Will, the Bondage Boy with the Sweeney Todd Fetish

Silverlake, November 1987

I met Will  at Sunset Junction, the gay street fair held every October in Silverlake, L.A.'s second gay neighborhood.

He was about five years older than me, short, compact, with a little belly and a  very hairy chest, one of the first "bears" I ever met.  He told me that he worked at the Eagle, a leather bar in Silverlake.

I was a little nervous about accepting a date with a bartender -- he must get drunk a lot.  But Will was attractive, different from my usual Asian and Hispanic guys, and besides, I wanted a tour of Silverlake.  It was 15 miles from West Hollywood, way out where Santa Monica met Sunset, so we didn't go there much.







We had dinner at La Casita, a very bright, colorful Mexican restaurant -- rather a treat, since there were no Mexican restaurants in West Hollywood at the time.

Then Will took off his shirt, put on a leather vest, and took me to the Eagle.

It was my first time in a leather bar.  Older crowd, a lot of bears, a lot of chaps and leather jackets and cigarette smoke.  I was the youngest guy there, a little out of place in my cruisy tank top and jeans.


Will got himself a bottle of beer and me a soda, and introduced me to some of the regulars.  One asked "Isn't it past your bedtime, kid?"

I wasn't amused.  "I'll be 27 next week."

Will escorted me away.  "Don't mind him -- he's just jealous,  We don't get many young guys at the Eagle.  The rule is, West Hollywood for twinks and creepy old guys, Silverlake for daddies and bears."  He paused.  "So, what do you like to do?  In bed, I mean."

The question was surprising, even shocking.  In West Hollywood we never asked -- we just brought the guy into our bedroom and found out.  It must be a Silverlake thing.

"Oh, um....the usual." I stammered.  "You know, a lot of kissing and cuddling and...well, French [oral sex], of course.."

"What about non-vanilla sex?  Like, you know, bondage? BDSM scenes?"

"I'm not very experienced with that," I said.  "My first boyfriend Fred liked to be tied up and spanked, and I met a guy at Mugi who had a closetful of whips and paddles.  But I've been reading Cavelo and Sean since I lived in Indiana."

"Wow, Cavelo and Sean, that's hardcore stuff!  You're probably ready for a scene, do you think?"


"What kind of scene?"

"Kidnapping and POW are my favorites, but my super super favorite is cannibalism."

Cannibalism?  This evening was getting complicated!  "Let's start out with some kissing and French, ok?"

Will shared a very nice Spanish-style house with an older gay couple, who sat in the living room with us to eat sponge cake and drink coffee before excusing themselves.

Then we kissed and cuddled for awhile.  I tried to unzip Will, but he pushed my hand away.

"Not ready for oral?" I asked in surprise.

"Oh, that stuff is ok, but why bother when there's a full dungeon in the basement?  There's even a giant cauldron for cannibalism scenes!"

"How about some music?" I asked, to get his mind off cannibalism.

"Oh, sure."  He sprang to the stereo.  "You'll like this.  It's Sweeney Todd, the musical."

"Um...I'm not really into show tunes."

"You've never heard show tunes like this.  If you're interested in Victorian London, or crime, or language, you'll love it.  Let me put it on for you."  He fumbled about for the cassette.  "See, Sweeney Todd was imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit, and he gets revenge by killing the people responsible and serving them in meat pies.  Len Cariou plays Sweeney Todd, and Angela Lansbury plays Mrs. Lovett, the owner of the pie shop."

Lovett: Since marine doesn't appeal to you, how about rear admiral?

Todd: Too salty. I prefer general.

Lovett: With, or without his privates? "With" is extra.

Todd: What is that?

Lovett:  It's fop, finest in the shop. And we have some shepherd's pie peppered with actual shepherd on top!  And I've just begun --  here's the politician, so oily it's served with a doily...

Angela Lansbury, the mild-mannered mystery writer of Murder, She Wrote, was singing about eating people!

I could see that I wasn't going to get out of there with some plain old-fashioned bedroom activity.  "I'm not really into cannibalism scenes, but I'm up for some light bondage and spanking."

"Great, that's great too!"  Will exclaimed.  He yelled "We're going downstairs" into the other room and led me through the kitchen and into the basement dungeon.

Very impressive.  Nude photos on the walls.  A sling.  A St. Andrew's cross.  A leather-covered bondage table.  And the famous cauldron, big enough for the bottom to sit in while the top doused him with water from a hose.

"It's an old movie prop.  Johnny Sheffield, who played Boy in the MGM Tarzan movies in the 1930s, was cooked in it."

"That's enough talking, slave!" I said sternly.  "Now strip and stand against that St. Andrew's cross.  You're going to be tied up and tortured!"

"Yes, sir!"

The torture involved "forcing" Will to submit to oral sex.  That counts as "eating" him, right?

That was my last date with Will, but we stayed friends.  He dated Raul for awhile.

See also: 15 Bondage Boys  ; Sean and the World of Gay Leathermen; Will and Scott's Wild Night with Keanu Reeves.

15 Rules of Public Hookups

In spite of the proliferation of smart-phone hookup apps like Grindr and Adam4Adam, I still prefer meeting guys in public places for dating or hookups.

It's more fun.  Hookup apps are like going to a smorgasbord -- you know you're going to get something, you just have to decide on what.  Public cruising is unpredictable -- there might not be anyone you like, or the guy you like might not be available, or you might not be able to "seal the deal."  The search is as much fun as the act itself.

It's more reliable.  Online photos are photoshopped into oblivion.  Besides, no photo or video can compare to seeing the guy in person, touching him, feeling his energy in a real place.

It's more interesting.  You don't get a full bio and long lists of interests, tastes, and sexual positions handed to you, so you have to ask.  Finding out about the guy is much more interesting than reading a resume.

Of course, you have to be careful.  Not everyone you meet in a public place wants to be your friend.  Here are the rules for hookups, finding someone for a sexual encounter with no expectation of an ongoing relationship:

1. Select your venue carefully.  You can meet men anywhere, but if they're at work or rushing to work, they're unlikely to have the time to stop and chat.  I suggest a place where there are a lot of guys at leisure, like a bar, a shopping mall, the gym, a museum, or the beach.

And someplace within an easy drive of your apartment.  Nothing is worse than meeting someone you like and having him say "I live only 45 minutes from here."

2. Go in the early afternoon.  In the morning, everyone is too tired to think about sex or romance, and in the evening, they're all rushing out to dinners, dates, and club meetings.  The best hours are between 2 and 6 pm.  If you haven't met someone by that time, give up.

3. Go with a buddy.  Cruising alone makes you seem creepy, especially if you are over 40.  Besides, everyone looks more attractive in a group, and your buddy can help you judge potential partners.

4. Do not drink while cruising.  Or drink only in moderation.  The same thing with drugs.  You need a clear head to judge potential partners.  If you are drunk or high, you will make mistakes.

5. Gather information.  When you see someone that you find attractive, strike up an ordinary conversation. Talk about the music at the bar, the exhibits at the museum, the food at the festival.  Move on to questions about jobs, leisure interests, family, and so on.  If he is hesitant, or if his story has blatant contradictions, move on.

6. Don't discuss sizes or sexual acts.  Oddly, talking about sex makes you seem less sexy.  If he asks, be brief and noncommittal.  If he wants details, chances are he has no intention of following through with a meeting.  He just enjoys thinking about sex.

But what if we're completely incompatible?

No such thing.  Two people who are attracted to each other can always find something to do in bed.

7. Word the invitation carefully.  You are obviously attracted to each other, so where do you go from here?  A friendship, a romance, or a hookup?

If you invite him to do something specific  -- get coffee, go to a movie -- you are initiating a romance.
If you invite him to get together, and specify in the future -- you are initiating a friendship.
If you invite him to get together now -- you are initiating a hookup.


These next rules are for hookups:

8. Invite him to your place, if possible.  You are more relaxed and in control when it's your own space.


9. Take your own cars.    Never get into a car with someone you don't know well.

10.  Make sure that someone knows where you are.  Have your roommate in the house.  Have your buddy follow you.  Give someone his contact information.  Don't just disappear with the guy.

11. Clean your apartment in advance.  Nothing spoils the mood more than dirty dishes in the sink, an unmade bed, and an overflowing clothes hamper.

12. Hide your valuables.  Leave your wallet in the car.

13. Bring condoms.  Safe sex practices only!

14. Don't kick him out afterwards.  If it is a daytime hookup, etiquette demands that you offer him coffee or a snack afterwards.  If it's a night time hookup, spending the night is customary.









15. Don't pretend that you want a relationship.  I've had one-night stands who made a big deal of giving me their number, and it turned out to be fake.  Hookups sometimes become friendships or romances, but it's perfectly ok if they do not.  Of course, you may want to go farther -- in that case, ask him for a date on the spot.  Otherwise, just say "Thank you for coming over," and add him to your list of memories.

Ricky with a Y

My birthday was a couple of weeks ago.  I've now been in the category of "older guys" for 15 years, and though I'm noticeably more bald and craggy than I was in 2000, the ardor of the Cute Young Things has not diminished.  If anything, it's increased.

When I go to a M4M Party, the twinks start sidling over before I even have a chance to get my pants off.

When I go on Grindr, I get these pickup lines or variants a dozen times an hour:
1. "Nice pic" (everybody gets that)
2. I love older guys"
3. "I've been a naughty boy, Daddy."

I hate being called Daddy.  Maybe I'm 20 or 30 years older than you, but I'm not your father.

Ricky with a Y (he specified the Y even though I could see it on the screen)  wasn't physically spectacular: in his 20s, a little shorter than me, with a handsome face, a hairy chest, not particularly muscular, a little small beneath the belt.

But he stood out from the crowd by his lack of obnoxious cruising.  We talked about The Walking Dead and the musical Titanic rather than the things he wanted me to do to him.

He found out that I was a college professor without making a stupid joke about requiring special after-class tutoring, wink wink nudge nudge.

He found out that my birthday was coming up without making a stupid joke about dinosaurs.

Nor did he call me Daddy.

So of course I accepted the date, for the Saturday after my birthday. "Leave everything to me.  This is my town, so I know my way around.  I'll give you an unforgettable night."

He picked me up at 6:00 pm in a very nice black convertible.

"This is my baby -- I've had her since college.  You should have seen me tooling around Harvard Yard."

Ok, everybody I've known who went to Harvard was crazy.  I waited to find out what Ricky's eccentricity was.  Other than being Ricky with a Y.

We went to dinner at a place called Grille 26, where the prices were high and the food boring: scallops, pasta, steak.

And the craziness began.  He psychoanalyzed everything.

"What do you do for a living?" I asked politely.

"Interesting that you would start off with the financial rather than my artistic or spiritual life.  Do you feel dissatisfied with your own economic success?

"Um...I was just trying to be polite."

By the way, he helped run the family soft drink company, which was quite successful, with root beer, birch beer, and cola that was #3 in the state, after Coke and Pepsi.  He also ran a mail-order company specializing in gay pride merchandise, and in his spare time he did financial consulting.  And he wanted to talk about his artistic side?

"My favorite food is Thai," I continued, making small talk.

"Interesting.  Is the food a stand in for the people?  Fetishization of Asians is quite common in gay communities, I understand.  They're stereotyped as soft and passive, easy to dominate, particularly if you're insecure about your sexual prowess."

"I'm not...i'm not insecure about my sexual prowess!  I just like pad thai."

And on and on.

Why did I stay friends with most of my ex-lovers?  Was I reluctant to let go, let the past stay the past, because I was afraid to face the future, the inevitability of death?

Why did I call my mother every week, but not my father?

Why didn't I allow my dinner companion to try one of my scallops?

Finally, after what felt like an intensive psychotherapy session, Ricky with a Y said "This has been fascinating, but we'd better be going, or we'll be late for the theater."

He had theater tickets?  Great. Angels in America was playing at the college.  But instead he took me to A Christmas Story: The Musical, about that kid and his quest to get a gun from Santa Claus, plus the lamp shaped like a lady's leg.

"Why does the lamp shaped like a lady's leg bother you?  Is it the disembodiment, the objectification of women?  Or does it make you doubt your own sexual identity?"

Then we went to an upscale dance club -- for heterosexuals.

"Come on, there's nothing to be afraid of.  This isn't the homophobic 1980s.  Why are you afraid to admit that things have gotten better for gay people?  Does it threaten your raison d'etre?

"Why are you Ricky with a Y?" I countered.  "Is it so people don't mistake you for Ricki with an I, a girl's name? Are you trying to draw attention to your Y chromosome? Do you think that being gay makes you a girl?"

"Good point!  But getting back to..."

By the time Ricky said "This has been great! Let's go back to my place!", I had been run through the emotional wringer a dozen times.  I wanted to go home and curl into a fetal position.

But maybe a nice peaceful wordless sexual encounter would be a good antidote.

He had a modern apartment, all steel-and-glass, with plants and abstract art and leather furniture.  We kissed for awhile on the couch, then went into the bedroom.  Where the psychoanalyzing began again.

"Why do you have an aversion to anal sex?  Is it because that's the iconic gay sexual act?  Do you think that, as long as you don't top me, you're not really gay?"

I avoided commenting on his extra-small penis and extra-big car.

See also: 8 Harvard Boys in My Bed; and My Platonic Friends and Their Boy Toy