly, expecting the door to open at any moment and an irate boyfriend to come bursting in.  Soon Pete spurted down my throat with a very loud "Yeah!", then moved me to the floor to go down on me.  But I wasn't able to stay aroused.  Eventually he switched to using his hand while we kissed.

When I finished, I tried to lead Pete into the bedroom, but he said "Robin will be back soon, so you'd better go."

What about sharing?  "Go?  Wait -- I thought..."

"But it's been great!  We're heading back to San Francisco tomorrow, but keep in touch.  Maybe you can come up and visit sometime."

"That would be fun."  I walked out of the house feeling guilty, unclean.  This was not sharing.  Closeted celebrity or not, I had helped Pete cheat on his boyfriend.

I didn't call Pete in San Francisco, and I didn't make up a "sharing" experience to tell at West Hollywood parties.   I didn't want anything more to do with the sordid affair.

Was Robin Williams Gay?

In September 1985, Robin Williams was married to Valerie Valardi, with a two year old son, Zachary.  He would marry twice more during his life.

He played many gay and gay-vague characters over the years, in The Birdcage, The Night Listener, and in his last movie, The Boulevard.   Some of his performances were extremely homophobic, yet he was always an advocate for gay rights and gay marriage.  When her daughter Zelda came out as bisexual, Robin was completely supportive.

One would expect that, with that gay-positive background, Robin would be open about being bisexual, but he always insisted that he was 100% into the ladies.  He never even considered having a same-sex experience.

So, if Pete wasn't a boyfriend, who was he?

Maybe a personal assistant or a bodyguard?  He never claimed that they were boyfriends, and he did call Robin "the boss."

By the way, in case you want to see it, here's Robin's penis, from The World's Greatest Dad (2009).  There may have been some shrinkage.

See also: Michael J. Fox Beneath the Belt; and The World According to Mork

Are Mike and Calvin Friends or Lovers?

Wilton Manors, October 2004

You're at a heterosexual party, and you want to know if it's ok to flirt with that hot person who came with the hetero guy.  Are they just friends, or lovers?

Easy: if it's a man, they're friends.  You may occasionally be mistaken, but 99 times out of 100, you can distinguish between friends and lovers by gender.

If you're not sure, check their level of physical intimacy.  Heterosexuals rarely sit with their hands on their friend's knee, or make out with them, or go down on them.

If you're still not sure, find out if they live together.  Heterosexuals over age 25 usually shy away from living with friends, thinking of it as "juvenile": grown-ups should only live with lovers.

With gay men, it's not so easy.

1. Both friends and lovers are men.

2. Friends have no qualms about physical intimacy.  They are perfectly willing to make out with you, or to go down on you.  But sometimes lovers are sexually incompatible, and rarely do anything.

3.  Friends often live together, and lovers sometimes do not.

4. Guys often have very close, inseparable friends.

But you have to be able to distinguish.  It's extremely rude to invite one lover but not the other to a party, to give a Christmas present to one but not the other, or even to hold a conversation with one without asking "How's your boyfriend?"

It's even more rude to cruise a guy's lover.

Mike and Calvin were two guys who worked out at Barney's gym: both in their 30s, buffed but not bodybuilders, with smooth chests and big biceps.  Mike was taller, pale/Anglo, and a little more buffed.  Calvin was shorter, dark/Hispanic, with longer hair, and a bigger penis (I saw them both in the shower).

I was interested in Calvin.  But I couldn't cruise him openly, until I knew whether they were friends or lovers.

And of course I couldn't just ask.  It was a complete taboo to ask "Are you guys together?"  It reminded us of growing up in the straight world, where two guys together were automatically assumed friends, where gay people were assumed not to exist.

So I had to figure it out some other way.  In weight room conversations, I learned that Mike was from Ohio, and had lived in Florida for three years.  He worked in the hospital.  Calvin grew up in Miami, and worked in a souvenir shop.  

That's all very interesting, but are you friends or lovers?

"Do you live together?" I asked.

"Oh, no, Mike has his own place," Calvin said.  "You should see his roommate!  Super-hot, but not into sharing."

That wasn't conclusive: you could share with friends or lovers.

They always lifted together, but they did separate cardio: Calvin on a treadmill, Mike on an elliptical (nobody jogged outside in Florida).  So I chose the treadmill next to Calvin and quizzed him for more details.  He came out as a teenager; his parents, conservative Catholics, tolerated him but didn't allow him to bring friends or boyfriends around: "They've never met Mike."

Suddenly Mike appeared on the treadmill on the other side of Calvin, and started a conversation of his own.

Jealous?  Trying to steer Calvin away? They must be lovers!

But at least I could have sex with Calvin.  Sharing seemed out of the question, but I could invite them to a party with sex games...

I approached them in the locker room.  "Barney, the gym owner, is having a party Saturday night, and we'd like you to come."

"I think we're busy," Mike said.

"Oh, come on," Calvin said, "You're always complaining that we don't meet any normal gay guys, just club kids into nonstop dancing and sex.  Won't it be nice to just hang out and have a conversation, without a lot of pressure to get naked?"

Uh-oh.  Getting naked was exactly what I had in mind!

So I planned a sedate, non-erotic dinner party, with Trivial Pursuit and a gay-themed DVD instead of sex games, and invited Yuri and his boyfriend Keith, Barney, Wade the Beach Boy, and Mike and Calvin.

When it came time for the celebrity dating stories, I told about my lunch with Michael J. Fox, without turning it into an energetic session of oral sex.

Mike and Calvin sat together on the couch, occasionally grabbing each other's knee or whispering in each other's ear.

When we played Trivial Pursuit, Mike and Calvin were on my team.  I tried to sit next to Calvin, but Mike pushed his way between us.

Possessive much?

Before we started the movie, Yuri and I went into the kitchen to dish out the dessert (low-fat pumpkin fluff with graham crackers).  Calvin followed.

"You guys need any help?"

"We got it, thanks," I said.

He wrapped his arms around me from the rear.  "So when you going to ask me out, Papi?"



I turned to face him.  Our crotches pressed together.  "Um...I thought..."

I glanced over at Yuri for help.  He was bent over the coffee maker, pretending not to notice.

"I know, Mike isn't being very nice.  He thinks you're not good enough for me.  But he's not my Daddy -- I can pick my own men."  He kissed me briefly.  "So, about that date..."

Calvin and Mike were friends after all!

In case you were wondering: anal bottom, but I talked him into letting me go down on him and doing interfemoral.

We only had one date, and I never got to share with Mike, who still didn't approve.

Elijah Wood Dumps Roger for Jason Bateman

New York, October 1999

For about a month, Yuri has been dating John Benjamin Hickey, the 36 year old actor who starred in Love! Valour! Compassion! and Finding North, and now plays Clifford Bradshaw in Cabaret on Broadway.  Not his usual type -- balding, rather sallow chest, not a gym rat.

Well, he does have one characteristic that Yuri likes.

I think Yuri is star-struck, dating John for his address book rather than his wit, charm, and physique.  Who wouldn't accept a date that involved meeting  Nathan Lane and  Liza Minelli?

Yes, we shared.  I'm kind of interested in that address book, too.

When Yuri invites me to dinner at John's house, I assume it will be a standard West Hollywood party, with nudity and oral sex, and guests including aging mega-hunks that I had crushes on in the 1970s: James Naughton, Matthew Broderick, Tom Wopat, and Lou Diamond Phillips.

Instead, there are just four of us -- the fourth, apparently my blind date, is Roger Rees, who I remember as Robin Colcort, Rebecca's crush, on Cheers (1989-1993), and as the Sheriff of Rottingham in Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993).

Not at all my type: I like short, husky, and dark-skinned, and he's tall, thin, and gaunt, with an unattractive long face. I like working-class "regular guys," and he's a sophisticate.  I'm a teetotler, and he likes his wine.

But I figure, Rees probably has an address book even bigger than Hickey's.

Besides, to quote a show tune, "In the dark they are all the same."

"I can't tell you how refreshing it is to meet a mature man for a change," Roger tells me, fondling my knee under the dinner table.

"I'm only 38..."

"38, eh?  Brace yourself -- the tidal wave is coming.  Ever since I turned 40 --er, 40-something [he was actually 56], the twinks have been positively throwing themselves at me.  Why, I just broke up with the most obnoxious Cute Young Thing you can imagine."

Great -- he's on the rebound.  I glare at Yuri for setting me up with this guy, big address book or not.

"Granted, he was cute, but a pretty face is no substitute for substance."

His hand works its way up to my crotch.

"And he dumped me out of nowhere, when he found someone that he thought would further his career -- Jason Bateman, can you believe it?"

"I dated Jason Bateman's ex..." I say, trying to steer the conversation away from Roger's Cute Young Thing ex.  "Porn star, gigantic penis...but nothing compared to the guy I met in Texas."

Too late.  Rees has already begun.

Too late.  Rees has already begun the story.

New York, Fall 1999

Roger's first love was the theater, and regardless of how much Hollywood beckoned, he was determined to stay put, in the Manhattan he so dearly loved.  He only took the role of Dr. Croft, an evil mad scientist sort who runs an asylum for amnesiac and dying children (in The Bumblebee Flies Anyway), because he could stay in New York, and because he was a fan of Robert Cormier, who wrote the original novel.

He hadn't anticipated a problem -- most of the cast consisted of actors in their teens and early twenties, and age 40-something, Roger was a full-fledged twink magnet.  Half the cast wanted to date him!  Or at least go down on him in his dressing room.  He usually had a rule against dating costars, but some of them were very persistent, such as 18-year old Elijah Wood.

"Oh, I hate him!"  I exclaim.  "An insufferable kid in gut-wrenching movies like 'Radio Flier' and 'The Good Son.'  He manages to drain the gay subtexts from everything he does, even 'Huck Finn.'"

"He took his shirt off in 'Flipper,'" Hickey adds, "Giving the teen dream crowd something to dream about.  Not me, though."

"Well, he's a little more mature than that by now," Roger says.  "Not much, but a little."

Eventually a cute face and persistence wore Roger down.  "Look, I know we have some chemistry together," Elijah said one day, cornering him in his dressing room."Why don't we just admit it?"

Roger allowed a kiss and a grope, but then broke away.  Who was this young succubus?  "We both have jobs to do here...." he stammered.  "We can't let something so mundane as sexual attraction get in the way of our art."

"Well -- the filming won't last forever.  What are you doing for Christmas?"

So  after the filming was over, Roger agreed to some simple, uncomplicated dates -- a walk through Central Park, a quiet dinner at home.  The most public they got was seeing Liza Minelli at the Palace Theater.

Elijah was very, very horny.  He wanted to go down on Roger three or more times a day -- even in his salad days, Roger could never have been a match for that voracious appetite, and now his libido was waning.  What about kissing and cuddling, just holding each other as the darkness enveloped them?

Then there was the porn -- gay and straight -- the three-ways -- the discussions of women's breasts and vaginal whatchamacallits!  Disgusting!  Apparently Elijah was into everybody and everything.

"How big was he?" Yuri asks.

"Not very, maybe 5" aroused," Roger says.  "And anyway, he was strictly an oral bottom, into giving head but not getting."

"I wonder how he handles it when he's with a woman," I say.  Then, embarrassed, I figure it out.

A couple of weeks ago, Elijah came as Roger's date to a party at Liza's apartment.  Among the guests was Jason Bateman, who Roger knew from Hollywood: 30 years old, rather a nebbish sort but still cute, with a pretense of naiveté that had gotten him into more bedrooms than Jeff Stryker dildos.  He was as horny as Elijah, with an open relationship with his girlfriend, carte blanche to cruise everybody and everything in sight.    

Roger gamely introduced the two, then wandered off in search of more stimulating company.

Awhile later, he saw them still talking.  Maybe standing a little too close...but well, nothing wrong with that.  Probably comparing notes on the horrors of being child stars, the poor tykes.

Still...was Jason starting to tent?

Roger forced himself to back off and talk to the other guests.  When he looked again, Jason and Elijah were both gone!

Very bad form -- you don't abandon your date at a party! Could Elijah be going down on Jason right there?  Enraged, he started searching for them.  The living room...the parlor...the music room...the kitchen.  The master bedroom...

They wouldn't be in the master bath, would they?  But...the guest bath was too busy...if they wanted seclusion.

The door was locked.  Roger dangled the knob.

"Just a minute!" Eliza called.

Roger was too embarrassed to search the rest of the apartment.  He got his coat and left.

Elijah called the next day:

"Sorry to ditch you, but I couldn't let Jason get away.  I really need someone who has some ins in Hollywood.  Broadway is great, but..."

"That's fine," Roger said, gritting his teeth.  "These things happen.  You either have chemistry, or you don't."

"So, could we come over later to share?  Maybe I could go down on you while Jason is topping me?"

Roger hung up on him.

Was Roger Telling the Truth?

Roger Rees was a celebrity with a long-term partner, and so had nothing to gain by inventing a celebrity hookup.  And Elijah Wood has been the subject of countless gay rumors, although he dismisses them as "the fantasies of people with too much time on their hands."

But Jason Bateman hasn't been the subject of many rumors.  And I'm actually surprised that the sophisticated, elitist Rees would know the former teen idol, who hadn't yet become famous for adult roles.

By the way, I did go down on Roger before the night was over.  About 7.5", uncut.  And an even bigger address book.

See also: My Date with Andrew Lloyd Webber; Sausage Sighting of Richard Grieco

Comic Book Guy's Date with Porn Star Jeff Stryker

West Hollywood, November 18,  1987

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone is looking.  I redden with embarrassment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

November 19, 1987

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grudgingly I drive us to an apartment in Westwood.

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, we don't date again.

See also: Nude Photos of Jeff Stryker

Who Can Tell the Best Celebrity Hookup Story?

West Hollywood, August 2017

It seems that all of the celebrity dating and hookup stories I'm  getting lately took place in the 1960s or 1970s.  They involve Andy Griffith, Bobby Driscoll, Jack Wild, Tony Dow, and Ricky Nelson.  I wanted to hear about someone more contemporary.

But I haven't lived in Los Angeles for 20 years, and the  friends I have left there haven't added any new celebrity hookup stories in forever.  At the last West Hollywood party I attended, in 2011, they talked about Scott Baio and Sylvester Stallone.

Frankly, I'm getting a little sick of hearing about Scott Baio and Sylvester Stallone.

Among the top-earning male stars top male stars of 2017 are Chris Pratt, Mark Wahlberg, Kevin Hart, Vin Diesel, Chris Evans, Josh Gad, and Chris Hemsworth.

Surely a friend of a friend has been in Chris Evans' or Josh Gad's bed.

Among the top teen idols over age 18 are Cameron Boyce, Justin Bieber, Cameron Dallas, Aaron Carter, Nolan Gould, Hayes Grier, Shawn Mendes, Josh Hutcherson, Asa Butterfield, and Sean O'Donnell.

Surely there's a Cute Young Thing out there who has gone down on Shawn Mendes or Asa Butterfield.

So I took the bull by the horns: when I was back in California last week, I called the youngest guy I was still in touch with, my "son," Infinite Chazz, 17 years old when I met him in 1992. He's now 42,  working for a social service agency in Hollywood.

"Dig up your twink friends," I told him.  "Especially the ones with some kind of connection to show business.  We're going to have an old-fashioned West Hollywood party, with prizes for whoever has the biggest penis, whoever can get aroused the fastest, and whoever tells the best celebrity hookup story."

"Well, I win every 'biggest penis' contest," Chazz said. "Where do you think I got the nickname Infinite?  But I like the idea of a celebrity hookup story contest. My partner Jeremy is in the business, so he's sure to have a lot. And he has some other friends in the business, too."

So Infinite Chazz and Jeremy invited me to dinner, along with two of their twink friends, Dylan and Michael.

After dinner, I announced, "Each of you tell your best celebrity dating or hookup story.  The most famous celebrity you've been with.  Chazz will rate each story on a scale of 1 to 10.  The highest score gets to go into the bedroom with anyone he wants for ten minutes."

1. Jeremy.

I guess the most famous celebrity I've dated is Zachary Quinto, Spock on the new "Star Trek" reboot.  We met in 2010, when I was working on "American Horror Story," and Zach was playing the gay character.  We went out twice.

Zach was nice, and very nicely hung, an anal top, in case you want to know, but we just were too different to make it work.  I'm the quiet, stay-at-home type, and he always has to be the life of the party.  Besides, he really wasn't my type physically.  I like guys with a little more male-model style handsomeness.

Jeremy looked at Chazz expectantly.

"Um...isn't Zachary Quinto out?" he asked.

"Yes, he came out in 2009, a year before we met."

"5.3," Chazz said.  "Points off for a story about an out guy.  The best celebrity hookup stories are always about guys who are in the closet.  That's part of the thrill."

2. Dylan

When I was a freshman at Stanford, I met a cute guy named Johnny Lowe in my lit class. Quintessential geek, into video games and graphic novels, but cute, with a long face, a smooth chest, a little belly, and crazy hung. I could barely get my mouth around the head!  We were at it three or four times a night, when we weren't eating pizza and playing World of Warcraft.  

My first real boyfriend!  But it only lasted a few months.  I'm into monogamy, and he hit on everything that moved -- boys and girls both! Anyway, we stayed friends. 

 I knew his last name was Lowe, but it wasn't until we had been friends for over a year that I realized that his father was Rob Lowe from "The West Wing."

Dylan looked at Chazz expectantly.

"6.5.  Extra points for the big cock, but points off because he's a son of a celebrity, not a celebrity himself."

"He's been in some things.  Rob's tv series The Grinder, their reality show..."

"Ok, 6.6."


3. Michael.

 This story is about Cameron Dallas.  Very famous actor, Vine star, one of the top teen idols in the country, and not out. 

 I was on the Santa Monica Pier, when I saw Cameron with some of his friends -- all male, I might add.  I went up, playing it cool, and talked to him.  He gave me a cruisy stare, but he couldn't make a move with so many guys around.    We shook hands, and I turned it into a full body hug.  I felt his dick getting hard against me.  But then he backed off.

He looked at Chazz expectantly.

"So...a grope.  No date or hookup?"

"Um...no.".

"Um...celebrity hookup stories should involve sex.  4.7."

"Well, what about you, Dad?" Jeremy asked.  "You lived in West Hollywood during the 1980s.  You must have hooked up with a ton of celebrities.  Famous ones.  Closeted ones."

"Of course.  Lots."

"Well, tell us about a mega-famous guy who you had sex with, and who wasn't out.  I'll bet you'll be the winner for sure."

"Sure, no problem."  Then I began to think

Peter Barton.  Not famous anymore.
Tom Villard.  Out.
Wesley Eure.  Out.
Christopher Atkins.  Just a sausage sighting.
Macaulay Culkin.  Just a sausage sighting.
John Stamos.  Just a grope.
Nate Richert.  Just a grope.
Robin Williams' bodyguard.
Douglas Barr.  Who?.
Michael J. Fox.  Just lunch.  But I had made things up often enough:

4. Boomer

Just after I moved to West Hollywood in 1985, my friend Marcus introduced me to Michael J. Fox, who was starring in "Family Ties" and "Back to the Future."  Big star.  The three of us had lunch, and then went back to Marcus' house in the Hollywood Hills.

First I went down on Michael while he went down on Marcus.  Michael had about 6.5", cut.  We got into the 69 position while Marcus fondled my butt, and then I lay on top of Michael for interfemoral while Marcus was mounting him from the top.  Afterwards we exchanged phone numbers, but we never got together again.

I looked at Chazz expectantly.  This story had everything: a famous but not out celebrity with a big cock that I went down on.  Who cared that it never actually happened?

"4.5," Chazz said.  "Points off for forgetting the most important part of a celebrity hookup story -- it should be real.  You told the Michael J. Fox story a lot when you lived here, and I know it was just kissing and groping -- you didn't actually have sex with him."  He turned to Dylan.  "I guess you're the winner.  Who would you like to take into the bedroom?"

Dylan looked at my crotch.  "I'll take your Dad, even if he doesn't know any celebrities."

See: Gay Dating Stories about Tony Dow; Michael J. Fox Beneath the Belt; A Hookup with Cole or Dylan Sprouse.

The "Which Would You Choose?" Game

To play this name, you need several group photos with guys, all clearly visible, no women or children.   They should be numbered consecutively.   They don't have to be naked.

The first photo should have exactly as many guys as players (here only six, since the guys in the back are not clearly visible).

Players each decide on a guy to "date," and write his number on a slip of paper.  When the moderator calls time, they show their number.

If two or more players have chosen the same guy, they are out of the game.

The moderator brings out another group photo, this one with a smaller number of guys, and the remaining players choose again.

The key to winning is to select someone no one else will.  Stay away from the best physiques and biggest cocks, as well as blonds, racial minorities, anyone who stands out in the group.

In this group, I would skip #1 (racial minority) and #4 (big basket), and go for #2 (nondescript).

In this group, I would skip #3 (black shirt) and #4 (hat), and go with #5 (slight build, gets lost among the other).

In the last round, there are only three guys to choose from. Never choose the middle -- that's where everyone goes.  Here I would go with #1 (smaller cock, not as attractive).

Of course, other players probably have similar reasoning.

A variation of the game requires you to choose the same guy as everyone else; players with unique choices are out.  The number of guys in the photo gradually increases, until in the last round two or three players are trying to second-guess each other's choices from a group of 20.