My West Hollywood Date from Hell: Me, Morris, and the BFF

West Hollywood, May 1994

I've always been attracted to men in business suits, probably because I saw so few growing up.  All of my friends' fathers worked in factories and wore coveralls, except to church on Sundays, where they put on the Ritz.

The preacher wore a suit (no Satanic clerical collars for Nazarenes!).  I spent countless hours watching him as he paced and yelled and pounded the pulpit in outrage, until his tight bulldog body was slick with sweat and his cock was very blatantly shifting back and forth in his pants.

Whew.

So when Morris (not his real name) showed up one day at the Metropolitan Community Church, I was enthralled.

He was in his 40s,  but distinctly old fashioned -- wearing a gray flannel suit in Los Angeles heat, complete with vest, pinktie, handkerchief in the front pocket and cuff  links instead of buttons.

Thick gold watch, pinky ring, slicked-back black hair, cologne.  Who was this guy, Humphrey Bogart?

The pinky ring and cologne were turn-offs, but not enough for me to avoid him during the after-service "coffee hour," aka the "cruising hour."

We didn't usually discuss our jobs in West Hollywood -- everyone made do on a variety of part-time and temp jobs while pursuing our various goals of acting, modeling, writing, or art.  But Morris asked first thing, and told us that he was a broker-sales-marketing something or other to do with business.  Yawn.  Other biographical details: he was new in town, transplanted from far-off Connecticut, he had only been out for a few years, and he was a non-practicing Catholic who had never been in a Protestant church before.

In other words, he was not at all assimilated into the gay community.

Well, we could work on that.

"You need the grand tour of West Hollywood," I told him, "The bars, the Different Light, Mrs. Fields' Cookies,West Hollywood Park.  I'm meeting my partner and boy toy for lunch in a bit.  We could..."

"Thanks, but I have a lunch engagement of my own. Another time, perhaps?"

Thoroughly rebuffed, I retreated to the other side of the room and talked to other people until he was gone.  Then I walked down to the French Quarter, and waited for Lane and Infinite Chazz.

In May 1994, I was 33 years old.  Lane was five years older, shorter than me, buffed, bearded.  Our boy toy, called Infinite Chazz because he was infinitely attractive to everyone who saw him, was in college in Orange County, but visited most weekends.

It was very crowded, and the French Quarter was set up with mostly tables-for-two, so we had to wait about 20 minutes to be seated -- at a table only 20 feet from Morris!

"That's the guy I cruised at church," I told them.

"Whoa, bummer!" Infinite Chazz exclaimed.  "I mean, he's hot and all, but look who he's with!"

It was a woman in her late 100s, who was doing everything she could to appear under 80.  Black wig, heavily made up face with bright red lipstick, evening gown, dripping with jewels.  Mink stole in 80 degree weather. Eating a steak with a knife and fork.

Never before or after did I see anyone eating a steak at the French Quarter.  Or using a knife.  I didn't even know that they had full "cuts of meat" on the menu.

"Miss Mae West is still alive!"  Lane exclaimed.

"Or Aunt Clara from Bewitched," Chazz suggested.  "Or...I know, I know -- Auntie Mame!"

"Maybe Auntie Mame is his mother, Mommy Dearest Mame?" Lane suggested.

"Taking your mother out to dinner!" Chazz exclaimed.  "Sick!"

"Or maybe Mr. Morris is...a gigolo!  Dinner, dancing, a kiss on the cheek, make the dowager princess feel loved."

"I'm trying to read the menu!  Stop making me sick to my stomach!"

"All I know is, I dodged a bullet there," I said.  "That Morris is crazy.  Imagine, hanging out with a woman!"

We weren't gynophobic, necessarily, but we grew up with parents, friends, teachers, coaches, and pastors constantly screaming at us, "What girl do you like?  What girl?  What girl? What girl?", hour after hour, day after day, constant asserting that "You are attracted to women, like every boy who has ever lived!  Your destiny lies in a woman's arms!  Heterosexual romance is the meaning of life!"

So it was an enormous relief to be able to relax and not have to think about, talk about, or look at girls. Any mention of a woman, could re-open old wounds, ruin our mood, put a damper on the whole day.  We looked up to guys who could go through a conversation, a whole day, or a lifetime without mentioning anything feminine.  They had the power!

It wasn't easy.  You had to pretend not to see actresses on tv (Dynasty?  Isn't that the show starring John Forsythe?), omit pronouns when talking about your relatives (instead of "I'm calling my mother," "I'm calling my parents"), and call your pets "he," even if they were female.

Lane and I weren't that assiduous, but friendships with women?  No way!

I was going to let Morris slide on by, but suddenly he got up, arm in arm with his lady bff, and approached our table!

"Fancy meeting you here!" he said. "I'd like you to meet Mae."

Lane nudged me under the table.

We made introductions all around, but did not deign to shake Miss Mae's small, many-ringed hand. Touching a woman?  Absolutely not!

Then Miss Mae returned to her steak, but Morris stayed behind.  "So, Boomer, you mentioned a tour of West Hollywood. Will next Friday night be ok?"

I hesitated.  He was friends...or something...with a woman!  But he was attractive, sophisticated, and wearing a suit.  And he probably had a penis. I liked penises. Why not?

"Sure, that will be fine."  I gave him my address.  "Call for me at 7:00."

"Marvelous.  Um...will your friends be joining us?"  He leered at Chazz.

I looked at Lane, who didn't share my fetish for business suits.  "Well, I go to schul -- temple -- on Friday nights, but I'll meet up with you later."

Lane and I were allowed to date other people, as long as we got together for the bedroom activity, to participate or watch.

"I'l be going to temple with Lane," Chazz said.  "But I'm up for after-schul dinner and cruising."

"Marvelous."  He reached out his hand to be shaken, gave Infinite Chazz a wink (was that how they cruised in Connecticut?), and returned to Aunt Clara.






We spent the week discussing the logistics for my Friday night date.

I would take Morris to the Different Light Bookstore and then the Cafe Etoille for dinner -- the ritzy place would justify his wearing a business suit.  Then cruising at the Toy Tiger (the oldster piano bar).  We would meet Lane and Chazz at the Gold Coast after temple.

Since Morris was new to the gay community, a four-way would probably be too much for him, so we agreed that only Lane would be present for the sharing.  Chazz would take the guest room, and join us in the morning.

On Friday night, I put on the tie that I wore only to job interviews and funerals, so Morris wouldn't feel too out of place.

7:00.  I waited.

7:10.  No Morris.

7:20.  No Morris.  This was before cell phones, so I couldn't call.

7:30.  I started changing into my regular clothes so I could go out by myself, when there was a knock on the door.

Morris.  Wearing a cut-off t-shirt and jeans.  Not a business suit!  Well, at least he had a hairy chest and a nice bulge.

"Parking is a nightmare in this town!" he said.  "Mae is still looking for a parking place.  She'll be up in a minute."

Mae?  Up in a minute?

He kissed me on the cheek.  "So, what marvelous plans do you have for us this evening?"

Mae?  Up in a minute?

Browsing at the Different Light Bookstore.  Dinner at the Cafe Etoille.  Listening to old show tunes at the Toy Tiger.  A good night kiss on the cheek.  Morris, Mae, and me.

I did manage to go down on Morris later, but that's a story for another time.

See also: Sex in the Office: I Finally See Morris's Member.

50 States, 50 Naked Men, Part 1

I've been to 48 of the 50 U.S. states, and met men in most of them.  Here are my favorite naked men in each state (guys I've seen naked, not including locker rooms, bathhouses, bear parties, and boyfriends).  They have to actually be living in the state, not tourists, and it can't be in a city I was actually living in.

Midwest

 1. Illinois.  Tough call, since I grew up in Rock Island and went to college there.  But I'm going to go with Dylan, the 28-year old retro twink met in 2015.  He acted like it was still 1985.

2.  Indiana.  Another tough call: visits to relatives twice a year, graduate school at Indiana University, visiting my parents in Indianapolis.  I'm going to go with Tyler, the "son" of my first boyfriend Fred, who I met in 2012.  He was actually the son of Fred's housemate, but I still got a weird family vibe.

3. Iowa.  Davenport, Iowa was right across the river from Rock Island.  Plus I've been to Des Moines several times.  But my favorite hookup was with a 48-hour long date with Sammy, the son of my old speech teacher Mr. Blowfish, a Swedish-Vietnamese art history professor who took me on a 36 hour date in Cornell, Iowa.

4. Michigan.  In 1971, we visited my Indian relatives in Dowagiac, Michigan, and I played a bondage - penis grabbing game with my older cousin Javon.  Huge!

5. Minnesota.  At a conference in St. Peter, Minnesota, I picked up a Vietnamese undergrad at an art gallery, but ended up on a date with his gym rat cousin.

6. Nebraska.  In 1980 my boyfriend Fred and I moved to Omaha for a terrible month.  He brought home Mike, a teenager from his youth group at church, for my first three-way.  Years later I tried to find Mike again.  He had died, but I found out from his nephew that he kept a picture from that night all his life.

7. Ohio.  Three years in Dayton, plus many visits to Cleveland on the way from Upstate to Indianapolis, stopping at the Flex Club on the way.  One year Troy and I hooked up with the Shy Boy who Wouldn't Leave My Room.

8. Wisconsin.  We lived in Racine, Wisconsin from Kindergarten through second grade, but of course I was too young for sausage sightings.   I didn't meet anyone in Wisconsin until January 2014, when I went to Milwaukee for a post-Christmas vacation, and picked up Superman.









Northeast

9. Connecticut.  When I was living on Long Island, my first year in grad school, I went out on a date with a guy who lived in Greenwich, Connecticut, three hours away by train.  I spent the night, and the next day he gave me the wrong directions, so I had to spend 2 hours standing on a train platform.

10. Maine.  In 2010, my boyfriend Troy and I went to the gay resort town of Ogunquit, Maine.  I don't care much for resorts, but we did manage to pick up a guy on the beach.  He was black, and into BDSM, both rarities in Maine.

11. Massachusetts.  No question: Jermaine, the Biggest Guy on my Sausage List.

12. New Hampshire.  Drove through, but didn't stop.

13. Rhode Island.  In 2000, Yuri and I visited my friend Zack, who was studying at the Rhode Island School of Design.

14. Vermont. On the way back from Maine in 2010, Troy and I stayed overnight in Burlington, Vermont, and hooked up with an undergrad French major at Middlebury College.




Middle Atlantic States

15. Delaware.  I've only been here once, when Jermaine, the Biggest Guy on My Sausage List, took me to Bowers Beach for his uncle's 50th birthday party.  No bedroom activity except with Jermaine, but I did see Uncle Titus naked.

16. Maryland.  November 2016: Three guys in my bed in Baltimore, each more hung than the last.

17. New Jersey.  When I lived in New York, one night I broke every rule of gay cruising and ended up in the house of a cute Hispanic guy, with his parents in the next room, somewhere in New Jersey.

18. New York,  Four years in New York City, three years Upstate.  I can't decide.

19. Pennsylvania.  During my year in Philadelphia, I had an election-night hookup with Oscar the Grouch, aka Oscar the Irish bodybuilder, and his American boy toy.

20. Washington DC.  Visited several times, hooked up with several guy, but my favorite was probably the "straight" jock with the bulge who I brought back to the apartment as a "gift" for Alan and his partner Sandy.









Southeast

21. Florida.  I lived in Wilton Manors for 4 years, but my most memorable hookup was probably when David and I drove down to Key West, and picked up the hitchhiker.

22. Georgia.  When Lane and I were living in West Hollywood, we flew to Atlanta for some reason -- I don't remember why -- and hooked up with a Georgia boy.

23. North Carolina.  One year Alan and his partner Sandy took me to a gay resort on the coast of North Carolina.

24. South Carolina.  When I visited my Cousin George in South Carolina in 1971, we took baths together and slept naked ("only fools wear pajamas").  When I reunited with him in 2005, I discovered that he insisted on the baths and sleeping naked so he could get a sausage sighting.

25. Virginia.  When I visited Alan and Sandy in Norfolk, they were monogamous, but provided me with a "substitute" named Tarik.

26. West Virginia.  Drove through, but didn't stop.

Next: the South, the Mountain States, and the West, in Part Two.

The Roommate of the Boyfriend of the Roommate of the Date of my Roommate

West Hollywood, April 1986

In the 1980s, photographs of naked men were rare, even in West Hollywood.  There were a few gay porn magazines -- Mandate, In Touch, Blue Boy -- but they were hard to find -- the Different Light Bookstore didn't stock any, for fear of being raided.  The only place in town that I knew of where you could get them was Book Circus.  They were prohibitively expensive, two or three times what ordinary magazines cost.

As a result, we guarded our collections jealously, keeping them hidden in locked drawers, rarely bringing them out except to show at parties, and to impress dates with.

I was especially protective of my In Touch for Men magazine, #72, October 1982, which I bought at the adult bookstore in Bloomington.  It was the first gay magazine I ever bought.

Before setting foot in that adult bookstore, I thought that gay people had nothing but badly-mimeographed newsletters, but here was a big, bold, glossy magazine like the ones they sold at supermarket check-out stands, with articles, columns, and everything!

A  tribute to Steve Reeves.

A retrospective on gay icons of the 1960s, like Ron Ely of Tarzan.

And naked men!

It was one of my most prized possessions.

Tuesday, April 8th, 1986

 I got back from my night class at USC at 11:00 pm, exhausted, ready for bed.  My roommate Alan the Pentecostal Porn Star was sitting in the living room with a cute Asian guy, looking at my copy of The Celluloid Closet.  

"This is Dennis from Taiwan," he said. "We went to see Lucas -- Corey Haim in his underwear, pretty hot, huh?"

Dennis from Taiwan looked up and smiled. He was short, slim, a bit on the femme side, with pale skin, thick eyebrows, and horn-rimmed glasses.

"Hi," I said, staring at Alan.  I never knew him to spend the night of a first date reading.  Maybe things weren't going well.

"Hey...do you suppose we could borrow your 1982 In Touch?  I want to show Dennis the article on Steve Reeves.  He doesn't believe that the guy was a gay icon."

"Um...I'm really tired.  I was just going to go to bed."  Meaning: I won't be around to supervise.

"That's ok.  We'll just look at the article, and put it back in your room when we're done."

Well, anything to help him get Dennis from Taiwan off the couch and into his bedroom.

Wednesday, April 9th

In the morning when I woke up, Alan and Dennis were already gone.  I checked my desk and dresser.  No In Touch.  I checked the coffee table, the kitchen table, Alan's room, even the bathroom.  It was gone!

There were no cell phones in those days, so I had to wait for Alan to get home from work.  When he came in, the first thing I said was "Hey, where's my In Touch?"

"Oh, sorry.  I didn't think you'd mind.  Dennis wanted to take it home to make a copy of the article."

"Huh?"  I don't know if I was more mad over the "borrowing," or shocked that Dennis would take a gay porn magazine into Kinko's.

"He's going to use the copying machine at work, after everyone goes home," Alan explained.  "And he'll bring it back during our next date."

"You'd better call and remind him, pronto!" I exclaimed.

"Chill.  I can't call so soon.  Last night was our first date."  It was customary to wait 24-48 hours after the first date, to avoid appearing needy.  "I'll call tomorrow."

Thursday, April 10th

Obviously Alan couldn't call Dennis at work -- it would have to be in the evening, when I was at USC.  When I got back to the apartment at 11:00 pm, Alan was sitting up watching television.

"Dennis said 'no' to a second date," he said morosely.

"Bummer.  Where's my In Touch?"

"Oh, sorry, I forgot to ask him for it."

"His telephone number.  Now!"

It was a little late, but I called Dennis.  He invited me over to pick up the magazine that night, but I was too tired.

"Tomorrow night, then.  Can you get here before 7:00 pm?  I have a date."

I worked at the Community Redevelopment Agency until 5:00 pm on Fridays.  I could make it back to West Hollywood before 7:00, if I skipped the gym.

Friday, April 11th

Dennis lived in an apartment on DeLongpre, about a mile from us.

He answered the door in a towel -- quite a nice, tight physique -- and kissed me (the standard greeting in West Hollywood).

 "Sorry -- I was taking a shower.  Your magazine is in my room.  Come on in while I dress."

I barely managed to enjoy the sausage sighting as my roommate's date towelled off and put on his underwear and pants.  I was busy following his directions -- "It's probably on the desk -- no?  Try inside the night stand.  Maybe I put it with my other porn mags.  No?  Under the bed, next to the trick rag?  Hmm...where could it be?  I showed it to my roommate, Clay.  Could he have borrowed it?"

Another 'borrower"!  I thought savagely.  My roommate's date's roommate.  "Where is this Clay person now?"

"Probably having dinner with his boyfriend Rusty, out in Silver Lake.  And then he'll spend the night.  Listen -- " he touched me on the shoulder.  "I hope it's not too soon, but I thought we had some chemistry the other night, and I was wondering if you wanted to go out to dinner..."

He leaned in for a kiss.  I kissed and groped him for a moment, and then said "Telephone number, now!"

No answer at Rusty's.  There was nothing to do but wait until the next day, and call Dennis's roommate's boyfriend again.

Saturday, April 12th.

I called early, so they wouldn't be off getting brunch.

"Hm...sure, your magazine is here," Rusty, the boyfriend of my roommate's date's roommate, told me. He had a brief conversation with someone else in the room.  "Sorry, Clay thought it belonged to Dennis, so there'd be no problem borrowing it.  He'll bring it to the house later, and you can pick it up there."

"No, stay where you are!" I exclaimed.  "I'm coming to you."

"Ok, but knock loud.  We're going back to bed."

The address he gave was all the way out in Silverlake, a 45 minute drive from West Hollywood.  I still managed to arrive before 10:00.

A cute blond in his 30s answered the door.  Wearing only a red bath robe.  Smooth tight chest, hard biceps, square workman's hands.

"Hi, I'm Rusty," he said, kissing me. "I sent Clay out for bagels, and there's coffee on."

"Thanks," I said.  "Do you have my magazine?"

"That was a great article about Steve Reeves," Rusty said.  "It gave me a new appreciation for the old Hercules sword-and-sorcery movies. Whoa, it's hot in here.  Do you mind if I take my bathrobe off?"  Without waiting for my answer, he stripped.

"Yeah, it was great," I said.  "So, where is the magazine?"

"Oh, we left it on the coffee table.  Go take a look.  How do you like your coffee?"

"Black."

He walked toward the kitchen, his huge uncut meat swinging between his legs. "So, are you and Clay good friends?  Like up for sharing?"

"Actually, we haven't even met yet.  He's the roommate of my roommate's date."

"Darling, you're practically brothers."

I sorted through the Frontiers, Advocates, and coffee table books.  Then to the end table, with Architectural Digest.  The magazine holder.

"No In Touch here!" I called.

"That's funny, I know we left it on the coffee table."  He appeared in the doorway, naked.  "Hey, you know what?  I'll bet my roommate, Arturo, came in late last night and borrowed it.  He's in the room at the end of the hall -- you want to go wake him up?  Tell him we have bagels coming."

I went to the end of the hall and opened the door without knocking.  A guy I assumed was Arturo, the roommate of my roommate's date's roommate's boyfriend,  was lying on the bed -- in his 30s, very buffed, olive skin, thick black hair, a short beard.  A Mortadella+, fully aroused.  He was beating off!

He smiled at me.  "Hi.  See anything you like?"

"In Touch?"

"You can touch anything you want."

"No, In Touch, the magazine.  Do you have the October 1982 issue?  With the Steve Reeves retrospective?"

"Oh, that.  I thought it was Rusty's."  He took his hand off his cock.  "Over on the desk."

"Thanks."  This time it actually was on the desk!  "By the way, bagels are almost here."

"I'll be out in a bit."

I didn't stick around for the beating off.  Or the bagels.  I was anxious to get In Touch back into the locked drawer in my bedroom.

Later it dawned on me that I had passed up opportunities to date Dennis, share Clay and Rusty, and go down on Arturo.

But at least I got my magazine back.

See also: Comic Book Guy's Date with Jeff Stryker; My First Visit to an Adult Bookstore.