I Share Fred and His Boyfriend in His Parents' House

Rock Island, December 1980

In mid-December, just before classes end at Augustana, my ex-boyfriend Fred calls me from Omaha.  "Are you free Christmas night?" 

"Sure -- my family celebrates on Christmas Eve, so Christmas day is all down time."

"Great.  I'm bringing my boyfriend Toby up to meet my parents -- the first guy I've ever brought home -- and I want you to come along for moral support."

Last summer, when I was 19 years old, I moved to Omaha with Fred, a recent seminary graduate who had just taken a job as a youth pastor.  I hated every minute of it, and after five weeks escaped...um, I mean left and returned to Rock Island.  

Within a week, Fred rebounded into the arms of another 19-year old college student: Toby Meyer, who was starting his sophomore year at the University of Nebraska.  They moved in together after two dates.  Fred introduced him at church as his "nephew."

If anyone in the church found this suspicious, there's no record of it.

"So you want your ex-boyfriend to help you introduce Toby to your family."  I scoff-- I haven't seen Fred since our breakup, and now he wants me to hang out with his new boyfriend?  That would be mega-weird!

"Are you up for it?  Mom's a great cook.  And, if it sweetens the deal, you can join me in bed. Just come into my room after everyone's asleep.  I'd like to have you all night, but you know, I don't want to arouse suspicion."

That does sweeten the deal!  Fred is enormously attractive.  Besides, I've only been with one guy since our breakup, and that was a downlow thing after a screen date with some girls.

"Um...where are they going to put Toby?"

"Hopefully with me, but I can't be sure.  They think we're just roommates, you know.  I'm not out to anyone in my family." 


Well, he's sort of out.  Last summer Fred's Dad and older brother helped us move to Omaha. Virgil was in his 50s,hairy, grizzled, with hard shoulders and biceps, a do-or-die conservative Democrat who hated Ronald Reagan.  Dwight was in his 30s, a truck driver, tall, bearded, fat.  

They didn't say anything about us being gay, but they didn't mention girls, either, and they expressed no surprise when we had only one bed to move. They probably knew, but didn't want to talk about it. 

That's as out as you got in 1980.

This will be the first time I've seen Fred since we broke up.  That, plus meeting his boyfriend and most of his family, makes me very nervous.

I get even more nervous when I arrive before Fred and Toby -- they are still negotiating the snowy six-hour drive from Toby's parents' house in Sioux Falls.  

Virgil, Dwight, a little boy (Dwight's son), and a tall, slim black-haired guy (the boyfriend of Fred's sister) are sitting in the living room, watching a football game on tv.  

Virgil, gruff and a bit standoffish, introduces me as "Fred's former friend," and takes me back through the dining room to an enormous kitchen to meet the women:  Fred's Mom, short, fussy, and fat; Dwight's wife; and Fred's younger sister, a senior music major at Knox College.

They give me the choice of helping out in the kitchen or watching football.  I choose the kitchen, and make a salad while fielding questions about my major in college, whether I have a girlfriend, and why I left Omaha.

If there any doubts about Fred being gay, they are dissipated when he arrives with Toby, the most swishy little queen to ever sashay in a pink sweater and diamond earrings.  He spends the dinner saying things like "Mrs. A, this cauliflower casserole is delish!  You have to give me the recipe, so I can make it for Fred!" and "No pie for me, thanks -- I have to watch my figure!  Got to keep them interested, right?"

I am heavily embarrassed, and try to ignore him -- and Fred -- as much as possible, instead interrogating Jane and her boyfriend on Knox College.  

After dinner, the women set about to do the dishes, along with Toby ("Oh, I insist!  I love dishwashing -- I might even make it my career!")  The men go into the living room to watch more tv and wait for the women, so they can open presents.  I go to the bathroom.

Virgil is waiting for me at the door, glaring as if I took too long.  

"Sorry..." I begin.

"I have a question.  I'm glad you're trying to make up with Freddie -- you hurt him bad when you left Omaha.  But I want to know -- did you jump ship because he started dating a queer?"

"What?"  Stunned, I really want to say "WTF?"    

"Nothing wrong with queers," Virgil continues.  "They can set a table and keep a house as well as a woman can, and if that's what Freddie likes, it's up to us to make his friend feel welcome.  Not fly off the handle and run away."  

"Oh, no, that's not why I left at all."

"Good."  He grimaces menacingly.  "Cause I thought you looked a little piqued around Toby.  You don't want to hurt Freddie again, not in my house." 

"Oh, no.  In fact, to prove how much I accept Fred and Toby, I volunteer to spend the night in their room."

His grimace breaks into a grin. "Well, we were going to put you up in the spare room with Jane's boyfriend, and the boy in with his folks, but I'm sure that can be arranged."

We go back into the living room and exchange gifts.  I only brought one, a book for Fred, but receive three, from Fred, his parents, and Toby (a Nebraska Cornhuskers t-shirt:  "I saw a picture of you, and knew that red is your color!").  Then we watch more tv (a common entertaiment in the Midwest) until it's time to decide on the sleeping arrangements.

Bedroom #1: Jane
Bedroom #2: Dwight and his wife
Bedroom #3: Fred, Boomer, and Toby.
Spare Room: Jane's boyfriend and Dwight's son

"Sorry we have to triple up, Freddie."  Virgil says.  "There's just not enough beds to go around."

"Oh, I don't mind a bit," Fred says with a grin.


When we get upstairs, Toby wraps me into a hug.

"How did you ever convince Mr. and Mrs. A. to let us share Fred's bed tonight?  We're not out to them, so they think we're just roommates having a sleepover."

"That must be the reason," Fred says, joining us in the hug.  "No chance of any hanky panky going on up here."

"Actually, Virgil knows that Toby is gay, and thinks that you're straight but 'into queers.'"

"See, Fred?" Toby says.  "I can't be in the closet!  Everybody knows the moment I say 'hello.'"  He turns to me.  "Do you like kissing?  Fred doesn't like to kiss."

In case you were wondering: slim physique, average-sized cut penis, French and Greek passive.   

We shared a few more times, when they came to Rock Island or I drove out to visit them in Omaha.  Then Fred got a new job, as senior pastor of the United Methodist Church in Horrible Small-Town Kansas. He and Toby broke up, maybe because Toby didn't want to move to Horrible Small-Town Kansas, or maybe because he knew he could never be closeted enough to be a preacher's partner.  Everyone knew the moment he said "hello."

See also: My Ex-Boyfriend Fred's Nine Lovers.

I Visit Alan, his Boyfriend, and their Boy Toy in Virginia

Norfolk, Virginia, June 1993

After our horrible trip to London for a gay Jewish conference on the Isle of Dogs, Lane flies back to West Hollywood.  I stop in Norfolk, Virginia, to spend a few days with my old friend Alan.

As the plane crosses Chesapeake Bay and descended into Norfolk, I become very, very nervous.  

We were best friends for years, in spite of his globetrotting, to Japan, Thailand, and France.  Then last summer he sent a long letter detailing how he had "repented of his sinful lifestyle" and couldn't hang out with his old "sinful associates" anymore.   

I figured we were through.

In December he sent me another letter, bright and cheery but very brief:  "I'm living in Norfolk, Virginia.  It's beautiful here -- I've never been happier.  Can you come and visit?  You can stay with me and Sandy."

Ok, I know Alan has an older sister -- is her name Sandy?  I can't remember.  Or is he still "ex gay," with a girlfriend?  Or a beard?    

Still, I hate losing friends.  I promised to come after the Isle of Dogs conference.  And reserved a hotel room, just in case.

What am I getting myself into?  I wonder.  Five days of homophobic Bible-thumping?  Five days of hanging out with a gay guy trying to pretend that he's straight?  

Alan meets me at the gate.  Blue button-down shirt, white pants.  His earring is gone.  He's lost a lot of weight -- he's thin, almost gaunt, and old -- he is only 37, but he looks about 60.  Yet I still see the vibrancy in his eyes the joie-de-vivre, in his bright smile.  

He wraps his arms around me and hugs me.  It feels like old times.

"Come on -- we'll go on a little tour of the town, and then I'll take you home.  Sandy is cooking dinner."

Sandy is...cooking dinner?  I get an image of a 1950s housewife in an apron and pearls, checking the potroast.  Has Alan become Ward Cleaver?


Norfolk is very beautiful, an old Navy town and seaport.  Alan drives me past the Wells Theater, the Myers House, and the Oriental Garden, and shows me Chesapeake Bay.

"Any good gay bars in town?" I ask.

He frowns.  "I wouldn't know...I don't go the bars anymore.  I cleaned up my life.  No more bars, bathhouses, street cruising -- remember how much time we wasted on all that nonsense?

Not a good sign.  "Last time I visited you, in Paris, you took me to a different dark room or bathhouse every night.  Remember how you picked up the cop in about thirty seconds?"

"I remember."  He flashes a sad, wistful smile.  "Weren't we a couple of libertines!  Thank God that's all behind me now."

Not a good sign.  "Well...um...Lane and I...."

"Whoa, look at that guy!" Alan exclaims, pointing out a hunky college-age boy, very muscular, shirtless.  "Norfolk is completely overrun with eye candy. Sailors and marines from the Shipyard, cute Jewish boys from B'Nai Israel...."

Ok, so Alan's not pretending to be "ex-gay" anymore. At least when Sandy's not around.

"Whoa, there's a whole pack of hotties!"  He pointed to three shirtless black guys peering under a car hood.  "You know, the civilian population of Norfolk is 50% black!  You're still into black guys, I hope."

What does he mean, I hope?  "You know it!"

Alan pulls up to a square white apartment building with white picket-fence balconies  My heart sinks -- after living in the glamour of West Hollywood and Le Marais, this is quite a decline and fall.

We go to an apartment on the third floor.  

The living room is bright, with tapestries and vivid colors, and wall-to-wall beefcake.  A painting of a naked man over the couch.  A statue of Michelangelo's David and nude African dancers on a shelf.  

"We're here!" Alan yells, dropping my suitcase.

Two guys appear from the kitchen! Both African-American. Alan introduces me to Sandy and Tarik.

Sandy is in his 40s, a little shorter than me, slim, wearing glasses. He has diamond studs in both ears. Tarik is amazing: about my age, short, dark-skinned, very muscular, with a handsome round face, bright eyes, and thick square hands. When he reaches out his hand to be shaken, I pull him into a hug instead.

We sit down to a very healthy dinner of chicken breasts covered in mango chutney, asparagus, cauliflower, and green salads, with iced tea to drink (they thoughtfully provide a Diet Coke for me).

I'm surprised -- Alan was always into pastas, pies, pastries, and chips. He only ate vegetables when they were doused in butter and cheese.

"We got you a guest pass at our gym," Sandy tells me. "Hope you're up for step aerobics, tomorrow at 6:00.'

"We'll have breakfast after," Tarik says with a grin. I figure he's a roommate.

"So, how did you get from Parisian roue to...this?" I ask.

"The Hong Kong Hustler," Alan says. Last summer he visited Hong Kong, and, feeling deprived after the sexual freedom of Paris, hired a hustler and bottomed. Without a condom.

"Well, he was cute. I always let my pants do my thinking for me."

A few months later, he discovered that he was HIV positive. Deeply depressed, he moved in with his sister in Norfolk, Virginia, became "ex gay", and cut off all contact with his former "sinful associates."

"That's where I come in," Sandy says. "The miserable fool thought God was punishing him for being gay. Even Pentecostals don't think God is that crazy. He met a sister at the Norfolk Apostolic Church who took pity on him and gave him my number."

"Our first date was on Christmas Eve," Alan says. "It lasted until New Year's Day. It took me that long to get used to being with someone bigger than me."

"Oh, stop it!" Sandy exclaims, hitting him on the shoulder. "You fell in love with my sweet nature and strength of character, not my nether regions!"

Bigger than Alan? This I have to see. I decide to bring up the subject of sharing.

They both attend the gay-positive Metropolitan Community Church, eat a high-protein, low-fat diet, exercise, meditate...and are monogamous. No cruising in bars, no bathhouses, no pickups, no sharing...."

"Yeah, picking up guys in bars is just sleazy," Tarik says. "I don't see how anybody could go down on a perfect stranger."

Ok, maybe I won't suggest sharing.

We take our dessert to the living room -- a berry-yogurt parfait and decaf coffee. Tarik sits very close to me on the couch, so close that our thighs are touching.

As soon as I finish my parfait, I wrap my arm around his shoulders. He takes my hand and smiles.

What's going on? Does he want a date? But I told him about Lane back home. And he's not into hookups: "I don't see how anybody could go down on a perfect stranger."


Sandy asks what I want to do during my visit: "We could drive up to DC -- I stayed there until last summer, I can give you an insider tour. Colonial Williamsburg is worth a visit. Or we could go hiking down in the Dismal Swamp -- it's not really dismal at all."


It's 3:00 am London time, and I've had an strenuous day. I start to doze off. Tarik stands up and draws me to my feet and puts his arm around me.


"Looks like this boy is all in," Sandy says. "Tarik, you have the spare bedroom. See that he gets a little TLC. Or a lot, if he's up for it."


"Wait -- that almost sounded like you're expecting Tarik and me to..."


"Well, why not?" Alan asks. "Don't you think he's hot? I know what your type is...short, dark-skinned, muscular, religious, and big beneath the belt. I didn't ask about that last thing, but we can assume...."

Tarik grins.

"But you're not into casual encounters..."

"What's casual about it?" Tarik asks. "Alan told me all about you, from head to toe."

"Alan told us how much you like sharing," Sandy says. "Since we're monogamous, we can't provide that. So we got you a substitute."

I turn to Tarik. "You want to share my bed as a substitute?"

"Hey, man, I'll be whatever you want, whatever gets me and you kissing the quickest."

In case you were wondering: very passionate, into kissing and oral, Bratwurst+.

See also: Alan Picks Up a Father and Son; Tarik Hooks up with Jonathan Brandis; and A Live Show for Alan

Nude Photos of Saudi and Bedouin Men

These are the uncensored photos of Saudi and Bedouin men from the post on Boomer's Beefcake and Bonding.

Perfect in every way except for the weird haircut.

Does he strike you as a little small?



















Or are you so used to seeing this size that 7" seems small by comparison.



















I couldn't post this one on the other blog; censoring the penis took up half the frame.