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.

An Unsolved Murder and Two Super-Hung Redheads

When I was growing up in Rock Island, I often heard about the biggest unsolved murder in Chicago history.  It appeared in "Spooky Chicago" television pieces every Halloween, and in newspaper articles on the anniversary.  We discussed it in the schoolyard, even in class.

When I moved to West Hollywood, I often told the story, along with the story of my meeting with Mark Percy in 1977.  But then something weird happened.













Kenilworth, Illinois, September 17th, 1966

Charles H. Percy, wealthy industrialist, president of Bell and Howell Electronics, was running for the U.S. Senate.  On the night of September 17th, he and his wife and three of his six children went to a campaign fundraiser.  His daughter Valerie, age 21, a recent graduate of Cornell University, refused dates with two boys and stayed home.  Everyone was in bed by midnight.

Winward, their sprawling mansion in the Chicago suburb of Kenilworth, was silent and peaceful for the next five hours.  But about 5:00 am, the family, including ten-year old Mark, awakened to the sound of muffled screams.  They ran into Valerie's bedroom to see a stranger bent over her.  He fled, leaving nothing behind but a bloody palm print and a glove.

Valerie had been stabbed 14 times.

Was it a burglary attempt?  A mob intimidation that went wrong?  A jilted lover seeking revenge?


The killer used a glass cutter to get in through a downstairs window and went directly to Valerie's room.  He was targeting Valerie, not Charles.  AND he knew his way around the house.

He walked past a room where two dogs were sleeping.  They didn't bark.  It was someone they knew.

The FBI interviewed 10,000 people, including 1,226 suspects, but the killer was never apprehended, and no motive was ever discovered.

Charles Percy won the election and served as senator from Illinois from 1967 to 1985.  He was named a presidential possibility in 1968 and 1972.







Chicago, May 1977

During my junior year in high school, I was applying to West Point, and needed recommendations from a U.S. Senator or Representative.  I had already contacted Representative Tom Railsback, but just to be on the safe side, I called Charles Percy's office in Chicago.

He wasn't there, but his son Mark offered to meet with Dad and me.  He even took us out to lunch at an Italian restaurant.

22 years old, a tall redhead with a broad, open face, Mark had just graduated from Stanford, and was on his way to Yale for a M.B.A.

I was very nervous, both because I was trying not to think about the murder, and because Mark was incredibly cute.  I couldn't take my eyes off him.

We chatted about Star Wars and my interest in Arabic, and, I think, shared a cruising moment.  He promised that he would ask his dad for the recommendation.

When I told the story in West Hollywood later, I turned it into a full hookup at Winward, with a tour of the murder room, and gave Mark an enormous Mortadella+.

After getting his MBA, Mark became president of his father's compay, Charles Percy and Associates.  He now lives in Newport Beach, California.

Here's where it gets weird.

San Francisco, July 2013

I'm visiting my friend David in San Francisco.  He brings in one of his friends to share: James, mid-twenties, slim, black haired, a short beard, who graduated from Stanford with degrees in Computer Science and Arabic, with the idea of working for the Department of Homeland Security, but then came out and is working in a library.

"That sounds like my life!" I exclaim.  I tell him about applying to West Point, and my interviews with Tom Railsback and Mark Percy, son of the U.S. Senator, who had an enormous Mortadella+ and now lived in California.

"Percy?" he repeats. "I dated a guy with the last name Percy when I was at Stanford. A cute redhead with an enormous Mortadella+, just like Mark."

"Weird coincidence.  I wonder if it's his son?"

We do a quick google.  James' Percy turns out to be Mark's nephew, a 2007 Stanford graduate now working for Microsoft.

So a guy I hooked up with in San Francisco in 2013 dated the nephew of a guy I cruised in Chicago in 1977, who was a witness to an unsolved murder that I heard about all the time in the 1960s.

Sooner or later, everyone you know will hook up with everyone else you know.

See also: Arabic and Class Rings; Zack Hooks Up with the King of Sweden

Eli's Dispatches from Oman, Mostly About Arab, Pakistani, Greek, and Iranian Men

Plains, July 2013

My email to my friend Eli in Amsterdam contained only one word: "WTF????"

He had just told me that he was taking a job in Oman.

That's right, Oman, the sultanate just south of Saudi Arabia, on the Indian Ocean.

I called.  "But...but...but it's the Arabian Peninsula!  I wouldn't set foot in any country where being gay brings the death penalty."

"No, that is Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates.  In Oman the penalty is only three years in prison."

"Only three years in prison?"

"Most of the states in the U.S. had worse penalties.  Besides, it is only if you are discovered."

"But...you live in Amsterdam, where everything is open.  Gay life in Oman must be incredibly closeted.  No bars, no bathhouses, no organizations."

"They have Grindr.   And it is a very good job, and it will last only one year."

"Whatever.  If you want to be scared, closeted, and celibate, go for it."

Eli's Dispatches from Oman (modified slightly for grammar).

September 2013

"You were thinking mud streets and minarets, yes?  Oman is modern!  The Food Court in the Muscat Grand Mall has Charley's Grilled Subs, Curry in a Hurry, Hungry Bunny, KFC, Papa John's, Mr. Pretzels, and Wok and Roll."

"Half the people here are guest workers from India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh.  Last night I met a very cute boy from Bangladesh on Grindr.  He never met a black guy before.  We went to my flat and kissed for awhile, and then I went down on him.  Kovbasa+, at least 25 centimeters, uncut!  Here's a picture (top photo)."



October

"Muscat, the capital, is beautiful!  There are so many interesting sights!  I like the Omani French Museum, the Bait al Zubir, and the Museum of Modern Art.  And there are two beaches!

 "The assumption is that gay people exist only in the West, so straight guys have no qualms about hooking up with each other while waiting to marry.  Today I hooked up with a Pakistani guy on a crowded bus.  He just started fondling me!  Before I knew it, I was aroused, and he was doing me through my pants!  When I finished, he moved away like nothing happened.

November

"Another Grindr hookup, this time with a real Omani Arab named Jamal.  Because I am black, he thought I was from Kenya  He wanted to know if all Kenyans are gay.  I told him 'Most.'

He was about 30 years old, tall, bearded, with a smooth chest, a Bratwurst+ beneath the belt.  I let him top me with my legs in the air. "

"Today I had lunch with Jamal at a place called The Steak Company.  He's married, but often has boyfriends on the side.  His wife doesn't mind -- she often has boyfriends on the side, too."

December

"Jamal and I shared one of his boyfriends, an Indian boy in his 20s with long hair and a little goatee.  He had about a Mortadella+, but he was a total bottom, only interested in going down on me and having Jamal top him.

The Arabs are really attracted to Indians, almost as much as to black guys."

January 2014

 "Today I hooked up with a guy from Zanzibar.  A tall black guy with big muscles and an enormous penis.  I went down on him in a secluded spot on the beach.  Can you believe it?"

 "I know you are into languages.  I've been studying Arabic, but I rarely get a chance to use it -- everyone speaks English all the time.  Did you know that Oman has 7 Semitic languages besides Arabic?  Also they speak Baluchi, which is a language from Iran, and Urdu and Swahili."

February

"You think that Oman is all Muslim, but about 20% of the population is Hindu or Christian.  There's a big Catholic church.  I went with my friend Jacob, who is an American, a blond-haired blue-eyed cowboy.  You think that black guys are popular here, you should see all the action blonds get!"

."I started dating an Arab guy named Mohammed, or Mo.  He is in his 20s, slim, rather feminine, but super-hung, with a thick Kielbasa.  He's only into oral, but I don't mind -- because I'm black, everybody wants me to top them.

Most of Mo's friends are gay.  No one notices, not even when they 'camp' at lunch.  He says his family knows, and doesn't care.  This is the first guy I've hooked up with who spends the night."

March

"Mo and I drove out to Nizwa, about 1 1/2 hours from Muscat, to see the Nizwa Fort. It's really a giant palace that dates from the 17th century, where the walis would govern during the Caliphate.  Nizwa is an old, traditional city with adobe buildings and an open-air souk, but also a Domino's Pizza on the outskirts of town!

There was a boy, about 17, working there, very handsome with big eyes and a slim frame.  We brought him back to our hotel and took turns going down on him.  Then he topped me.  Bratwurst+, but rather thin, so I didn't mind.

April

"I hooked up with another Arab guy on the street.  We met at the Family Bookshop, which has a good selection of English books (you can't find Dutch books in Oman).  He had a remarkably hairy chest and a Kielbasa+.  I went down on him while he kept talking from a porn movie 'Yeah, yeah, go down on that big cock, yeah, yeah.'"



May

"Mo took me to meet his family.   They asked me if we would get married!  Of course, same-sex marriage is illegal in Oman, but legal in the Netherlands, so if Mo comes back with me.  I'm not realy looking for a permanent relationship.  I think it's time to say goodbye to Mo."

June

"All of the guys I've met so far, Arab, Indian, even American, have been super-hung.  So I was disappointed when the Grindr hookup I had last night, an Arab guy with a thin beard and nice pecs, turned out to be only average."

July
"My year in Oman is almost over.  Would it be ok if I come and visit you on the Plains before I return to Amsterdam?  I could use a quiet, peaceful vacation after the nonstop sex of Oman."

See also: The Dutch Caribbean at the Horseman's Club; My Best Day in Amsterdam

My First Time: Spending the Night with Todd

Decorah, Iowa, June 1976

Although Dan and I would not be escaping to Arabia after all, my interest in the Middle East remained strong when I started at Rocky High in the fall of 1975, so I was delighted to meet a real Arab!  A sophomore violinist named Todd.

He was actually half Arab – his mother’s parents were from Lebanon – and Christian, not Muslim.  He didn’t know any Arabic except salaam (“hello”) and tayta (“grandma”). But still, he had roots in the "good place" where same-sex loves were free and open!  And he was beautiful, small and compact in a green turtleneck with flawless olive skin and dark shining eyes.

This model is much older, but he has Todd's face and physique.

 Unfortunately, Todd had been engaged since the fifth grade to a girl named Faith, and now they were attached whenever possible by hand or hip or mouth. You couldn’t address a question to one without both answering.

Maybe I was just rebounding from Dan, but I couldn't take my eyes off Todd. Even the air around him and his tan desk etched with graffiti seemed vivid and alive.  One lunch hour I lost twelve consecutive games of chess, unable to strategize or think of defense because Todd was sitting next to me. I wanted. . .I wasn’t sure what, but the desire burned hot and raw and panting. I churned the covers off my bed at night, restless, unable to sleep.

If you asked God to do anything in Jesus' name, He was honor-bound to do it.  My friend Rita used God's Infallible Promise to "get" Donny Osmond as a husband.  So one cool Sunday in November 1975, after the evening service, I walked out into the alley behind the church, looked up at the stars,  and asked God in Jesus' name to give me Todd.

 It took months, but eventually God kept His Infallible Promise and delivered Todd.  Or at least we were both selected, alone out of the entire orchestra, to go to the prestigious Dorian Music Festival. An entire week with Todd all to myself!

Luther College

The festival was held at the end of June 1976, after our family vacation in the northwoods and a few weeks before our Nazarene church camp,  at Luther College, on the bluffs of the Mississippi. Though Todd was only cautiously cordial at Rocky High, at the Festival he clung to me as a familiar face. On Thursday  we skipped afternoon rehearsal to explore the town.  We visited a rock cavern and then bought blueberry muffins at a bakery festooned with red and green streamers.

We even went to a movie, my first since I started becoming a "Johnny Nazarene."  I put my arm against the center arm rest, as Dan used to do.  I moved closer and closer to the hard curve of Todd’s body until I could feel the fibers of cotton in his shirt and smell Dial soap and, very faintly, his own scent of vineyards and bleached stone, but I dared not move that tantalizing quarter inch that defined the difference between a casual and a willful touch.


On Saturday night, after the Grand Concert, it was hot in our room, so Todd took off his undershirt, and I noticed a thin gold chain around his neck. When Todd climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to his chest, it stood out against his brown skin, gleaming like a fiery ring. On the front, against his collarbone, lay a small plate with what looked like a portrait of a man.

“Is that a surfing symbol?” I asked, stupidly.

“No,” Todd said in a dim lazy voice. “It’s a scapular. . .like a medal.”

“Oh. . .what did you win?”

Boy with scapular

“No, it’s a religious symbol.” He carefully pulled the plate up from his chest. “See, the Sacred Heart on one side, Mary Mother of God on the other.”

With a shudder I realized that Todd was talking about being a Catholic. “I thought you were a Christian!”

“I am,” Todd said defensively. “Maronite Catholic.  But I go to St. Pius."

Nazarene preachers told us to never go near a Catholic church, or we would be dragged inside to an unspeakable fate, and never talk to a Catholic, or we would be brainwashed into worshipping idols and drinking blood.

I chided himself for my irrational fear.  I had been friends with Frank, a Catholic boy, for two years!  Catholics weren't monsters and demons. Sometimes they were perfectly nice.

And what else had I heard about Catholics: "They have no morals, they're up for anything. If you want a good time, call a Catholic."

I stared at the scapular, and at Todd’s neck, golden in the brash light of our dorm lamp, with two moles close together on the left side like a vampire bite.

Finally I said, “I’ve never. . .seen a scapular before.  Can I touch it?”

“Sure.” But instead of taking it off, Todd motioned for me to come closer.

St. Pius Church, Rock Island

I got up, wearing only cotton briefs, and sat on Todd’s  bed.  Todd’s body was hot, and soft yet firm. I touched the scapular. Then slowly I moved my hand down and stroked Todd's chest.  He moaned and closed his eyes.

After some other things happened, Todd refused to kiss or cuddle, so I returned to my own bed.

When I awoke, Todd was already gone.  I dressed quickly and wandered around the campus for a long time, looking for him, but I didn't see him again.  After breakfast Dad arrived to drive me home.

Back at school, Todd returned to being cautiously polite, nodding hello as we passed in the hallway but refusing all attempts to talk. Sometimes I saw him across the cafeteria, laughing with his Crowd, cozying up to Faith. Sometimes the sunlight glinted off his scapular, which he was now wearing on the outside of his shirt.

It seemed that some boys liked boys only at night.  You could see them, and touch them, but in the morning they would become cool and aloof, brushing past you as they searched for girls.

40 years later and 500 miles away, I hooked up with his nephew.

See also: Dating My Boyfriend's Girlfriend; My Hookup with Todd's Nephew;  I Learn About Oral Sex.