Friday, May 10, 2024

My Wild Night: Pancakes, Massage, and a Wiener

Rock Island, February 1971

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

"Wanna go out to eat?" he asked.

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

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

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

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

"No, just you and me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Forbidden Fruit.

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

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

The other side of the world!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"'s late, and..."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ok."  He started to unzip.

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

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

"I am!"  I said with a grin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Now I get to feel yours, too."

I unzipped, and we fondled each other for awhile.

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

"But I have to...."

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

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

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

"Sure.  The phone's in the kitchen."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, May 7, 2024

Alan's Gift from Beyond the Grave

Indianapolis, January 2005

In January 2005, when I was back in Indiana for the holidays, I got a phone call saying  Alan, my ex-boyfriend, roommate, and close friend for 20 years, had died of AIDS-related cancer.  The memorial service would be held in Norfolk.

I didn't go -- I was too busy, it was too far away, I already had a flight reservation back to Fort Lauderdale, etc., etc.  But the truth is, I didn't want to think about Alan being gone.  I wanted to him to be in West Hollywood, cruising at Mugi, holding court at the French Quarter,  working out at the Holiday Spa, reliving those magic moments, unchanged, eternal.

About two weeks after the memorial service, I got an email from Tarik, Alan and Sandy's boy toy in the 1990s: "Can you come to Ocrakoke?  Alan left you something that you have to come here to pick up."

"What is it?" I responded.  "Can you just ship it to me."

"His instructions were that you have to come here to pick it up -- actually Norfolk, but since I live in Ocracoke now, I'll keep it for you here."

I had never heard of Ocracoke, so I rushed to look it up.  It's an island in the Outer Banks of  North Carolina: very isolated, accessible only by boat.  Permanent population 900, but a lot of tourists in the summer.  Nothing to do but swim, fish, look at wild horses, visit an iconic lighthouse, and go to a weird pirate museum (Blackbeard died there.)  Restaurants called the Back Porch Lunchbox and the Sweet Tooth Deli.  No gay bars, no gay organizations, 99% white.   Not the sort of place that a gay black urban guy would choose.

What was Tarik doing in Ocracoke?

I emailed him back.  "Can you tell me what the gift is?  Or give me a hint?  And what the heck are you doing in Ocracoke?"

"I got a job here.  So, Alan asked me to pass out the four gifts that he left to his old friends.  They all have to come to Ocracoke to get them.  I can't tell you what it is, but I can tell you that Alan picked it out especially for you."

The gift was probably a souvenir of West Hollywood, like a glass from Mugi or a menu from the French Quarter -- something nice, but not worth crossing the country for.  Still, I said that I would come during the summer.

"Great!  Come during Memorial Day Weekend.  Some of the other guys are coming then, too.  It will be a nonstop party!"

Ocracoke, May 2005

From Fort Lauderdale I flew to Norfolk, where I rented a car and drove 4 hours to Hatteras.  I barely made the last ferry, and arrived at Ocracoke at 1:00 am Saturday morning.

Tarik met me at the ferry terminal. He was in his early 40s, but still black-haired and buffed, with square workman's hands and a couple of new gold earrings. We hugged.

As we left the ferry station, he waved at people he knew.  "I'm one of like three black guys on the island, so everybody knows me.  It's like being a celebrity."

He drove m to a house on Back Street Road, around the corner from a coffee shop ("mostly gay") and a place called the Flying Melon ("gay-friendly").

"Sounds like quite a gay presence for a tiny speck of land in the Atlantic."

"It's a small community, mostly lesbians -- I know two other gay couples and about six single guys --but it gets much bigger in the summer.  You picked a good time to visit -- Memorial Day Weekend is nonstop cruising."

It was a big, airy house with hardwood floors, a piano in the front room, a patio out back.  Two dogs padded up to say hello.

There was a naked guy asleep on the sofa.

"We have a full house this weekend -- you know what it's like to live in a resort town!  But don't worry, you get your own room. boyfriend is already asleep, so no sharing tonight -- but definitely tomorrow, ok?"

"Sure," I said, grabbing his butt.

The master bedroom was downstairs ("The owner of the house, and whatever Cute Young Thing he's convinced to come out from the mainland") and four bedrooms upstairs: "our room, the third roommate's room, guest room,, occupied, guest room for you,"  plus a finished attic, occupied ("I figured you wouldn't want to deal with the horny gay ghost").

He pointed out the bathroom, said "Breakfast is at 8:00," and left me alone.

The room was very dark, with heavy drapes and no night light.  When I turned off the lamp, I couldn't see anything at all.  Spooky!

A couple of hours later, I was awakened by a hand caressing my chest.  The gay ghost?  I thought -- no -- this guy was corporeal, with thick arms, a smooth hard chest, and a thick 7" cock.  Tarik was much bigger -- he must be one of the housemates or guests.

In a house occupied by four gay men and their boyfriends and hookup, it's not unusual for someone to get up in the middle of the night and end up in the wrong bed, accidentally or on purpose. I started kissing and fondling my unexpected guest, and soon I was going down on him.

" that..." he whispered.  "Do that...oh, I'm going to come..."

Afterwards I lay on top of him to do interfemoral.  "Wait -- I brought some lube."

When I finished, we lay in each other's arms.  Even with my eyes adjusted to the dark, I couldn't make out his face.  I went to turn on the lamp, but he said "Well, I should go wash off" and left.  I saw the outline of his naked backside as he opened and shut the door.

He never came back...apparently this was a secret mission.

I figured that in the morning I could figure out the identity of my mysterious visitor by process of elimination.

I awoke to the smell of coffee brewing, and the sound of laughter and clattering plates.  Downstairs, the owner's twink boyfriend, naked except for an apron, was making pancakes.  Other guys drifted out to the deck, where there were scrambled eggs, sausages, muffins, and pitchers of orange and tomato juice.  The owner, a burly bear; Tarik and his boyfriend; the asleep on the couch guy; Sandy from Norfolk and his date...and a buffed Asian guy wearing only red jockey shorts.

"It" I asked tentatively.

"Good morning," he said with a smile, and scooted over so I could sit next to him on the bench.  Jonathan Peng Lee, originally from Hong Kong, now a grad student in engineering at UNC Chapel Hill.

When the flurry of eating and gossip died down, Tarik clicked on a glass to get our attention.

"As some of you know, we invited Boomer, Sandy, and Mark here today to pick up the gifts that our friend Alan bequeathed them.  We'll start with Boomer.  Here's Alan himself to give the introduction."

He brought out his laptop and pushed a button, and suddenly I heard Alan!

"Greetings from the spirit world, Booooomer...." he said in a spooky voice.  "I have to get to my date with River Phoenix and Brandon Lee, so I'll make this brief.  One of my favorite memories of our time together is when we were sharing that tiny apartment in Japan, and I brought home a trick, who kept jumping into your bed.  Well, I recreated that experience for you.  I got a Japanese boy to sneak into your bed -- but don't freak out if there's another dick down your throat.  I just may pop in to share.   Enjoy!"

Everyone applauded.

"We couldn't find a Japanese guy," Tarik said,  "But I hope Jonathan is close enough."

"Sure, he's great."  I turned to Jonathan, who had his arm around my shoulders.  " you're a hustler?"

He grinned.  "It pays my tuition.  They hired me for the whole weekend, so anytime you want another session, just ask."

I reached down and fondled his crotch.  He immediately sprang to life.  "Pencil me in for this afternoon."

See also:  Jon Takes Me to the Scariest Place on EarthOcracoke:Gay Ghosts, Pirates, and Beach Boys

Saturday, May 4, 2024

Dr. Kirtis Offers Me His Bratwurst

Bloomington, May 1983

At Indiana University,  I was technically studying for a M.A. in English, but the variety of courses available at a gigantic university was overwhelming.  What 22 year old from a small town in the Midwest could resist:
Tibetan Culture and Civilization
Mesoamerican Archaeology
First Year Arabic
Or Russian Folklore?

I was at a definite disadvantage in the Russian folklore class, since I didn't speak Russian or know anything about the scientific study of folklore.

All of the other students were Russian majors, researching the folklore motifs in Dostoevski or Gogol.  I was interested mythology of the ancient Slavs?

Well, mythology is sort of like folklore, right?

The Professor, Dr. Kirtis, was a Hungarian bear, in his 50s, white haired, bearded, a little chubby, with thick arms and chest hair peeking up over the top of his shirt.  A little old for me, but it was hard not to be attracted to his ravenous energy as he paced the classroom, arms flailing, as he pontificated on the Firebird Suite or Evenings on a Farm Near Dikanka or  Afanasyev's folktale collection.

Not to mention his obvious beneath-the-belt gifts, a gigantic Mortadella shifting around inside his black dress slacks.

Noticing that I was a bit out of my league amid the Russian majors, he made me his "project," bringing me articles and books and walking with me after class across the quad to his office.

I told him that I heavily disliked fairy tales as a kid.  "They're always about princes winning princesses, with marriage as the goal of the quest."  I paused, not wanting to accidentally out myself.  "But when you get married, the adventures end."

"But if the adventure continues, the story must go on," Dr. Kirtis said.  "And all stories must end."

All stories must end.  How profound, and rather depressing for someone just starting out in life.  But then I thought, Gay people can't get married.  Our adventures never end.

Like most married professors, Dr. Kirtis mentioned his wife every five minutes during his lectures .  She was in New York, doing some sort of work for the United Nations.  They saw each other once a month.


He must have figured "it" out, overcome the brainwashing of our heterosexist society.   Obviously he was gay!

I brought up the subject, vaguely, to see how he would respond.  "Dead Souls, by Gogol, seems to have a homoerotic subtext."

"Homoerotic?"  he repeated, confused.

"Some hints that the characters are gay."

"Oh!"  He didn't display the usual disgusted frown that heterosexuals got when they were forced to think about gay people.  "Perhaps Gogol was writing with his subconscious, yes?  Such scandals he could never think of in his conscious mind, but who knows where the heart will take us?"

Close enough.

During finals week, Dr. Kirtis invited his advanced classes to his house for a pool party.

I expected a large crowd -- he taught Russian Folklore, Hungarian History, and Introduction to Hungarian.  But the classes were very small -- only three students on the campus of 40,00 were studying Hungarian -- so there were only about 15 of us, mostly boys, some very hot Russian and Central Asian Studies majors in swimsuits (Richie Rich wasn't there).

After greeting us, Dr. Kirtis went into the house for a few minutes, and returned in his own swimsuit.  A Speedo!

Gigantic bulge!  Definitely a Mortadella, very thick.

Ok, it doesn't count as a Sausage Sighting, but I swear, his Speedo was so tight that I could see the teeth marks!

There were lots of hot guys my age, but I kept close to Dr. Kirtis all night.

He served sausages and potato salad.  When they were ready, he asked "Boomer, can I serve you my Bratwurst?"

I looked at his crotch and said "Sure!"

He giggled.  He knew what I meant!

Nothing else happened.  After finals were over, Dr. Kirtis flew to New York to be with his wife.

Still -- he knew.


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