The Scream King Hooks Up with Ricky Schroder

Three days after his high school graduation in 1981, Mark Patton, a country boy from Kansas City, Missouri, was immersed in the gay mecca of Greenwich Village, Manhattan.  Ten day after, he landed a role as a gay country boy in the Broadway play Come Back to the 5 and Dime, Jimmy Dean, co-starring with the legendary Sandy Dennis.

Has any star ever risen so fast? he wondered.

When he moved to Hollywood to work on the film version of Jimmy Dean (1982), he thought "This is fate.  I am destined to become the first open, out actor in Hollywood!"

He went on some auditions, and got some jobs: a country boy bonding with his estranged father (Chuck Connors!) in Kelsey's Son (1983); the brother of a cloned girl in Anna to the Infinite Power (1983); and Jesse Walsh, a gay boy harassed by Freddy Krueger in Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy's Revenge (1985).

He assumed that the character was written as gay, but his costar, Robert Rusler, said "Hell, no!  And if you know what's good for you, you won't mentions gays to David [writer David Chaskin], ever!  He'll have you fired and on the first bus back to Missouri!"

Mark had never been closeted, but he now found himself constrained by Hollywood homophobia.  His agent went through his closet and told him what "normal boys" wear, and refused to allow him to be interviewed by a gay magazine, not even about his gay character in Jimmy Dean.


 Jack Sholder, the director of Nightmare, peppered his speech with anti-gay slurs.

One of the producers, gay but closeted, told Mark that he absolutely could not set foot in West Hollywood.  If there was even a hint that he was gay, his career would be over, plus the box office for Nightmare 2 would plummet.

Most of the cast and crew shunned him, as if they were afraid that the "gay" would rub off.  Only Robert Rusler wanted to hang out with him.  They even went to gay bars together, Catch One, Basgo's (neither of them were in West Hollywood, right?).


 After the homophobic nightmare of Nightmare, Mark had had it; he was going to be out!  But his agent said that she'd drop him instantly if he told anyone in the Hollywood community, and no other agent would touch him, either. So he dutifully closeted himself on auditions, and got a couple of parts: a CBS Schoolbreak Special and an episode of Hotel.


And he got to know other closeted actors, like Wesley Eure and Dean Paul Martin.  They had no problem with making up girlfriends, introducing their boyfriends as "buddies," escorting girls to events while their boyfriends stayed home in the darkness!

Living a lie your whole life.  How could they stand it?

Mark knew that he'd never be able to stand it. He started auditioning as an open gay man, and was cast in a tv series where he'd play a gay character, "but you have to tell everyone you're straight in real life."  He ran.

He started taking classes in interior design at L.A. City College.

The kicker came in the fall of 1988, when Robert offered to set him up on a date with Ricky Schroder, who had played "poor little rich boy" Ricky Stratton on the Reagan-era glorification of excess, Silver Spoons (1982-87).

"He's just a kid!" Mark complained. "I like older guys.  And he's a blond-haired, blue-eyed Ken Doll.  I like my men tall, dark, and handsome, swarthy Mediterraneans, Latinos, black guys.  Now, set me up with Alfonso Ribeiro [his costar on Silver Spoons], and we'll talk."

"A kid, maybe," Robert said, "But the star of a top-rated tv show, with connections all over Hollywood.  Let him top you, and the offers will start pouring in."

"He's a top?"  Somehow Mark always assumed that Ricky was a bottom.

"Babe, a hard top!  With a super-sized sausage  -- and he knows how to us it.  He's plugged half the macho men in town, with or without a condom, your choice."

Super-sized sausage?  Well, it wouldn't hurt to have dinner....

They met briefly for coffee at a place in Hacienda Heights.  Then came the date:

First a messenger knocked on the door of Mark's apartment with a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers.

Then a delivery guy with Chinese food.

Finally Ricky arrived, dressed to the hilt, and pulled Mark into a long kiss and grope.  In a moment they were in the bedroom.  Mark went down on Ricky (average sized, but thick), then fell down on the bed so Ricky could enter doggy-style.  Instead Ricky pushed him onto his back and entered from the top.  Nice, but a little uncomfortable -- your legs only go up so far.  

Afterwards they sat on the couch, eating microwaved Chinese food and watching Miami Vice.

"I'm so glad I don't have to play fags anymore," Ricky said, looking at the fashion-conscious Crockett.

Mark stared, open jawed.  "But aren't you...."

"Liking guys is one thing.  Being a fag is another.  I can't stand those West Hollywood queens, with their parades where they wiggle their butts and squeal 'Look at me, I like dick!'  Keep it in the bedroom where it belongs, Mary!"

"But we have to work on social tolerance, civil rights.  The AIDS Crisis..."

"Keep it in the bedroom!" Ricky repeated.  "In ten years I'll have a wife and about a dozen kids, while West Hollywood queens are still wiggling their little butts, afraid to grow up."

"So you're going to give up on being gay?"

"That's another word I can't stand: 'gay.'  What does 'gay" have to do with getting your cock sucked? I like guys, sure, but I like girls, too.  What's gay about that?"

Mark was silent.  At that moment, he decided to fire his agent, stop the audition cycle, and get on with his life -- his real life, the one that mattered.

I met Mark at a party thrown by my roommate Derek in the summer of 1988: a cute twink, a little fey, with a slim physique and a respectable basket, dating one of Derek's friends.  Having never seen Nightmare on Elm Street, I didn't realize that he was an actor.  We didn't "share."

Today Mark lives in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, where he runs an art store, along with his husband Hector Mondragon.  He often appears at fan events as the first "scream king"

Ricky Schroder has appeared in a number of movies and tv shows, including Lonesome Dove and NYPD Blue.  He was married to Andrea Bernard from 1992 to 2016, and has four children.  He has made no public statements about "liking guys."

I got this story from Zack the Photographer, who heard it from his boyfriend Tim, who dated Mark in the 1990s.  It may have changed a bit in the countless retellings, but the sadness stays the same.

See also: Michael in the Boys' Room with Cole or Dylan Sprouse.

Mark Patton: Freddy Krueger's boyfriend, George Clooney's buddy, artist, scream queen. With his bulge and backside and Clooney's d*ck

"Howl" for Ricky Schroder, with apologies to Allen Ginsberg and Ricky's d*ck

I Meet the Nazarene Teen Idol

When I was growing up in the Nazarene Church, twice a year, in the fall and the spring, we had a "revival": a full week of screeching, foot-stomping, Bible-thumping sermons by an evangelist who made his living going from revival to revival, getting people saved and sanctified.

You were encouraged to bring your friends who went to other churches, and thus might not be amenable to visiting on a Sunday morning.  But on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday night, they were free, right?

We did get a few converts during every revival, but not nearly enough for the evangelist, who stomped and shouted with more and more urgency as the week wore on and nearly everyone who needed to get saved was already saved and only a few people went down. Or no one.

The only bright spot of the whole ordeal was the gospel group that accompanied the evangelist. During the fall revival in my junior year in high school, the evangelist was the young, muscular but bellowing Brother Jonathan, and the musical group was the Smith Family (not to be confused with the punk rock group the Smiths, which I have several times).

They sang fast, upbeat songs which I assumed they wrote -- there were records for sale in the lobby.  Church oldsters used to old Salvation Army-style ballads like "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms" were scandalized by their country-inflected lyrics, not to mention their guitars, drums, and tambourines.  One of their songs goes through my head intermittently to this day:

I've got confidence, God is going to see me through
Whatever the case may be, I know He's gonna fix it for me.

(I just discovered that "I've Got Confidence" was not a Smith Family original: it was composed by Andre Crouch and popularized by Elvis Presley.)

I haven't been able to find any photos -- too much interference from other Smiths on the internet -- but they looked something like this: middle-aged husband and young-adult daughter as the lead singers (baritone and soprano), teenage son on the guitar, preteen son on the drums, and wife on the tambourine, piano, or organ.

 Scott, the teenage son, was a year younger than me, tall and buffed with big hands, a round face, short blond hair, and dreamy blue eyes.  The Nazarene equivalent of a teen idol, our own Shaun Cassidy!  I was desperate to become his friend, or at least feel a warm strong handshake, but I didn't have a chance.  He was mobbed.

Girls were swooning, batting their eyes at him, writing him love notes under the guise of prayer requests.  Old people (anyone over 30) were pushing to tell him what a "fine Christian boy" he was and getting him to autograph any piece of paper they could find, even the "notes" page of their study Bibles.  Boys were rushing to kneel at the altar in the hopes that Scott would come down from the podium and put his arm around them as they moaned and cried and "prayed through to victory."

Unfortunately, I couldn't join them at the altar, because I had made a major tactical error.  You could go down only to get saved (forgiven of the sins you had committed), sanctified (made holy, so you would be incapable of future sins), or to help someone else pray through.   And, not knowing that Scott would be there, I got sanctified just a few weeks ago!

Going down again so soon would be admitting that I had never been sanctified at all -- that I had been deceived by Satan into rising from the altar without praying through. Or that I was lying to get the praise and prestige.  A major faux pas. a major humiliation!

The full post is on Righteous Gemstones Beefcake and Boyfriends

Infinite Chazz Hooks Up with Mark-Paul Gosselaar

Washington, DC, April 15th, 1995

I'm in Washington DC, visiting my old friend Alan for the week before Easter and Passover. My partner Lane calls, like he does every day,  and Infinite Chazz gets on the phone.

"Hey, Dad!  You'll never believe this! Last night I was dumped!"

"That is hard to believe!"  I exclaim.  "You're never rejected.  You just walk up to the guy, flash your patented smile, and he's writing down his phone number!"

Infinite Chazz is 21 years old, a student at Cal State Fullerton, called "Infinite" not only because of his enormous Mortadella, but because he's infinitely attractive, sure to cause jaw-dropping stares in every man who comes within five feet of him.  He drives up every couple of weeks, to "share" and make the guys at the synagogue or MCC die of envy.

"Not this time.  And you'll never guess who dumped me."

"Jerry O'Connell?" I joke.  The star of Sliders was the prime time hunk du jour.

"Close.  Mark-Paul Gosselaar."

"What?  Are you sure?  Is this a fantasy?"

"I wish!  I'm still smarting from the rejection."

Mark-Paul Gosselaar (left) was the teen-dream star of Saved by the Bell (1988-1994), Zack Morris, the constantly-in-trouble operator of Bayside High.  Every gay boy in the country had his pin-up on his bedroom wall; most realized that they were gay watching the buddy-bonding romance between Zack and Mario Lopez's Slater (right)

"I'm not saying he's not hot," I tell Chazz, "Or that he's not a nice guy, but he's never had any gay rumors, that I know of.  He's a hetero horndog, dating every supermodel he sees."

 Indeed, his character Zack Morris screams heterosexual privilege, someone who absolutely assumes the universality of heterosexual desire, who is absolutely convinced that gay people do not exist.

"Well, last night, he made two exceptions.  Me, and the guy he dumped me for."

West Hollywood, April 14th

Chazz was in West Hollywood keeping Lane company.  On the Friday before Passover, Lane was tired, so Chazz went out by himself, promising to bring someone home to "share."

He went to the evening service at Beth Chaim Chadashim, the gay synagogue, and a meeting place for West Hollywood's gay Jewish community.  Although he wasn't Jewish, he had visited often enough that all the regulars knew him.

At the refreshment table after the service, he was drawn to a new guy, strikingly tall, with dirty blond hair, a rarity at the synagogue.  When he got closer, he saw that it was Mark-Paul Gosselaar, his teenage crush!

"Mr. Gosselaar, I love you...I mean, I love your work!"  Chazz gushed, shaking his hand. "I have the entire Saved by the Bell series on VHS."

Usually gushing at a celebrity turns him off, but MP smiled broadly, with that Zack Morris smile that brought teenage boys to their knees.  "Call me MP.  Yeah, Saved by the Bell was lots of fun, but I'm anxious to move on to adult roles.  I'm doing a Misery thing right now about a football jock kidnapped by an unpopular girl."

"Sounds great -- I can't wait to see it."  Chazz noticed that they were still shaking hands, and began to get aroused.  "So, I didn't know you were Jewish."  And gay.

"I have Jewish roots on my mother's side, so when I heard that there was a gay synagogue in town, I had to come and give it a look."

"What's your expert opinion?"

"I need to do more research," MP said, touching Chazz's chest.  "Really get to know gay Jewish boys, see what they're like inside, examine them up and...down."  He looked down at Chazz's crotch.

Chazz didn't need any more prompting.  He invited MP home to "share" with Lane, but MP wanted to see "gay nightlife."  So they went to the Rage, the twink dance club.

They danced, and kissed, and groped each other.  

"How big was he?" I ask.

"Average sized, maybe a little smaller.  I didn't care. I would have gone down on him right there at the Rage, if he suggested it."

"Did you see it?"

"No, but I saw the tenting, and felt it through his pants."

Then the Other Man showed up. 

They were all dancing in a mass, so Chazz didn't even notice when MP moved to the side and faced the Other Man -- Asian, tall, slim, black-haired, with very tight jeans and some socks shoved in to give him a bulge.    

Then they were blatantly facing each other.  Grinning.  Eyes smoldering.

MP was cruising another guy, while on a date with him!  Unheard of in the gay community!

Thinking fast, Chazz said "I'm tired -- let's go get a drink," and walked off the dance floor.  MP didn't follow.

He went to the bar, got a bottle of beer, and brought it to MP -- who said "thanks" without ever taking his eyes off the Other Man.

Chazz grabbed his shoulder.  "I'm ready to go home."

"Ok," MP said.  "It was nice meeting you."

"I mean with you..." Chazz said desperately.  "Or both of you, together.  I have a place..." 

"I don't know...I'm sort of shy." MP reached out to grab the Other Man and kiss him passionately.

Chazz was furious.  He was never rejected, and certainly not in the middle of the date!  He looked around for another guy to make MP jealous, and stuck up a conversation with a cute black twink.  But when he looked around, MP was gone.

Seething with rage, aching with rejection, Chazz drove home, and cried in Lane's arms.

Was Chazz Telling the Truth?

In April 1995, Mark-Paul Gosselaar was 21 years old, and working on Twisted Love, a Misery rip-off set in a high school. He does have Jewish roots, but his hair is black, not dirty-blond -- it was dyed for Saved by the Bell. 

Penis size: About halfway through Dead Man on Campus, his character is making out with a girl in bed, and he gets aroused in real life.  You have to zoom in to see it; at least a Bratwurst, somewhat bigger than what Chazz described.

But I haven't heard any gay rumors about him.  I suspect that Chazz took an "innocent" meeting and added some details about kissing and groping.

But why make it into a story of a painful rejection?  

See also: A Live Sex Show for Alan; Saved by the Bell; Why Christopher Atkins is My Facebook Friend.

Drake on a Date with Ricky Nelson and Bob Ellis

Hollywood, May 1956

One day in the spring of 1956, Harriet Nelson (who played "herself" on the long-runnng Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet) invited her friend MJ (Mary Jane Croft)  over for coffee, and to talk about a problem.  Her son Ricky, a sophomore at Hollywood High, was soft and sweet and feminine, not outgoing and athletic like his older brother David.  Ozzie  pushed him into playing football, but he hated it.  He preferred tennis, if he was going to play a sport at all.  And music -- he was "musical."

MJ smiled.  "When I was a little girl, musical was what they called...wait...you don't mean Ricky is that way...doesn't he have a girlfriend?"

"Ricky and Claire are just friends. They go shopping and talk about clothes.   I've never seen them kiss, or even hold hands.  And Ricky positively idolizes men.  It's even appeared in the show."  Lately head writers Dick Bensfield and  Perry Grant had been introducing some "Ricky doesn't like girls" plotlines into the scripts.  Harriet didn't know why.  To signal that they knew...to issue a warning.  She sighed.  Studio politics!

"So what if he's...um...musical?" MJ asked.  "You're still his mother, aren't you?"

"Of course!  I have nothing against people like that, I've worked with them since I was a little girl.  And some of my closest friends...." Harriet trailed off: the aggressive, mannish MJ, who played Lucille Ball's perpetual foil/best friend, was almost certainly of the Sapphic persuasion, but she hadn't yet admitted it to anyone.   "But society can be so cruel..."

"Especially the Hollywood gossip mill."

"..and I don't want Ricky being hurt.  Mixed up with the wrong crowd, men who will blackmail him or abuse him.  I think he needs a friend more than anything, to show that he's not alone.  Do you know anyone who...."

"Are you trying to set Ricky up on a date?"  MJ asked, a delighted gleam in her eyes.  "Oh, it will be so sophisticated, like a Cole Porter song, like 'Begin the Beguine.'  I know tons and tons of eligible men who are 'not the marrying kind.' They're mostly older, though. Cesar Romero, John Wayne, Joe Kearns....oh!  Tony Curtis!"

"Tony Curtis?" Harriet repeated.  "I never met him, but I hear that he's the utter living end, as the kids say.  Why, Drake, the boy who rode to school with David and Ricky, used to talk about him all the time.  He was positively in love with him before they had a falling out of some sort...."

She trailed off again.  They looked at each other, understanding...

"Is this Drake boy handsome?"  MJ asked.

When Harriet Nelson called 18-year old Drake, she was so subtle that he had no idea that the evening with Ricky was supposed to be a date.  More like babysitting.  The kid was two years younger than him, scrawny and kind of obnoxious.  But his father insisted -- Ozzie and Harriet was one of the hottest properties in Hollywood, and it wouldn't hurt him to get tight with a big teen star.

Was Ricky even a teenager yet?

If he was going to be stuck in dullsville for an evening, he wouldn't do it alone -- he invited his boyfriend, Bob Ellis,  a 23 year old actor who had starred on Meet Corliss Archer as a "best friend."  Bob was great -- he had a car and his own pad.  Plus a thick beefy chest, nice biceps, and a cock that wouldn't quit.  Not just big, although it was about 7" -- Bob could take three blow jobs, one after the other, and still spring up, ready for more.

The plan was to go to dinner and then bop at the Zanzibar.  Ricky brought Claire along, and Drake and Bob would go "stag."

Everything went fine for awhile. Ricky was becoming rather cute, and he was very knowledgeable about modern music.  Drake could almost see dating him.

Then Bob and Ricky started doing that look that Drake knew well.  Could he be that way?  And hot for his guy?

It got worse:

"Dad said I could sing on the show," Ricky bragged, "Or maybe play the drums, like Krupa."

"You'll never be as hot as Krupa!" Bob said with a sleazy leer.

"Maybe, but which one do you have a chance with?"

"Oh, be yourself!" Claire said, hitting him playfully with her purse.

At the Zanzibar, Drake asked Claire to dance -- good for keeping his pecularity a secret, but a bad strategic move.  When they returned to the table, Ricky and Bob were gone.

"Looks like our fellas have ditched us," Claire said.  "They must out spooning somewhere."

"You mean it's cool with you that Ricky...does that?"

She shrugged.  "I knew about his taste in fellows since we started dating. It doesn't hurt anybody, and I'd rather have him sometimes than not at all."

Doesn't hurt anybody?  Drake was roiling with jealousy.  He went into the bathroom, hoping to catch Bob and the scrawny kid in the act.  Not there.  Then into the parking lot, to Bob's car....

Bob and Ricky were sitting side by side in the back seat.  Ricky had his cock out, and was playing with himself while he went down on Bob!  Drake saw a flash of Bob's shaft, and quite a lot of Ricky's cock -- rather small, cut, and pale in the light of distant street lamps.

Drake rapped loudly on the window.  Ricky sprang up in alarm and covered himself,  then saw Drake and smiled.  He rolled the window down part way.

"Just warming him up for you," he smirked.

Drake never went out with Bob -- or the little weasel -- again.

West Hollywood, August 2017

I heard this story a couple of weeks ago from Drake's ex-boyfriend Zack (I made up the conversation with Harriet).

Why did Drake never talk about it when I knew him in San Francisco in the 1990s?   I think because it puts everyone, and especially Drake, in a rather bad light.  Drake had no cause to expect monogamy from Bob when multiple partners seem to have been the norm in 1950s Hollywood.  He overreacted to the situation and lost a boyfriend and a potential friend.

And there's another problem: Drake going down on Tony Curtis is a sallow 16-year old with no experience in the gay community; Drake going on a date with Ricky Nelson is an experienced 18-year old with a boyfriend.  Six months apart at most. Can they both be true?

See also: Drake on his Knees in Tony Curtis' Dressing Room; Billy Finds a Special Friend on The Twilight Zone; Ricky Nelson Hooks Up with Kent McCord.

Tarik Hooks Up with Jonathan Brandis and Insane Ian

Norfolk, Virginia, July 1995

I'm 34 years old, living in West Hollywood but visiting Alan for a few days.  He's back at his sister's house in Norfolk, so I'm staying with my friend Tarik: about my age, short, dark-skinned, very muscular, with a handsome round face, bright eyes, and thick square hands.

We're having a potluck dinner with Alan and a few other guys.  I'm hoping to get to "share" later with Shane, a twink with short blond hair, a smooth chest, and a basket that won't quit.

We have barbecued chicken, baked beans, greens, grits, and a fruit salad, but Alan doesn't eat anything but a few strawberries.  He looks frail and gets confused easily -- nearing the end, I suspect (actually, he will live another ten years).  So I try to cheer him up with the most outrageous stories I can think of about life in West Hollywood: sausage fondlings in the sauna at the gym, my collision with John Stamos' bulge, Lane's four-way with Cesare Romero, Batman, and Robin.

Back in West Hollywood, Alan didn't like celebrity hookup stories: who cares if the guy happens to be in movies or on tv?  It's what's inside that counts -- inside his heart...inside his pants!  But now he asks for more stories -- maybe they are reflections of his old life, before his HIV diagnosis, when he was young and full of optimism, with a world of infinite possibility in front of him.  He interrogates me about any celebrity I have been with recently, and when I run low, what about Lane?  Raul?  Fred and Matt?

I mention Jeff MacKay, Peter Fonda, and Lost in Space star Billy Mumy.  But Alan wants to hear about a teenager: "Let the dead past stay dead.  I want to know that there are still gay kids growing up out there, a new generation to carry on when we are gone.  Tell me about someone fresh and new."

"I hear that Jerry O'Connell on Sliders is bi," Shane the blond twink says, "And everybody's been in Brandon Call's pants.  Some of your well-connected Hollywood friends must have hooked up with them."

Great, now I need a "fresh and new" celebrity hookup story to please Alan AND to impress Shane with the goal of a three-way later.  My mind goes blank -- could I create one from scratch?

"Um...well...Joey Lawrence jogs past our apartment nearly every day, and...um..."

Then Tarik chimes in:  "That sounds interesting, but I think you should give the rest of us a chance.  Did I ever tell you guys that I hooked up with Jonathan Brandis?"

I sigh with relief. Jonathan Brandis was a famous child star (Ladybugs, Sidekicks, It, The Neverending Story).  Now 19 years old, he is a full-fledged teen idol, playing Lucas in the sci-fi series SeaQuest  (1993-96).  He always denies that he is gay, but there are lots of rumors.

Baltimore, October 1994

There weren't a lot of science fiction fans in the African-American community of Norfolk.  Science fiction was for white people, the adults said, to dream about black genocide and a future all-white universe.

Tarik didn't care.  He loved science fiction, no matter the genre: books, comics, movies, tv.  So much that he went to every convention he could afford.  In October 1994, he drove four hours north to Baltimore for Farpoint 2.

Two of the three guest speakers were gay: George Takei (Star Trek) and Jonathan Brandis.  Of course, neither were out -- you couldn't be out in Hollywood, and hope for a career.  But everyone had heard stories about George inviting particularly muscular fans back to his hotel room at conventions, and Jonathan's preference for black men, with quite a long list of lovers for someone who was barely 18: Don Franklin (his costar on SeaQuest); Geoffrey Owens (Eldon on The Cosby Show); Jaleel White (Urkel on Family Matters)

The convention lasted for three days -- plenty of time to hook up with both George and Jonathan, and have time left over for Nick Miscusi (husband of the third guest, Nana Visitor).

Tarik hooked up several times -- as one of maybe 10 black guys among the 1,000 or fans, he was very popular.  But not with George Takei ot Nick Miscusi.

Jonathan Brandis finally arrived on Sunday, the last day of the convention. In the morning he was on a panel with Wil Wheaton (Wesley Crusher on Star Trek).  Afterwards Tarik asked a question, but he didn't get a chance to talk to Jonathan alone.

Next he stood in line for an autograph, but before he got to the front of the line, Jonathan said  "Sorry, I'm out of time."

So was Tarik -- it was 3:00 pm already, and he had to leave by 7:00 at the latest to get home in time for work.

At 4:00 pm there was a special presentation, a Star Trek/Seaquest parody, with the Brandis character played by a cute redheaded teenager named Ian Bonds.  It was spot-on, and Ian's comedy timing was genius.  Afterwards Tarik went up to shake his hand and talk a bit about sci-fi parodies.

Suddenly Jonathan Brandis was beside him.  "Hi, I saw your performance -- you do me better than I do!"

Ian laughed.  "Thanks, man."

"Hi, I'm Tarik," he said, butting in.

Jonathan shook his hand.  "I saw you waiting patiently in line, but I had to go before you could come up.  I had a great signature all planned for you, too."  He flashed a cruisy smile and touched his shoulder.

Tarik knew a proposition when he heard one!  "Well, I'm free for a couple of hours right now, if you want to give me that autograph in private."

"Oh, I just drove down for the day, and I didn't get a room."

"Hm...and I already checked out of mine"

"I have a room," Ian said hopefully.  "We can hang out for awhile there."

When they got to the room, Ian said "Excuse me," and went into the bathroom.  Tarik didn't waste any time -- he started kissing and groping Jonathan-- average sized, uncut.  Jonathan pulled Tarik's cock out, fell to his knees, and started going down on him.

"Wait -- Ian will be back at any moment," Tarik whispered.

"Surprise -- I'm already here!"

They pulled apart quickly.  Tarik covered his crotch with his hands.

"Hey, I'm as quiet as a Hobbit when I want to be," Ian said.  "And I eat as much, too.  Two guys is just an appetizer."  He fell to his knees, pulled Tarik's hand away, and started going down on him while fondling Jonathan.  Soon he was working on them both at once.  Then they pushed Ian down on the bed, and Tarik topped him while he continued to blow Jonathan.

Tarik pulled out before he came, washed off, and let Jonathan finish taking his load.  Then he went down on Ian (about 7.5 inches, cut) while Jonathan was kissing him and beating off.

Afterwards Tarik and Jonathan both had to leave right away.  They didn't exchange phone numbers.


Norfolk, June 1995

After dinner, as Tarik is driving me back to his apartment, I say "That story seems a little far fetched, unless those fan conventions are a lot wilder than I imagine."

"Ok, you got me," Tarik said.  "I made up everything that happened after Ian got back from the bathroom.  Brandis and I just kissed and fondled.  But I thought Alan would want to hear about some action."

Ian Bonds is now comedic performer Insane Ian.  He is a chunky superfan, cute but straight.

Jonathan Brandis always insisted that the gay rumors were unfounded.  He died on November 12, 2003.

Tarik and I never shared the blond twink.

See also: I Visit Alan, Sandy, and Their Boy Toy; Jonathan Brandis; The Gay Ghost of Ocracoke

Not a Chris Demetral Hookup Story

In West Hollywood in the 1990s, gay men of certain level of affluence watched Dream On (1990-1996) on the premium cable channel HBO.  It was a quirky comedy-drama about an affluent New Yorker (Brian Benben) juggling his job, love life, and teenage son (Chris Demetral).

I couldn't see the attraction: sure, there were a couple of gay-themed episodes, and shots of Brian Benben's butt and bulge, but you had to endure endless ladies' breasts and hetero-maniacal dialogue.

As Chris Demetral grew from 14 to 19, he got more and more plotlines, and gushing articles in teen magazines.  He was fey, foppish, artistic.   In one episode, his character is tied up by a woman into "rough trade."  And gay men of a certain level of affluence concluded that he was "one of us."

I never heard any dating or hookup stories about him, but he was still a teenager when I left California.  There wasn't time.

After conducting some research, I conclude that it is unlikely that Chris Demetral is "one of us."

1. He didn't like Hollywood, and for a time commuted from his home in Royal Oak, Michigan.  What gay man doesn't like Hollywood?

2. He's a Lakers fan.  That's a L.A. basketball team.  I knew a few sports fans in California, but none who were basketball fans.  Football players have more muscular physiques.

3. He's a disciple of the Orange Goblin.

4. His twitter feed states states that he is "a Christian," which usually means "I hate gay people.  Leviticus, you know."

5. And a "devoted husband and father," which usually means "See!  Proof that I'm heterosexual!  If you publish any horrifying gay accusations about me, I will sue!

Therefore this is most definitely not a gay hookup story about Chris Demetral.

Montreal, Summer 1999

Call me René.  I grew up in the tiny town of Saint-Maurice, but moved to Montreal for college, and stayed. I had a flat on the Rue de Champlain in the Gay Village and jobs at the Musée d'art contemporain and a men's boutique.

I worked out every day, cruised at the bars twice a week, and went to a lot of parties like those you describe in West Hollywood: sex games, nudity, discussions of gigantic penises and dates from hell.

Not many celebrity hookup stories, though one of my friends claimed to have gone down on William Shatner.

In the summer of 1999, I was 25 years old, a buffed gym rat with a smooth chest and 14" biceps.  Dirty-blond hair, blue eyes.  20 cm, in case you're interested.

 One night I was out cruising at a bar on the rue Ste. Catherine,  when I saw Michel Courtemache, a Quebecois comedian, sitting at a table with two other guys.

Not at all attractive, but celebrity sightings are rare in Montreal, so I went over to say hello and gush a bit, "I was your biggest fan," that sort of thing.

Obviously flattered by the attention, he asked me to join them, and introduced me to his friends.  Another Michel, and Chris.

Suddenly I recognized Chris -- Chris Demetral, Jeremy Tupper from Dream On!  One of my big childhood crushes!  Now around 23 or 24,  strikingly handsome, with a strong jaw, piercing eyes, and a presentable physique.  I couldn't see a basket.

I shook his hand and kept holding it, the standard cruising gesture in Montreal.  He looked alarmed and jerked it away.

"He's never been to a gay bar before," Michel said in French.  "Go easy on him."

Um...ok.  "Would you like to dance?"  I asked.

"I don't think so," Chris said.  "I'm a little tired."

"It wouldn't hurt for our baby Chris to dance with an admirer," the other Michel said.

"Go on -- who knows, you might get lucky."

I took Chris by the hand and led him to the dance floor.  "Living La Vida Loca" was playing, not really a slow dance, but I put my hands on his waist anyway.  He followed my lead.

"What brings you to Montreal?"  I asked.  The music was very loud, so I had to yell.

"We're working on a tv series.  It's science fiction -- I play a young Jules Verne who fights vampires and cyborgs."  [The Secret Adventures of Jules Verne, 2000.  Michel Courtemache played Verne's companion, Passepartout]

"Quite a big change from your earlier work."

"Not really.  I've done Star Trek and Lois and Clark (about Superman)."

I drew him closer with the pretense of trying to hear him.  Our crotches pressed together.  I definitely felt a bulge -- the guy was definitely into me!

"You must let me show you the city.  I know the out-of-the-way places."

"Sure, that would be great."

"I'll give you my number."  I leaned in for a kiss -- closed-mouth, nothing exciting.  Then Chris broke away and returned to the table.  I followed and sat next to him and put my arm around him.

"You see, that was painless!" Michel exclaimed.  "Gay men won't bite you -- unless you ask nicely."

"Would you like to...."  I began.

Chris turned to me.  "I'm really tired, and we have to be up early, so..."

Tabarnak!  No hookup!  "Me, too, I said reluctantly."  I scribbled my phone number on a scrap of paper and put it in his pocket, then leaned in for another kiss.  He turned his head away.

A few moments later, Chris and the other Michel left.  Michel Courtemache stayed behind.

"Sorry that he beat you cold," Michel said.  "He is very shy.  Not like me -- I'm not shy at all."  He pulled me close and kissed me.  

I never saw Chris Demetral again, but in the end I went down on Michel Courtemache.  Very big penis, uncut.  And no, he didn't make any of his crazy noises.

See also: Nate Richert's Kielbasa

Nude Photos of Robby Benson

I have always hated movies full of angst, gravitas, and people dying.  But in the early 1980s, when I was in college, I watched them: The End (1978), Ice Castles (1978), Die Laughing (1980), The Chosen (1981), Running Brave (1983), Harry and Son (1984) -- just for a glimpse of Robby Benson.

There was never a more beautiful teen idol.  Never.  A face that would make you melt.  If you ever managed to look away from that face, there was a warm chest, six-pack abs.

Robby was trying to be a serious actor, but he faced a major hurdle: audiences never paid attention to the plot, characters, or dialogue of his angst-ridden movies.  They were too busy waiting for him to take his shirt off.



This was before actors would strut across the stage nude regularly, so we get only three glimpses of Robby naked.

1. The underwear scene in Ice Castles shows a very clear penis outline.

2. Running Brave has a scene with Robby walking through the locker room to the showers.  Butt shot.















3. This is apparently an outtake -- it doesn't appear in the film.  But Robby's pubic hair, penis shaft, and head are in full view.

It's not much, but really, with a face like that, the penis seems irrelevant. I'm busy writing "Robby + Boomer"  in purple ink in the margin of my chemistry notebook.

The full post is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.

Nude Photos of Christopher Atkins

Christopher Atkins (1961-) is probably the first teen idol to go full frontal on the big screen.  Several times.

Here he shows off in his iconic but immensely heterosexist Blue Lagoon (1980).












The full post is on Righteous Gemstones Beefcake and Boyfriends

Dick Sargent's Three Way with Pat Boone

West Hollywood, March 2003

Conservative superstar Pat Boone, the World's #1 homophobe, had a three-way with Darrin of Bewitched?

I'm back in West Hollywood for a post-Oscar party thrown by Lane and his roommate Randall, 62 years old, but still a hot muscle bear with a pierced penis and a coterie of leather bear, cub, and otter friends.

The conversation moves inevitably toward celebrity hookups, and Randall begins telling the story of how, as an 18 year old in 1958, his friend Dick Sargent (who would star in Bewitched in the 1960s) took him to a gay party in Beverly Hills, where they hooked up with Groucho Marx and Cary Grant.  On the same night, in the same bed.

He's at the part where he and Dick are sitting in a parked car, making out and discussing who's gay in Hollywood.  Sal Mineo.  James Dean.  "Pat Boone. I haven't actually been with him, but I've watched him in action."

"Wait, wait, wait!" someone exclaims.  "Pat Boone is a total homophobe.  He writes books on how to 'be saved from the dangerous homosexual lifestyle.'  Are you trying to tell us that he's gay?"

"According to Dick, he's straight, but open to 'fooling around' with guys," Randall says.  "They had a three-way with a teenage fan while they were working on a  movie together."

Hollywood, March 1957

Bernardine, filming at 20th-Century Fox in the spring of 1957, was a frothy comedy about three high school boys who enter a fictional woman's name into a contest. Hilarity and romance ensue.  The big draw would be Pat Boone, a 22-year old teen idol with a string of hits:  "Ain't That a Shame," "Long Tall Sally," "Love Letters in the Sand, "April Love."  This was his first acting job.  

Costar Dick Sargent was 26 years old, with two years of acting under his belt, including a starring role in the tv series West Point, so he became a sort of mentor to the young star.  After work Pat often invited him home for dinner with his wife and three young daughters.  He became like one of the family.

One night when they were alone in the living room -- Shirley was off putting the girls to bed -- Dick did something that you never did in the 1950s: he came out!

"Today he would be setting himself up for screaming and Bible thumping!" I exclaim.  "It must have been much worse in the 1950s!"

"Actually," Randall says,  "The conservative Christians hadn't discovered us yet.  Back then they were screaming mostly about divorce and premarital hetero-sex.  Everybody hated queers, of course, but Dick was tall and studly, a graduate of military academy, not a queer queer, if you know what I mean. 

"I don't really like girls," Dick told Pat.  "I dig boys.  In fact, I've been in bed with one of our costars -- I can't tell you who, of course."

"I hear you, Daddy-o," the teen idol responded.  "Who doesn't dig boys?  I mean, I would never dream of cheating on Shirley, but it's not cheating when it's with a dude, reet?"  And I'll tell you a secret --"  he leaned in conspiratorily.  "When I sing 'Love Letters in the Sand,' it's not just bobby-soxers who moan and sigh and send me their phone numbers."

Dick was intrigued, and more than a little interested in the handsome Pat Boone, so he agreed to "fool around" with one of his regular "playmates," a teenage fan named Gerry.

After work a few days later, they drove up to Van Nuys, to one of those cheap hotels where the rooms have private entrances.  Pat waited in the car while Dick paid.  Inside, Pat made a phone call, and after about half an hour, Gerry arrived.

He was in his late teens, shorter than Dick, with brown curly hair, dark eyes, pouting lips, and a full, hard physique -- what they used to call "well knit."

After shaking hands with them both, he sat on the bed and began fondling himself through his chinos.  No preliminaries!

Shocked, Dick said "Shouldn't we kiss or fondle a bit first?"

Gerry frowned.  "You think this is a Sweet Sixteen Party, Howdy Doody?"

"No, but..., I like the way a dude looks and feels.  It's not just about the act itself."  He turned to Pat for validation, but Pat had already pulled out his own average-sized penis.

"I agree with the kid," he said, fondling himself to full arousal. "Hearts and flowers for the ladies, cocks and balls when it's just us cool cats."  He walked over to the bed. Gerry started going down on him.

Sighing, Dick lay on the bed, pulled out Gerry's impressive Kielbasa, and went down on him.  Gerry stayed aroused but didn't moan or say anything.

Dick pulled Gerry's shirt up to feel his hard chest and squeeze his nipples, but the kid  still didn't react.

After a few minutes, Gerry got on his knees, pulled out Dick's Bratwurst, and went to work.  That's what it seemed like -- doing a job.

Dick leaned over and tried to pull Pat close enough to go down on, but got shooed away.  "You can't fool around with your friends," Pat murmured, fondling himself.

Who else can you fool around with?

He and Gerry moved into the 69 position, still mostly clothed.  Gerry worked vigorously and enthusiastically, but still, Dick had trouble staying aroused.  He wanted Gerry's arms around him.  He wanted kissing.  He wanted the sight, touch, taste of the masculine!

Gerry finished soundlessly, with a gigantic spurt -- two mouthsful! -- and then turned his attention back to Pat, who continued to stand, continued to be fully clothed.  Dick stood and fondled his butt and tried to nuzzle his neck, but got shooed away.  Finally he sat down and beat off while watching Gerry bring Pat to orgasm.

Then Pat gave Gerry a dollar and sent him home, and they drove home, too.

They stayed friends, but when Pat suggested that they hook up with other boy fans, Dick refused.  He didn't like just fooling around with guys.  He wanted touching and kissing and fondling.  He wanted dating and romance.  He was a queer queer.

Was Dick telling the truth?

I got this story third hand, and it took place nearly sixty years ago, so it's impossible to determine what actually happened and what was embellished at some point along the way -- or made up altogether.  Today Pat Boone makes frequent homophobic statements, but who can say what he was thinking at the age of 22?  Maybe he really did think that "fooling around" with guys was fine, as long as you returned to your wife's bed at the end of the day.

After all, he was enough of a libertine to have someone photograph his penis in a box.

See also: Dick Sargent, Groucho Marx, and Cary Grant in the Same Bed; and Pat Boone, Teenage Heartthrob

Barry Hooks Up with Luke Perry

Sayville, Long Island, November 1999

Yuri and I are in Sayville, visiting my friend Barry, the Colonial Williamsburg boy who escaped from his conservative, homophobic roots through drinking, drugs, and anonymous hookups, but has now been transformed into a health-conscious gym rat who practices Zen Buddhism and goes to gay Catholic Masses.

We're watching Beverly Hills 90210, about the angst-ridden lives of Southern California glitz kids.  I've never seen it -- why should I watch a program about the glitz and glamour of a mythical Beverly Hills, when I lived a mile away from the real one?

But tonight, one of the four subplots is about gay bashing: Dylan (Luke Perry) and his friend Andrew (Rob Derringer) are assaulted outside a gay community center in West Hollywood. Andrew doesn't want to report the incident, because if he is outed, he will lose his job.

"California has job protections for gay people!" I complain.  "And who gets bashed in West Hollywood?  I lived there for ten years, from 1985 to 1995 -- it was a small town, quiet, peaceful, where you knew your neighbors and everybody helped each other."

"That's funny," Barry says.  "I moved to West Hollywood in 1995, just as you were leaving, but I didn't find a small town at all.  It was cold and hard.  Everybody wanted to use you.  I didn't know anybody, for real.  I did a lot of drugs, mostly Ecstasy and crystal.  I danced all night, and hooked up a lot, and hustled."

"Hustled?" Yuri asks.

"Prostitute," I explain.

"You were prostitute?"

"Rent boy," Barry corrects me.  "I had a high class clientele.  They picked me up in limousines, took me to the best restaurants, kept me overnight in the best hotels, brought in the best drugs, but then always sent me home alone."


Barry wants to talk about how empty his life was before his transformation, a standard "I was lost but now I'm found" motif, but Yuri will have none of it.  He's been out for less than two years, he's never been to West Hollywood, and he wants everything there to be bright and shining and joyous.  "That is very exciting.  Do you meet any famous people?"

"A couple.  Him, for instance."  He points to Dylan Walsh, played by Luke Perry.

"Yuck!" I say instinctively.  "That long face, receding hairline, squinty eyes.  I'd go with Jason Priestly.  Much cuter, and we know that he has a big one from that photo of him on a nude beach that's been making the rounds of the internet [left]."

"No, Dylan is cute," Yuri protests.  "And I think he has a big one."

"Mega-gigantic!" Barry says.



West Hollywood, July 1997

Barry was not in the best frame of mind -- not much sleep last night, nothing to eat all day but some stale donuts for breakfast and leftover macaroni and cheese for dinner, no Ecstasy to be had from any of his usual sources.  He had been dancing for six hours on nothing but adrenaline and beer, and an occasional mojito sent over by a Creepy Old Guy hoping to get into his pants.

But his rent was coming due, and nobody was getting into his pants tonight unless he had $50, some primo crystal, or a pornstar-sized penis.

He tried all of the gay dance clubs in West Hollywood, and then he went up the hill to Sunset Boulevard, where young, hip, homophobic straights hung out.  Straight clubs were iffy -- you got cruised by women, you couldn't dance with men -- but if you played your cards right, you could go home with some superstud actor wannabes whose girlfriends were "out of town."

Tonight he hit the jackpot -- he had only just walked into Whiskey a Go Go, when he saw Luke Perry!  Sitting in a booth with an entourage of men.

Troubled loner Dylan Walsh on Beverly Hills 90210.

The outsider who resonated with Barry's life, growing up gay in conservative Colonial Williamsburg.

The glamorous world of Beverly Hills, 90210, where the sun was always shining and the guys were always hot.  Friendship.  Freedom.  Community.

An icon of Barry's childhood.  He even had a Dylan Walsh doll (no penis -- he checked).

There was no question about it -- he was going to trick with Luke Perry!

He walked up, started a conversation, got offered a beer but no crystal.  The entourage moved away, as if they knew the routine, as if Luke had done this before.

After some cruising, he followed Luke to the Parc Suites off La Cienega, and waited in the car while Luke paid for a room.

They kissed in the elevator -- a soft, warm "first date" kiss, not the aggressive, tongue-swallowing kiss of a trick.

Inside the hotel, they collapsed onto the bed, kissing and fondling. Luke's Mortadella+ became instantly aroused.  But Barry didn't.

"We don't have to do anything right away," Luke said with a frown.  "We can just cuddle."

"No, I'm into it.  I just need a few minutes.  I've never been with such a big star before -- or such a big penis -- I've got stage fright."

Luke didn't have stage fright -- he took off his pants and underwear and lay down on the bed with his legs spread.  Barry went down on him while Luke stroked his hair.

When he finished, Barry went to the bathroom to rinse out his mouth, and then returned to bed.  "Could we just cuddle now?"  he asked.  "I'm really tired."

"Sure, whatever you want."  Luke put his both arms around Barry and kissed him twice, once on the lips and once on the forehead.  Then he turned out the lights.

This is what gay life is supposed to be like, Barry thought.  Not endless nights of drugged-out dancing and tricking, wandering mean streets looking for yet another guy with a nice car and $50, then going home alone and empty.  It's supposed to be about caring for each other.  It's supposed to be about love.

Barry stayed awake all night, not wanting to miss a second of the warmth of Luke's arms, his soft breathing, his heartbeat.

He got up early in the morning, while it was still dark out, dressed, gave Luke one final kiss, and left.  You can't go home again, he thought.  It's too late.  Besides, he really wanted to score some crystal.

Sayville, Long Island, November 1999

 "It was nearly a year later when I encountered the Creepy Old Guy in a hotel corridor and started praying the rosary again," Barry tells us.  He went back home to Williamsburg, where his parents were delighted to reunite with him.  He gave up the bars, went to drug counseling, joined a gym, began practicing Zen meditation, and started going to Dignity, the gay Catholic group.

"Sad story," Yuri says.  "Does it mean that we won't share tonight?"

Barry laughs.  "Not until I get to know you a little better."


Was Barry telling the truth?

The guy Barry hooked up with never once said that he was in fact, Luke Perry the actor.

In July 1997, Luke Perry was married to Rachel Sharp.  Their first child, Jack Perry, was about a month old.  Luke has also dated Rene Zellweger, Kelly Preston, Shannon Doherty, and Yasmine Bleeth.

He's a gay ally who has played gay characters many times, including "himself" as gay on Family Guy.  One would think that, if he were gay or bisexual in real life, he would be open about it.

His penis, as we discovered on Oz in 2001, is not nearly as big as Barry claimed, but maybe he's a grower.

It seems odd that Barry would tell the Luke Perry story just as we were watching him on tv, as if he only just thought of it.

But why make up a story about that particular celebrity, when any icon of his childhood would do?

See also: Barry and the Creepy Old Guy

Bobby Darin Taking a Shower

This is the uncensored version of the photo of teen idol and 1960s singer Bobby Darin, perhaps an illustration from his "Splish, Splash (I Was Taking a Bath)" (1958).

It looks legitimate, like the real photo taken before censoring.

But when modern singers cover the song, they're usually shown in the bathtub, not in the shower, as in this rendition from a "Blast from the Past" performance at an Alabama high school.

The effect is the same.

The full post on Bobby Darin is on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.