My Wild Night: Pancakes, Massage, and a Wiener

One day in the winter of 5th grade, when I was ten years old, a cute boy named Mark approached me after school.

"Wanna go out to eat?" he asked.

That was an odd dating request.  Boys usually just invited you over to play, or to Dewey's Candy Store.  If they were were rich, they invited you to a movie downtown.

But I said "Ok" anyway.  Mark was short and solid, with blue eyes and a severe military crew cut, and his brother Darryl was a high school wrestler.  "Out to eat" meant the whole family, so I could see them both!

"When do you want to go?" I asked, expecting him to say "Friday night."  But he said "Right now."

"Is your Dad here?"  I looked around for a car.

"No, just you and me."

"That's dumb! There's no restaurants in the neighborhood."

Our "neighborhood," the parts of Rock Island we could roam freely through without supervision, was bordered by 18th Avenue on the north, 31st Avenue on the south, 38th Street on the west and the city of Moline on the east.

There was nothing in it except Dewey's Candy Store and Schneider's Drug Store.


Was there some new place that I didn't know about?

"I have to go home first, and tell my Mom where I'm going."

"Don't be a baby!" Mark exclaimed.  "We'll be back before Captain Ernie is over."

We walked right past my house -- it would take only a second to go in and tell Mom.  But Mark, and his blue eyes, and his muscles, led me on, past 20th Avenue, all the way to the corner of bustling 18th Avenue. There were cars streaming in both directions, and the only traffic light was way down on 38th Street.



There were several restaurants on the other side of 18th Avenue, but the one that caught my eye was the Hasty Tasty Pancake House.

I had never seen anything so beautiful.  It glittered in red and gold like a palace from the Arabian Nights.

The Forbidden Fruit.

"I'm not allowed to cross 18th Avenue by myself," I protested.  "It's too busy.  We'll get run over."

"I do it all the time!  It's easy -- watch."  Mark waited until there was a momentary lull in the traffic and darted across the street.  My heart pounding, I followed.

The other side of the world!

Everything was different here.  The sky was darker, the air was cooler.  The houses were small and grey and shabby.

We went inside and sat at a garish red booth, and Mark bought us pancakes and milk.

They didn't taste good.  I felt too guilty for being on the other side of the world without telling Mom.

It was 4:00.  Sometimes I played after school, or went to Dewey's, but I always got home by 4:00, in time for Captain Ernie's Cartoon Showboat.  Mom would be wondering where I was.

"I have to get home to watch cartoons," I said.

"Come to my house. We can watch Captain Ernie there."

"Well...it's late, and..."

"I'll let you feel my wiener," Mark offered with an evil grin.

 "Um...well..."  I had only seen a few wieners before, and I never felt one. Bill never let me.  And Mark was cute...

"It's real big,  As big as my brother's, and he's in high school."

That sealed the deal.  We darted back across the street and walked to Mark's house, on 20th Avenue near the border of Moline.

Mark had a portable black and white tv set in his room. We sat side by side on the floor, watching Cartoon Showboat for a while. There was no clock, so I couldn't tell what time it was.

Dad got home at 4:00, and we ate dinner at 5:00.  I had to go!  What was the hold up?

Finally, after an eternity of cartoons.  Mark turned the tv off and drew the blinds.  Smiling, he took my hand and pressed it against his crotch.

"No fair!  All I can feel is your pants!"

"Ok."  He started to unzip.

Then we heard a noise in the hallway outside, and he quickly zipped up.  The door opened, and a big boy came in.  Darryl, the high school athlete!  He had his shirt off -- he had muscles!

"What you dorks doing in the dark?" he asked, leaping onto the bed and turning on the light. "Whoa, what a workout!  I need a massage!  Either of you guys a masseur?"

"I am!"  I said with a grin.

"Ok, great -- it's right there in my shoulder.  Dig in good."

I got to sit on the butt of a semi-naked high-school boy and rub his muscular shoulders!  But still, I felt guilty.  I shouldn't be here!  Dinner is at 5:00 -- Mom and Dad will be worried!

Eventually Darryl said "Thanks, little man" and left.  Mark shut the door behind him.

It must be almost 5:00 by now.  I had to hurry.  "You said I could..."  I began.

"Oh, sure."  Mark unbuttoned his pants, and pushed my hand inside.

It was nice, bigger than mine, with an impressively solid shaft.


"Now I get to feel yours, too."

I unzipped, and we fondled each other for awhile.

"I know how to make it get bigger," Mark said.

"But I have to...."

Then a voice yelled up the stairs, "Mark, is your friend staying for dinner?"

We quickly zipped up again.  He looked at me.  "Do you want to?"

"If my parents say it's ok," I said.  "Can I call them?"

"Sure.  The phone's in the kitchen."

There was also a clock in the kitchen.  6:30!  

My heart started to pound with fear.  "6:30!  But you said it was dinnertime!"

"That's right -- we eat at 7:00."

I was three hours late!  Without saying goodbye, I rushed out the door, into the winter darkness, and raced home.  Mom was calling all of my friends, and Dad was out scouring the neighborhood.  They thought I had either been kidnapped or fell into a ditch.

Years later, I learned that I could get away with any misdeed by claiming that I had been trying to meet a girl or impress a girl.

But "I was trying to feel a wiener" obviously wouldn't work.  I was grounded for two weeks, and forbidden from playing with Mark again.

Mitch Dates George Clooney and a Former Teen Idol

Rosemary Clooney's nephew George rubs me the wrong way.  I like his liberal politics and the fact that he's a gay ally.  But he has a marginally attractive face, a nondescript physique, and no basket, yet he keeps being voted "Sexiest Man Alive" and "Most Handsome Man Alive."

And that annoying smug smile: "Hi, I'm George Clooney! You may worship me."

His movies are unwatchable.  I've actually only managed to sit through From Dusk to Dawn (1996), Batman and Robin (1997),  and The Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009), which, I didn't realize, was about genocide.  The others are stupid caper movies, with that smug smile intact.

I could only find one photo of a young Clooney with his shirt off.  The resolution is too low to tell whether he still had a smug smile back then.

Apparently he's had his share of gay rumors, although I can't imagine how he would find the time after bedding every lady in Hollywood.  However, I don't recall hearing a single George Clooney hookup story when I lived in West Hollywood.  He wasn't really famous until the late 1990s, so maybe no one who hooked up with him thought to mention it.  Or maybe I just zoned out.

But I got one in my handy email box yesterday.  I've modified some of the details and added dialogue.

.

Hollywood, March 1991

You can call me Mitch.  In the 1980s, when I was still in my 20s, I was a make-up artist in Hollywood.  I worked on all of the great teen idols of the era, Mark-Paul Goesselaer, David Faustino, Scott Wolfe (yes, I've seen him in his underwear) -- but I'm most proud of my work on horror and sci fi.

In the summer of 1990 I got a job on ABC's Baby Talk, a sitcom based on the movie Look Who's Talking (1989).   Julia Duffy played Maggie Campbell, a single mom with a talking baby, and Clooney played Joe, incongruously a construction-worker boyfriend.  Tony Danza provided the baby's voice.  With canny placement between Who's the Boss and Roseanne, it was a modest success.  However, the network suits felt that Duffy and Clooney weren't clicking in the role, so after 11 episodes they were replaced with Mary Page Keller and Scott Baio.

Clooney was not a big star: he was 29 years old, still struggling with walk-on jobs, recurring roles on The Facts of Life and Roseanne, and studying at the Beverly Hills Playhouse.  Nor did we think of him as particularly hunky.  He had big 80s hair, no physique, and no basket.  He played what we called a "goofball," a quirky, nerdy type.

I knew he was a newlywed: his wife Talia was also making the rounds of guest-spots and recurring roles.  But he was definitely a man's man, always hanging out with Tony Danza, going out for drinks with the guys in the crew.  Everyone thought that was further proof of his heterosexuality, but it made my gaydar go off.  Tony Danza had a lot of gay rumors at the time, too, as you recall.  Could they be boyfriends?

I tried to invite myself along on one of their dates, but was unsuccessful.  So I decided that I had to catch them in the act.  Maybe they would invite me to join in...

My hopes were dashed when they had some kind of an argument or falling out and began ignoring each other.  That may be why Clooney wasn't invited back for the second season -- Danza had a lot of clout in Hollywood at the time.

Not to worry, Clooney soon found a new "boyfriend."   Erich Anderson, who played Rob in Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter (1984) and had a recurring role as Billy Sidel on Thirtysomething (1990-91), had a guest spot in one episode ("The Fever," air date April 16, 1991).  He was in his 30s, very buffed, with black hair and a classic movie-star face.

They apparently hit it off.  Soon Erich was coming to the set every day to pick Clooney up.  One day he even showed up at breakfast -- surely they had spent the night.

I cozied up to Erich -- he was far more my type than Clooney anyway -- and soon landed a date with him.  Standard West Hollywood date -- dinner at the Cafe Etoile, cruising at Mickey's, back to his place for making out and oral.  Erich had a smooth hard chest, very hairy legs (a big turn on for me) and a thick Bratwurst, uncut.  I went down on him twice.

But when I asked about Clooney, he said "Oh, we've never done it.  He's straight, or maybe bi -- I didn't think it was polite to ask."

"Too bad.  I was fantacizing about 'sharing' him with you."

Erich and I only dated a couple of times, but stayed friends.  At one of his parties in the fall of 1990, I met former teen idol Peter Barton, and asked him out on a date.

It was Chinese take-out and a VHS movie, very low key, but I really liked Peter: thick hair, beautiful face, smooth hard chest, hairy legs, average size down there (but you never felt anything so hard in your throat, literally like an iron rod).  I asked him for a second date that weekend.

When he came to the studio to pick me up, Clooney was walking by, so I introduced them.

His jaw practically dropped to the floor.  He was totally thunderstruck by the 34-year old former teen idol.

"Um...we were going out to dinner," I said.  "Would you like to join us?"

I know, inviting someone else along on a second date -- crazy!  I could tell that Peter wasn't happy about it.  But I didn't care --  I was obsessed with finding out if Clooney was gay or bi.

We went to dinner at a place on Wilshire -- Clooney paid, Peter looked uncomfortable.  We both came out -- he was perfectly nonchalant about being with two gay guys, but said nothing about his own sexual orientation.  He didn't even mention his wife.

Finally I said "I guess we'll say goodnight, unless you want to go back to my apartment for a cup of coffee."

Peter glared at me.  Clooney said "Sure."

The moment we got inside the door, Clooney said "Gentlemen, I'm sure you know I love the ladies.  But I also love blow jobs, and it's hard to find a lady who will oblige.  I would be more than happy to have one or preferably both of you working on my dick at this moment."

Peter frowned and said "Leave me out of this.  I'll be in the bedroom when you're done with your trick."

I was tempted -- I reached down and groped Clooney -- not hard yet.  He unzipped and pulled it out.  I began working on it with my hand while staring at him, wondering if I should kiss him -- average length, thick around, starting to get aroused.  But I was feeling very guilty about inviting him home on my second date with Peter, so I said "Thanks, but not tonight," zipped him back up, pushed him out the door, and went into the bedroom to apologize.

Peter and I dated for the next two months.  I never interacted with Clooney again.

Wouldn't you be embarrassed if a guy rejected you after fondling your cock?

See also: Pedro's Hookup with Philip McKeon.

A Sleepover, Sausage Sighting, and Fondling of My Cousin Phil

When I was growing up in Rock Island, we traveled to northern Indiana once or twice a year to visit my grandparents and uncles and aunts and cousins.  Mostly on my mother's side of the family and my Dad's sister Nora.  We evern stayed with her sometimes.  My earliest  sausage sighting was of her teenage son, Joe, when I was 7 1/2 years old.

But Dad didn't get along with his other sister, Aunt Edna, so we never visited her, and saw her only rarely, at an occasional Thanksgiving Dinner.  I knew only a little about her family: her husband, Uncle John, fat and blustering; a grown-up daughter, who moved to California; and Cousin Phil, about ten years older than me.

As far as I can remember, I've only met Cousin Phil five times in my life.  One of them resulted in a sausage fondle.

Thanksgiving 1966

I was six years old, and Cousin Phil was a slim teenager with long hippie-hair, wearing a white t-shirt that displayed two pinprick nipples (I wanted to squeeze them).  He sat at the table looking at his hands.  When Grandma Davis told him to "dress properly and show some respect," he ran into the bedroom and wouldn't come out to eat.

Christmas 1968

I was eight, and Cousin Phil was in high school, old enough to drive a car, still thin and pale and long hair.  He wore a plaid shirt and frayed jeans, and three strands of love beads.  He flashed the peace sign at me, but otherwise we didn't speak.


Thanksgiving 1971

I was eleven, and Cousin Phil was a college man, majoring in one of the sciences (I think physics) at Tiffin University.  A little thicker in the arms and the chest, cute but not "dreamy," with short brown hair and dark blue eyes.   He was wearing an orange leisure suit.

He brought a friend, an Ethiopian guy named Malcolm.  They nudged each other and giggled all during dinner.  I assumed that they were boyfriends, that they had escaped the trajectory of job-house-wife-kids that the adults were plotting for us and found joy in each other.

I kept in contact with Malcolm for a few years, even going swimming with him the following summer, always assuming that he was my cousin's boyfriend.

Thanksgiving 1974

I was fourteen, and Cousin Phil was an adult, a college graduate who had a job working for the city of Montpelier, Ohio (I think in the waste water management plant).   His hair was long again, a little scraggy, and his face was pale.  He was thicker still in the arms, almost muscular.  He had a smooth heavy chest and a little belly.

Malcolm was not in the picture; instead, Phil brought a girlfriend!

I was devastated to discover that they weren't "best men," a gay couple, after all.

After Thanksgiving Dinner, Aunt Edna and her family stayed in Rome City with Aunt Nora, and my family drove back to Grandma Davis's farmhouse, about twenty miles away, to spend the night.  My brother and I were sent up to bed at 9:00 pm, while the adults stayed downstairs, playing Yahtzee and watching tv.

Around 11:00 pm, Dad burst into our room and turned on the light.  "Get your clothes on!" he barked.  "We're going home!"

"To Rock Island?" I asked.  "But we're supposed to stay until Sunday."

"Shut up and get into the car!  Hurry up!"

We pulled on our clothes, dumped our pajamas into our suitcases, and rushed down the stairs.  I stopped to use the bathroom.  Grandma Davis wasn't around.  Mom and Tammy were already in the car.  I could tell that Mom had been crying.

Adults never told kids anything, but I surmised that there had been an argument, and Grandma Davis ordered Mom and Dad out, or they decided to leave.

Dad gunned the engine, and we roared down the dark country roads.

"We can't drive all the way back to Rock Island!" Mom exclaimed.  "We wouldn't get home until dawn!  Besides, I want to visit my Dad and sisters tomorrow!"

"Well, where are we supposed to go?" Dad asked.  "To a hotel?  They won't rent us a room in the middle of the night!"

"Let's go back to Nora's house.  I can't wait to tell her about this.  She'll take my side, I guarantee."

So we drove back to Rome City, where Aunt Nora was conciliatory.   There were eight people in the house already, but she put Dad on the couch, Mom and Tammy in her room, and Kenny and me with Cousin Phil in the attic.


"Don't wake him up," she cautioned.  "Just take off your clothes and climb in bed with him.  He won't mind."

We crept up the attic stairs, carefully closed the door behind us, and undressed, dropping our clothes to the floor.  In the orange glow of the space heater, I could see that Cousin Phil was lying on the bed on his back.  He had kicked off the quilt and the comforter.

He was naked!  I could see his thick, smooth chest, his little belly with an innie belly button.  And his penis lying against the dark mass of his pubic hair.   Very thick Bratwurst+.

"I'll give you a dime if you touch it," my brother whispered.

"No problemo!" I climbed onto the bed and slid next to Cousin Phil.  I brushed my hand over his chest, down his belly, and slowly approached his penis.

But I didn't get there.

"Hey...what..." Cousin Phil murmured.  He opened his eyes and stared at me.  "Boomer...what.."

"We have to sleep here tonight.  Aunt Nora said so."

"Mm......hang on a minute."  He jumped off the bed and pulled on his underwear.  "Ok, hop in.  But no kicking, ok?"

I stayed awake for most of the night,  but eventually I got Cousin Phil to hold me in his arms.  I touched his belly and his hand, fondled his chest and his pinprick nipples, and reached down to briefly caress his warm, thick penis through his underwear.  I don't know if he was awake or not.

That was enough for a lot of fantasies during the next few years.

After breakfast in the morning, Aunt Edna and her family left.  We didn't return to Indiana for Thanksgiving again until 1980, and Cousin Phil wasn't there.  One thing led to another, and I didn't see him again for 40 years.

September 2016

We're both back in Indianapolis for a funeral.

Cousin Phil is 65, gray and craggy, shorter than I remember, and quite round in the belly.

He's retired from his job at City of Montpelier, still living in the house he bought shortly after his wedding in 1975.  His wife died last year.  He has two daughters and six grandchildren.

Job, house, wife, kids, the entire heterosexist trajectory.  I escaped it.  Cousin Phil didn't.

"Do you remember the sleepover, at Thanksgiving when I was fourteen?" I ask.  "Up in the attic at Aunt Nora's house?"

He pauses for a moment.  "Sure, I remember that.  I can't believe we were ever that young.  It was a different world, wasn't it?"

I want to say "No.  It's still my world.  I sleep in a man's arms most nights."  But I just smile.

Climbing into Bed Naked with Richard Grieco

I am a strong supporter of your right to be as masculine, feminine, or androgynous as you want to be.  Slide some ladies' rings on those long, slender, fingers, get some lovely dangling earrings to accentuate your lovely face, splash on that makeup, get your glamour-queen do on, and work that room, girl!

But I don't find people who look like girls attractive, regardless of their gender, so Richard Grieco has always been a turn-off.   I tolerated him on 21 Jump Street (1988-89) and in If Looks Could Kill (1991),  but I haven't seen him in anything else.

I understand that he has been in relationships with a number of women, including Yasmeen Bleeth and Christina Applegate.  Kudos to them for not being straitjacketed by masculine expectations.

In the 1980s and 1990s I assumed he was gay, but only because of my internalized homophobia, the belief, drilled into me through childhood, that all feminine men were gay.  I never heard any rumors or hookup stories about him.

But wouldn't you know it, a sausage sighting story appeared in my email box.

Montreal, Fall 1990

You can call me Jason.  We're about the same age, but our tastes in men are completely different: I like androgynous types.  Rings are ok.  Ascots, no problem.  Back in the 1980s, when I was a Cute Young Thing, I used to hang out at the Toy Tiger, getting drinks sent to me by old rich guys.

We do have something in common.  I remember your story about dating Roger Rees.  Well, I dated him in the late 1980s.

Roger had a partner, Rick [Rick Elise], but they didn't live together, and in fact they were usually separated by a continent.  So they had an open relationship: each could date, and even have romances, as long as the other partner was there in body or spirit.
Every morning, Roger called Rick and gave him a blow-by-blow (or blow job by blow job).

 It got so I felt like I was in a relationship with them both, even though I had never met Rick in person.

In the fall of 1990, Roger was cast as the criminal mastermind Sterenko in the James Bond spoof If Looks Could Kill.  Richard Grieco starred as a high school student mistaken for a spy during a field trip to Paris.  The writer, the director, and a lot of the cast members were gay, and there were a lot of gay subtexts in spite of the boy-girl plot.  I thought it was great fun, though it bombed at the box office.

They all had to fly out to Montreal, a stand-in for Paris, to do the location shots, and Roger said "Why don't you come up for a few days?  I'll invite Rick, too, and we'll make an event of it."

I had never been to Montreal before, and I was anxious to meet Rick in person, so I eagerly accepted the invitation.

Montreal was great!  The Basilica, the Oratory, the theaters, the Rue Ste.-Catherine (best bath houses in the world!).

Rick was great, too.  Very smart, sophisticated, knowledgeable about Montreal -- he took me to some "off the beaten track" sights, like  Habitat 67, an architectural marvel designed for the 1967 Expo.

Plus he was in his 30s, tall, built, with a hairy chest, a bright open face, big hands, and a big...you know what.  We shared two nights in a row.

But on to the Grieco sighting.

On our last night in Montreal, the "three of us" went out to dinner at Ile Flotante with Darren [Star], Linda Hunt, and their partners.  All gay, as far as I knew -- we didn't really discuss such things in the Straight World back then.

Richard Grieco came alone.  Rick told me that he left his boyfriend home in L.A.

I didn't mind the three-way relationship when there were just three of us, but at a tableful of gay and lesbian couples, I felt, frankly, like a third wheel.  So I latched on to Grieco. I figured I could go back to his hotel room for some one-on-one action.  Besides, maybe Roger and Rick would like some alone time.

Grieco wasn't really my type, but you know what they say -- in a pinch, any cock will do.

We talked, cruised a bit -- I put my hand on his chest.  Nice definition!   He was was talkative, energetic.  He was a smoker, which I didn't like, and high on something.  I didn't have any aversion to a little coke now and then myself, so it wasn't a turn off, but his manner was a little aggressive, and he made a joke about AIDS -- not homophobic, but in poor taste.

As dinner progressed, Grieco added alcohol to his cornucopia of substances -- he downed an entire bottle of wine by himself.  His voice started to slur, and he said off-the-wall things like "You're all a great bunch of machines."

I have no idea what he meant.

I was getting a little turned off, but my mind was set on my goal of going to bed with Grieco.  So I told Roger and Rick that I was going to help him back to his hotel room.

When we got to the hotel, Grieco was all but unconscious.  I pulled down the covers and helped him undress and get into bed.  Then I took my clothes off and climbed into the bed next to him and turned off the light.

I started kissing his chest and reached down to fondle his cock -- average sized, cut, not aroused.  Big balls.

"Hey, what you doing?" he murmured. "Get off me."  He pushed me aside.

"What's wrong?"

"Wanna sleep.  Hands off."

Ok, I figured, he was too tired -- he wanted to wait until morning.

But what if he wasn't into me at all?  What if he wasn't even gay, and he woke up with me in his bed?  He might freak out!  I didn't need a homophobic hate crime ruining my trip to Montreal!

I got dressed, wrote him a note with my phone number, and left.

He never answered.

See also: Elijah Wood Dumps Roger for Jason Bateman

Nephew Sausage Sighting #3: A Fondle and a Penis Sock

After my parents moved to Indianapolis in 1995, I used to stay with my brother when I returned to Rock Island for Christmas or summer visits.

He put me in a room next to his sons, Ethan (born June 1982) and Frank (born October 1983), so I saw them shirtless and in their underwear often, and had several sausage sightings over the years (of course, I only count the ones that happened after they turned 18, when their penises were fully matured).

But his youngest son, Joel (born April 1986), had a room on the other side of the house (actually two houses crammed together), so I rarely saw him at all.




Rock Island, June 2004

When I visited Rock Island in the summer of 2004, Joel was the only nephew still living with Kenny: an eighteen year old punk rocker with a scarlet mohawk, a pierced lip, and several tattoos.  Nice smooth chest, though, washboard abs, thick biceps, more buffed than emo.

I saw him perform with his group, the Dead Eunuchs: five guys with scarlet mohawks, all in their late teens and early 20s.  They did a lot of crotch-grabbing and pretending to lick each other, with lines like "push your cock against my balls" and "everybody is queer."

Quite a penis fixation!  Now I definitely wanted a sausage sighting!


But my brother still put me in the small room next to Frank and Ethan's old room.  I could hardly walk all the way down the hall, go down the stairs, cross the kitchen, and walk down another hall to burst into Joel's bathroom.

There are only two other foolproof ways to get a sausage sighting:

1. Invite him to go swimming or to the gym, where he'll have to strip down, and you can sneak a peek.

I invited Joel to work out with me and my friend Dick, a very buffed ex-bully, at the YMCA.  But he came with his gym clothes on beneath his leather jacket, so he wouldn't have to shower or change clothes there.

2. Have sex with him.

 I got no gay vibe from Joel -- he was always talking about this or that girl -- but with lines like "suck a stud for Jesus" and "press your cock against my balls," he had to be bi or pansexual.

I had no intention of going down on my 18-year old nephew, but I wouldn't mind watching while he went down on someone else: Dick or his boyfriend Jack, the "pizza boy," a slim, theatrical twink: oval face, sparkling black eyes, wavy black hair, nice chest and biceps.

They invited us to dinner the day after the workout, which also happened to be the day before I would be leaving Rock Island.  I didn't say anything about a three-way, figuring that it would take care of itself, but the evening had a West Hollywood feel: a guy bringing his new boyfriend over for his friends to "share."

Joel plowed into his steak and kidney pie with a gusto that made one wonder how he kept the weight off -- especially given the increasing bulk of his father and older brother.  "I know Uncle Beach Boy won't be around, but you guy should definitely come and hear the Dead Eunuchs on Saturday.  I can get you VIP seats."

"Does that come with a backstage pass?" Jack asked.  "You know, so I can see you strip down in your dressing room and such?"

Joel laughed.  "I strip down enough on stage for all the girls and gay dudes."

"You take your shirts off," I said, "But you don't show any cock.  You should do something to illustrate your line 'press your cock against my balls' in 'My Uncle is Queer.'"

"Full frontal nudity in Rock Island!"  He shook his head.  "I'd be arrested."

"You could try wearing a sock, like the Red Hot Chili Peppers," Jack suggested.

He shrugged.  "We tried that.  They don't stay on."

"I know the trick," Dick said.  "You just take some string, and wrap it from the top of your shaft.  Want me to show you how?"

He nodded.  "Sure, if Uncle Boomer doesn't mind seeing me naked."

"I don't mind a bit," I said with a grin.

We put the dessert and coffee on hold while Dick went to the bedroom and fetched an athletic sock and a shoe lace.   Joel stood in the living room and stripped -- he was not at all shy about being naked in a roomful of gay men.

Huge Mortadella, thin, uncut.  He didn't inherit that from his father!

"Nice!" Jack hinted.  "I'll bet you get lots of action."

"I do ok.  But you know, the girls are more into your face than your dick.  You can be a pipsqueak, they don't care."

"What about the boys?" he  asked. "I'm sure there are a hundred guys in the Quad Cities who would love to go down on you.  One or two even in this room."

Joel laughed.  "You're right -- the dudes are all about the dick."

Dick knelt in front of him.  "Ok, so you tie the shoe lace like this -- Boomer, would you hold it steady for me?"

Flushed with erotic potential, I knelt and wrapped my hand around my nephew's Mortadella.  Maybe I should go down on him after all...

"Hey, if Boomer gets a grope, I get a grope," Jack exclaimed.  He knelt  beside me.  I let go, and he wrapped his hand around Joel.  He started to stiffen.

"Sorry," Joel said.  "That happens sometimes."

"You just need someone to take the pressure off..."

"Or maybe he needs every guy in the state to stop manhandling him!" Dick exclaimed.  "Now, are we going to demonstrate the penis sock, or are we going to have a gang bang?"

"Um...." I began.

"Penis sock, please,"  Joel said.  "Unless you have some babes waiting in the bedroom."

So Dick finished tying the knot -- it was just like tying a shoe lace -- and Joel swung his penis sock around a few time.  It didn't come off.    Then he got dressed again, and we had our dessert and left.

In the car, Joel said, "Cool guys, but if didn't know better, I'd think that Jack was trying to get with me."

"No way!  He was just being flirty.  Lots of gay gays act like that."

"I know.  I mean, who would try something in front of his boyfriend and my uncle!  How crazy would that be?"

"Incredibly crazy."

See also: Nephew Sausage Sighting #1: The Father-Son Retreat; and My Uncle's Queer: Joel's Transformation from Choir Boy to Punk Rocker.

The Sausage Sighting Prank at the Funeral Home

I was saddened to hear that Larson's Funeral Home in Rock Island is closing.

It may seem strange to get nostalgic over a funeral home, but the gigantic blue-stone structure in downtown Rock Island was an important part of my childhood.

1. It sent out advertising calendars to everyone in town every year, perhaps as a momento mori.  I checked the date hundreds of times on a red-emblazoned calendar from Larson's Funeral Home.

2. It was the site of a major sausage fondling.

In the fall of 1972, when I was in seventh grade, my friend Craig's older brother had a job at Larson's Funeral Home.

Jim was sixteen years old, tall and lean, with sharp features, a thick neck, and hard wiry biceps (I never actually saw him naked).

All he had to do was stay in the office overnight to answer the telephone, take down the information about someone who just died, and call the mortician to arrange a pickup.

Most nights, no one called, so Jim just camped out in the office: there was a television and a couch where he could sleep.  Down the hall there was a kitchen, with lots of leftover hors d'oevres in the refrigerator.

No one said Jim couldn't have friends over.  On more than one occasion, he had just enough time to shoo everyone out and dispose of the pizza boxes and beer cans before the mortician arrived with a pickup.

Seventh graders were all in awe of the boy who had a brother who worked with dead bodies!  Was it gross?  Was it creepy?

Could we see one of the dead bodies?

We asked, but Jim refused:  "I could get into a lot of trouble."

"Come on -- you let your friends visit all the time."

"Yeah, my friends.  Grownups, dig?  I could get into a lot of trouble letting little kids run wild in the funeral home.  What if you knocked over a funeral urn, and scattered some poor guy's ashes all over?"

That only made us more anxious to go.

Finally, one Friday morning around Halloween, Jim gave in.  "We just had a new pickup last night," he told Craig.  "That boy who died in the car accident down in Coal Valley.  He's still in the embalming room. You guys come over tonight around 10:00 pm, and I'll give you a tour."


10:00 pm?  We had to be in bed by 10:00! This would take a little strategizing:

1. Brett, the cute dark-haired boy I danced with at the canteen, invited Craig, Bill, and me over for a spur-of-the -moment sleepover.

2. At 9:00 pm, Brett's older brother and his friend offered to take us all out to Happy Joe's for pizza.  They said "We might be back a little late."

3. At 10:00 pm we parked on a side street and, talking and laughing to cover up our nervousness, walked up to the front door of Larson's Funeral Home.

Jim let us in, told us to wipe our feet, and showed us around.

The lounges, the music room, the library, the coffin room.

Jim demonstrated why Barnabas Collins, the vampire on Dark Shadows, was never filmed getting out of his coffin.  There's no way to do it without looking ridiculous.

That was interesting, but we wanted to see the dead body!

The small chapel, the large chapel, the kitchen, the office.

What about the dead body?

"Ok, I saved the scariest part for last," Jim said loudly, stopping in front of a tan metal door.  "I just want to make sure you're prepared.  Sometimes the eyes are still open, and they follow you around the room.  And do you know what rigor mortis is?"

We shook our heads.

"You know why they call corpses stiffs?  Because their bodies stiffen up.  Everything stiffens, even, you know, down below."

"No way!" I exclaimed.  "Not the dick!"

Jim nodded solemnly.  "Everywhere.  It's pretty gross.  I won't make fun of you if you decide to stay behind."

Are you kidding?

He opened the door and led us into the embalming room.  It looked like a doctor's office, all white cabinets, rubber gloves, and gleaming steel implements, but on the examination table lay a naked teenage boy.

Blond curly hair.  A cute round face, a red mark on his forehead.  Eyes closed.  Smooth hairless chest, pale arms and legs.  Beautiful, thick Bratwurst.  Fully aroused.

I  couldn't take my eyes off it.

"You can go up and touch him if you want," Jim suggested.

The others hung back, hesitating, but I moved forward to the table.  Jim looked surprised when, instead of touching his hand or face, I gently wrapped my fingers around his penis.

It was warm!

At that moment Corpse Boy opened his eyes.

I jerked myhand away.

He sat up and yelled "Uggh!"

We all screamed and ran from the room, out into the small chapel, and into the foyer.   Brett got to the front door first.  It was locked.

Jim and his friends were laughing.  "We got you good!"  he exclaimed.  "Meet my Cousin Boris, from Transylvania."

Corpse Boy emerged, pulling on a pair of jeans.  He was still partially aroused.   "I vant to suck your blood!" he said in a Dracula accent.


I was pretty sure that it was all a prank before I grabbed Corpse Boy's penis.  But not entirely sure.

Years later, I ran into Jim at the Mall.  He asked "Have you felt up any corpses lately?"

I get nostalgic thinking about Larson's Funeral Home.

Fondling the Biggest Schlong in Hollywood

Hi, Boomer,

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

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







Here's one about Milton Berle's penis.

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

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

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

The Catskills, June 1939

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Las Vegas, July 1971

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was Grandpa Sammy Telling the Truth?

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

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

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

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

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

The Demolish Boys Get Naked

Rock Island, June 1975

One Saturday in June of ninth grade, we were driving through Moline, the next town over from Rock Island, and we passed a building I had never seen before: a three-story tall tombstone, all skeleton-white, with sinister black windows and odd symbols on the roof.  The sign said "Scottish Rite Cathedral."

"Rite" meant "ritual," and "Cathedral" sounded Catholic, which to Nazarenes meant the epitome of degradation, debauchery, and unbrindled evil.

"Is that a Catholic church?" I asked breathlessly.

"Worse than that," Dad said.  "It's a Masonic Temple.  A secret society, like a club for men.  They go in there to get naked and drink human blood and worship Satan.  And they especially like to drink boys' blood, so be sure to stay far away."

"Secret societies" were on the list of things forbidden to Nazarenes.  But they were near the end of a very long list, and preachers and Sunday school teachers usually devoted their time to more immediate sins, like going to movies or eating out on Sunday.  And I wanted to know more about men getting naked.

This was before the internet, and there were no books on the Masons in the school library, so the only way to get more information was to ask two older boys in NYPS (the Nazarene Young People's Society):  Dave was a member of church royalty, with perfectly cut black hair, perfect teeth, and an athletic physique.  Last summer I got a Sausage Sighting at summer camp: impressive, maybe a Bratwurst, cut.  Terry was slim, with dirty-blond hair almost too shaggy to meet Nazarene standards, an aspiring Gospel singer from an unsaved family.  He backslid every few weeks and had to go down to the altar again, so I got to go up and hug him while he "prayed through to victory."  Hard, tight muscles, warm body.

The next afternoon, during the down time between youth choir and NYPS, they were playing basketball in the church parking lot.  I approached.

"Think fast!" Dave yelled, throwing the basketball at me.  I dodged it -- I hated sports.

"What a dork!"  Terry exclaimed as he ran to retrieve it.  They ignored me to continue their game.

"Um...I was wondering...what do you know about the Scottish Rite Cathedral in Moline?  Dad said they kidnap and torture kids inside."

Dave stopped playing, and grew quiet and solemn.  "Oh, your Dad's right.  You don't want to go near that place.  Terry was trapped by them for awhile, before he got saved."

"The Masons have a special cult for boys called the DeMolay," Terry said.  "That's short for demolish."

"What do they do to the boys?" I asked.

"Oh, all sorts of weird, disgusting things.  Like...they make them drink blood."

"And eat human eyeballs!" Terry said.  "Don't forget the eyeballs."

Dave nodded.  "And they make the Demolish boys run across hot coals. And take off their clothes so everybody can see their wieners."

Terry wrapped his arm around my shoulders and leaned in conspiratorily.  "Then they make the poor scared boys kiss each other on the lips!"

"Bogus!" I exclaimed, although I didn't really think it was bogus at all.

Dave wrapped his arm around my shoulders also.  "That's not the worst of it.  While they're kissing, the Demolish boys have to touch each other down there!"

"Gross!"

"They're having a Demolish Boy meeting Wednesday night," Dave said.  "We may be able to arrange a little sneak and peek, if you're interested."

"If you have a strong stomach," Terry added.  "It's intense."

 "I have a strong stomach! I've been inside a Catholic church before, with the idols and candles and everything!"

I was pretty sure Dave and Terry were putting me on, but there was at least a chance that I could see boys kissing and touching each other down there.  Besides, I would be hanging out with two cute guys.

They insisted that I bring a friend along -- "safety in numbers" -- so I invited Craig from Washington Junior High.

They picked us up at 7:00 pm Wednesday night and took us to Alfano's, the high school hangout, for pizza and more spooky stories about the Masons and the "Demolish Boys."  Then we went to levee and walked around in the gathering darkness.

"Demolay Meetings are always late at night," Dave said.  "The witching hour."

Finally we drove to Moline and parked in a dark alley behind the Scottish Rite Cathedral.  It looked bigger and scarier from up close.  The windows were all dark.  There were only two cars in the parking lot.

"Are you sure there's a meeting?" Craig asked.

"Sure," Terry said.  "You don't think they would advertise it, do you?  They don't want the fuzz breathing down their necks."

 They led us to a side door.  It wasn't locked.  Down a long, narrow hallway.  I heard sinister music playing from somewhere deep inside the building.

Up a narrow stairway to a small room like a dressing room: racks of white robes, a full-length mirror, belts and shoes on little racks.  A small window looked out onto the empty Masonic stage.

"The main ritual area is right down there," Terry said.  "We'll be able to watch the ceremony from here.  But we'll have to keep the lights off and be very quiet, so they don't...."

Suddenly the door burst open.  A Mason!  A tall man in a white robe, his face obscured by a white mask, a sword in his hand.  "What the hell are you doing here?" he exclaimed in a deep rough voice.

We glanced at each other, terrified, not sure what to do.  The Mason was blocking the only way out.  Maybe if we apologized, he would let us go....

"We're sorry...." I began.

"Looks like Satan provided us with some new boys for the sacrifice," the Mason said with a chuckle. He pointed his sword at Craig and me.  "You boys take off your clothes!  Now!"

I was still mostly sure that this was a prank, so I nonchalantly pulled my t-shirt off and undid my belt.  Craig looked uncertain, but took off his shirt, too.

"Come on, be quick about it!  Show me your wieners!"  He turned to Dave and Terry.  "You, too.  You have thirty seconds to get your clothes off, or I cut your head off."

My heart started to race.  Dave and Terry would never agree to be the butt of the joke.   This was real!

"No, don't cut my head off," Dave said, his voice trembling.  "We're sorry.  We'll do anything you want."

"What I want is to see you kissing each other on the lips and touching each other down there.  Now get busy!"

Craig was already naked, his pale, slim body glowing in the fluorescent light, his small penis thickening, partially aroused.

I was getting partially aroused, too, wondering if I would get to kiss Dave and Terry, too, or just Craig?  Would I get to fondle all three of them?

Suddenly Terry started laughing.  "Ok, Joe, we've tortured the kids enough for one night."

The Mason put down his sword and took off his mask and robe -- a high school boy!

Dave put his arm around Craig's shoulders.  "You can get dressed, buddy.  I hope we didn't scare you too much."

Craig shook his head.  "I wasn't scared at all."

"And Boomer!" Terry exclaimed.  "I thought you were a little wuss, but you have nerves of steel! If I didn't know better, I'd think you actually wanted to get naked and kiss Craig on the lips."

"And touch him down there," Dave added with a grin.

By the way, the DeMolay is a real youth fraternity affiliated with the Masons, with about 15,000 members in the U.S.  They do character-building and charity work.   They don't actually require you to get naked and touch each other.

Some famous people who belonged to the DeMolay Society  as kids include Mel Blanc, John Steinbeck, John Wayne, Walt Disney, and Bill Clinton.

See also: I learn about oral sex in the church parking lot; The Sausage Sighting Prank at the Funeral Home.

Face to Face with John Stamos' Bulge

In 1984, when I was living in Hell-fer-Sartain, Texas, the one moment of joy in my miserable life came on Wednesday nights, when I could watch Scott Baio in Charles in Charge, followed by 21-year old John Stamos as an aspiring singer in Dreams.  How could you avoid falling in love with him? Thick black hair, a smooth tan chest, a basket that wouldn't quit, and a smile that stayed with you for days.

It only lasted for 12 episodes, but John Stamos got the full teen idol treatment, with posters in teen magazines and articles on "What It's Like to Date John."

I wanted to date John, sure, but I also wanted the big-city Philadelphia freedom he was living.  He was an emblem of hope, an awareness that there was life out there, over the rainbow.

 After I moved to West Hollywood, I saw John in You Again? (1986-87), as Jack Klugman's teenage son, but not in Full House (1987-1995),  the ultra-conservative TGIF sitcom about three straight guys raising a family together in a strictly gay-free San Francisco.

It was rather depressing.  Could the guy who got me through the horrors of Hell-fer-Sartain be homophobic?






West Hollywood, June 1990

At Gay Pride in June 1990, when I was marching with Beth Chaim Chadashim, I saw John in the crowd of spectators.

I nudged Lane.  "Look.  John Stamos, the teen dream I had a crush on in Texas!  Is he gay?"

"I don't think so," Lane said. "Gay actors never come to Gay Pride -- somebody might recognize them.  He must be straight but a supporter."

"That takes a lot of guts in homophobic Hollywood.  I'd like to go over and shake his hand."

"Who are you kidding?  You just want to meet your childhood crush!"

"Young adult crush, actually.  I'm two years older than Stamos."

By this time we had long since passed by.





Santa Monica, September 1991

Lane and I were at the Divine Design fundraiser for Project Angelfood, which provides meals for people living with AIDS.  I saw several celebrities  I knew in the crowd, such as Michael J. Fox and Patrick Stewart -- and John Stamos!

But instead of going over to say hello, I stood frozen in place, staring.

"What's the matter?" Lane asked.

"John Stamos."

"So why don't you go over?"  He paused.  "Don't tell me you're nervous!  You see celebrities at the gym every day.  You dated a teen idol, remember?"

I reddened, embarrassed to be having such a strange reaction.  "This is different.  John Stamos was...special.  I'm afraid I'll gush."

"Ok, so he turned you on.  He's just a guy.  He's not even built.  Have you seen his chest recently?"

"Thanks for making me think about his chest! Now I'll never get up the nerve to go over."

Lane grinned.  "Sorry.  What I meant was, he doesn't even have a very big cock.  I imagine that when it's hard, it's not more than five inches. You could go down on it and have room for his balls."

"This isn't helping!"

Hollywood, October 1993

I was walking in the AIDS Walk along with about 1,000 other people.  I stopped to sit on the curve to tie my shoe, while Lane and Infinite Chazz walked on.  When I looked up, John Stamos was right there, just a few feet away, walking quickly while talking to a male friend.

No way I was letting an opportunity slip away again!  I was going to shake his hand!  I would jump to my feet, run two yards over to him, and say "Hi!  I just wanted to thank you for helping me get through a dark time in my life!"

I jumped up, but my shoe was still untied.  I came up to within a few feet of Stamos and said "Hi!  I just wanted..."

He stopped walking and turned to face me.

At that moment, I tripped on something.

I'm still not sure how it happened, but I ended up falling onto my hands and knees, hard, with my face against John's crotch!

"Whoa, dude!" John and his friend helped me to my feet.  "Are you ok?"

"I think so."  Actually, my wrist hurt and my knee was scraped and bleeding.  "Did I hurt you..um...down there?"

"No, man.  You didn't hit me hard."

His friend laughed.  "John's gotten head lots of times, but they usually buy him dinner first."

I should have said something like "Ok, I'll buy you dinner."  At least I should have gone into my "you helped me through a dark time" spiel.  But I was too dazed and embarrassed.  I just stood there.

"You sure you're ok?  You look a little out of it.  You want me to call anybody?"

"My friends are right over there.  Thanks, though."

John and his friend walked on, while I stood there, thinking.

My mouth had been pressed against John Stamos' cock, separated by only a thin mesh!  That counts as oral sex, right?  Even though neither of us consented to it.

I've told several people this story over the years.  Not one believed that it was really an accident.

And no, I can't comment on his size.

See also: Nate Richert's Kielbasa.