The Boy Who Cried "Fabulous"

Wilton Manors, April 2005

How is it possible to get into a relationship with someone that you don't even like?

I met Florian when the South Florida Gay Men's Chorus performed at our church.  He was a Cute Young Thing, a fencing champion back in high school, handsome, with a firm, hairy chest, a little too tall for my tastes. But his extremely upbeat personality won me over:

"Isn't a beautiful day?  Of course, every day in Florida is beautiful, isn't it? Gosh, it just doesn't get any better than this, does it?  Welcome to Paradise!"

Our First Date

Picking me up: "I didn't know if you gave me the right address or not.  If you didn't, that would have been ok.  I had a marvelous evening planned, either way.  What a fantastic house!  And the decor is fabulous!"

Dinner: "This is the best crab quesadilla I've ever had!  And, oh, gosh, this salad is marvelous!  And aren't the waiters gorgeous?  I've never had such a fabulous meal!"

The Filling Station: "Isn't that guy hot!  And him, too!  I've never seen so many gorgeous guys in one place before!  It's like a Mr. Universe contest!  I can see why you like coming here! It's the best!"

Back to my house: "This is the most wonderful evening I've ever had!  You are positively incredible!  I can't believe how lucky I am just to be sitting here beside you!"

The kiss: He leaned in for a kiss -- with a wide grin on his face.  You never smile when preparing to kiss! It looks idiotic.

The bedroom: nice physique, hair chest, thick Bratwurst beneath the belt, into kissing and receiving oral, but the "fabulousness" never stopped.  "Oh, this is fantastic!  The best ever!  I can' believe how hot you are!"  On and on and on.

The next morning, breakfast with Yuri and Barney: "This is the best coffee I've ever had!  And cinnamon buns!  Incredible!"

I walk him to the door: Gosh, your housemates are absolutely fabulous!  Barney is a cuddly old bear, and Yuri is just incredibly handsome!  I'm dying to ask you to share, but I guess it's a little too soon, isn't it?  I should be happy with the most gorgeous guy in the world!"

I slam the door and sigh loudly.  Florian was so goshdarn chipper, so in-your-face fantabulous, that I couldn't stand him!

But he was also very aggressive.  Before I knew it:

Our Second Date

The movie: "This is the funniest movie I've ever seen!  And the world's best popcorn!  I can't believe how good it is!"

The dinner:  "That shrimp tempura was marvelous, and this is absolutely the best red bean ice cream in the universe! And isn't that waiter gorgeous!  Do you know the Japanese word for super-stud?  I wouldn't mind eating cat food if he brought it out!"

Back to my house: "This is the most wonderful evening I've ever had! Gosh, everything was just fabulous!  I can't believe how lucky I am to be dating you!  You are absolutely the most gorgeous guy in the universe!"

One more superlative, and I'll pour my soda on your head!  But you'd probably think it was fabulous!


I could just refuse all future dates.  But I didn't have the will power, and he was very, very cute.  Besides, he hadn't actually done anything wrong -- he was just annoyingly chipper.

Maybe I could scare him off.  BDSM sometimes worked.

I suggest a BDSM Scene:  "I've never tried anything like that before, but it sounds perfectly marvelous!  Tie me up and use me, Daddy!  Or should I say Sir?  Gosh, it's just so exciting!"

The Scene: I gagged him, blindfolded him, attached clothespins to his nipples, and spanked him, while he kept up a nonstop dialogue through the gag.  "Th---uh----fab--lus."

The next morning:  "That was by far the most erotic evening of my life!  You were just fabulous! Seriously, I couldn't imagine a better scene!  But maybe we could get that super-stud Barney to join in next time! Two Sirs -- that would be incredibly amazing!"

Maybe some of life's sorrows would tone him down a bit.

Our Third Date

An auction at Out of the Closet. Discussion of George Bush:  "I'm sure that he'll be defeated in the election next month!  The straights are much less homophobic now than when I was a kid!"

Walk on the beach.  This is the spot where Yuri had rocks thrown at him from a carload of homophobes. "Well...um...isn't he lucky that nothing worse happened!  Um...he is by far the most gorgeous guy I've ever seen.  Gosh, he must get cruised a hundred times a day!"

Dinner at my house with Barney. When Barney's partner died, his family refused to come to the funeral:  "Well ...um......you know...he was lucky that...that he had a supportive partner...and...an alternate family...and....this is the best moussaka I've ever eaten!"

Movie: Philadelphia, with Tom Hanks as a lawyer with AIDS who loses his job.  Boxes of kleenix all around.  "This is...um...the most beautiful movie I've ever...um...seen.  Tom Hanks is a fabulous actor...and...um...more kleenix, please?"

Invitation to the bedroom:  "Sorry, I'm not really feeling well.  But it's been a fantastic day.  I've never had so much...um...fun in my life."

That was the end of my relationship with Florian. Instead of toning him down, I turned him off.

A couple of weeks later, I ran into him at the Filling Station with another guy: "Boomer, this is Philip!  Isn't he the most gorgeous guy you've ever seen?  And isn't this a fabulous place?  I had to bring him here for our second date -- I knew he would have positively the best night of his life!  Well, gosh, it's been great seeing you again!

Philip shot me a pained look as Florian led him away.

See also: 50 Ways of Saying "Fabulous"

A Sikh Sausage Sighting at Barney's Gym

Wilton Manors, March 2003

I've always been attracted to religious guys.  There's something erotic about the juxtaposition of the physical and the spiritual, muscles and Bibles, penises and prayer shawls.

I've dated or had other experiences with religious guys (not necessarily clergy) from several Christian traditions, Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism, Islam, and paganism.

But not guys from some of the lesser-known religions, like Druze, Jains, Zoroastrians, Baha'is, and Sikhs.

The Sikhs, followers of a monotheistic religion founded by Guru Nanak (1469-1538) in northern India, are particularly interesting.  They have uncut hair, beards, turbans, white cotton underclothes, iron bracelets, and kirpans (ceremonial swords).

The men all have the middle or last name Singh ("lion").  They often choose macho careers like police officer, soldier, or bodyguard.  Physical fitness is very important; quite a large number are bodybuilders.

Are you getting the idea?

Unfortunately, their religion tends to be highly conservative, obsessively heterosexual-marriage oriented, and homophobic.  I've never met any out-and-proud gay Sikhs, or even Sikh guys on the downlow.

There was a Sikh gurdwara (worship center) near my first apartment in Los Angeles, so I often saw them walking down the street or shopping at the 7-11.  They gave us cool, disdainful Attitude, refusing to acknowledge our existence.

Once I was talking to a group of friends when a curious Sikh child started walking slowly toward us, staring as if mesmerized.  But his mother screamed "Katala!  Katala!  Get away!"

Katala doesn't mean gay in Punjabi.  It means murderer. 

So much for my goal of hooking up with a Sikh!

Fast forward to 2003: I'm living in Florida, working at Barney's gym, and a Sikh named Narveer Singh comes in and asks for a tour.

Doesn't he realize that the gym caters mostly to gay men?   I don't want him screaming katala!

So I ease into the subject: "As you can see, we draw a diverse crowd.  Old, young, different races and religions.  Mostly men, though we get a few women."

"Good, good.  I wanted a gym with mostly men, to avoid the temptation, you know.  Where is your free weight room?"

"A very diverse crowd," I emphasized.  "A lot of young, single guys come here....um, a lot of gay men."

"Good, good.  Could I try out the treadmill?"

"We..um..don't discriminate.  Black, white, gay, straight, everyone is welcome."

"Good, good. What hours are you open?"

"We offer family memberships, so your wife or partner can work out with you.  A lot of gay couples get them."

"Oh, my wife goes to Curves [a female-only gym].  Could I do a trial workout?"

Narveer must be completely oblivious!  He buys a membership and begins working out every morning, just as we open, wearing a tight blue sweatsuit that accentuates his beneath-the-belt gifts.

So even if I can't hook up with a Sikh guy, I can at least get a Sausage Sighting!


Easier said than done.  Sausage Sightings in the gym have to be very discrete.  No open gawking -- you have to arrange to "accidentally" be in front of him while he's naked in the locker room.

But Narveer comes to the gym in his workout suit and leaves immediately afterwards. He never uses the lockers, shower, or sauna.

I wander around the gym, sometimes offering him instructions on stance and reps, sometimes just watching from a distance at his lean, muscular frame and blatant bulge.

Come on, God, give me a break -- don't I even rate a Sausage Sighting?  

Then one day Narveer comes in wearing a business suit, carrying a gym bag.

"You're looking chipper today," I tell him.

"Oh, I have a job interview nearby, so I thought it would be easier to go directly from the gym rather than driving all the way home again."



Today he's going to use the locker room!  Certainly the shower, maybe the sauna.

I wait until he's finished with his workout, give him a few minutes, then grab a clipboard and head back to the locker room.  I hear the shower running, so I "decide" to check the temperature and water pressure.

I walk past Narveen's stall.  His back is turned to me!

"How's the water pressure?" I ask.  "We've had a couple of complaints...."

"It's fine, it's fine."

I go out to the bathroom to "check" something else.

Narveen comes in while my back is turned.  I wait for him to finish urinating, and then turn back.  He's already at the sink, washing his hands, his penis hidden from view.

Darn!  So close!

I go out to the locker room to make sure all of the locks work.  Narveen stands on the scale to weigh himself, dropping his towel to the side.

Now's my chance!  "Um...that scale is running low.  Let me check the calibration."

"Or I could just let you see it."   Narveer steps off the scale and faces me.  His Bratwurst+ hangs down in full view.

He knew what I was up to all along!  "Oh..um...." I stammer, blushing.  "You..."

"Well, what do you think?  Am I big enough to attract gay guys?

"I would date you," I admit.

"Thanks!  My wife didn't believe me -- she said 'You're crazy -- none of the gay guys at your gym are into you -- you're not big enough!'  She owes me five dollars!"

He turned and headed back to his locker.

See also: Cruising Priests, Preachers, Monks, and Rabbis; The Naked Gods of Southern India; The College Kid's Kovbasa

My Date with the Nickelodeon Star

Fort Lauderdale, April 2002

I dragged Barney to the Parker Playhouse in Fort Lauderdale to see  The Tempest. the Shakespeare play about an aging magician on a desert island.  Playing Stefano, the King's butler, was an actor named Sean Stuart: mid 20s, slim, with light brown hair, a very handsome round face, and a very bulgeworthy leotard.

I never approached an actor backstage for a dressing-room flirtation before, but my friend Dick, back in Rock Island, did it last fall, and last Christmas he announced that they were a couple (See Hooking Up with the Pizza Boy).  Emboldened, I went backstage amid the other well-wishers, walked past the actors who played Prospero, Ariel, and Caliban, and congratulated Sean on his performance.

"I studied Shakespeare in grad school," I said, not the best opening.  "I was going to do my thesis on gay subtexts in The Tempest...."

The unmistakable twink eye-widening.  An invitation to a late dinner.  Sean suggested the Quarterdeck, a seafood chain restaurant nearby.

Barney wasn't interested in Sean -- his taste in men went to the older bodybuilder types.  But he had a rule -- when you go out together, you stay together, no matter what.  So he agreed to "share," if I could seal the deal.

"You're probably wondering why I changed my name," Sean said as we sat down.  "It's to avoid all the gushing fans who saw me on tv.  I got really tired of people coming up all starry eyed, like  'Oh, I had such a crush on you when I was a kid.'  That's why I like going out with older guys -- you play it cool."

Barney and I exchanged mystified glances.  We had no idea who this guy was.  But in order to seal the deal, I had to pretend to be a fan.

"I lived in L.A. for ten years," I told him.  "I'm used to celebrities.  I've been out with Michael J. Fox, Richard Dreyfuss, Peter Barton..."

His eyes glazed over.  I was losing him.  These guys were not of interest to a 25 year old.

"Don't forget Nate Richert," Barney added.  "Harvey on Sabrina the Teenage Witch."

"Melissa Joan Hart!" Sean exclaimed.  "Such a diva!  And not all that gay-friendly, if you want to know.  Actually, Nickelodeon studios was a bit on the homophobic side when I was working there.  Look at Kricfalusi on Ren and Stimpy."

These were all clues!  Today I would just pull out my Smartphone and look up whatever vehicle Melissa Joan Hart was in during the 1990s, but in 2002 I just smiled and nodded.

"So, you've made a new career for yourself on the stage," Barney offered, trying to help me change the subject.

But Sean would have none of it.  "Some of the writers tried to add some gay hints.  Remember the time I got a crush on a rich kid?  And Ferguson -- definitely gay, am I right?  Jason and I still hang out sometimes.  He's straight but cool."

Ferguson?  Jason?  I tried desperately to think of what Nickelodeon tv shows I had seen in the 1990s.  Rocko's Modern Life, Ren and Stimpy, Are You Afraid of the Dark, Rugrats, The Adventures of Pete and Pete.... 

"I always thought the older brother on Pete and Pete was cute..."

"Straight, though.  You want to know who's gay?  Tim Eyster, Sponge on Salute Your Shorts. We dated a little, but it had to be on the sly, you know.  If the studio found out, we would have both been fired."

For a guy who didn't like to be surrounded by gushing fans, Sean talked about his tv series a lot!

"So, Ariel in The Tempest is often played as gay..."

"Did you think Sam had a sort of gay vibe?  I tried to play him that way, in spite of the scripts making me girl-crazy."

The check came, and with it blessed relief.  "We should get together again," I said.  "Tomorrow night?"  That would give me a chance to do some research on Sean's famous tv show.

He grabbed my knee under the table. "What's wrong with tonight?  I've never been double-teamed by two hot studs before."

Well, at least he'd have to shut up during bedroom activities.

We drove him to our house in Wilton Manors.  He had a nice but not spectacular body, with a firm, smooth chest and a little hair on his belly.  Average+ beneath the belt, almost a Bratwurst, long and thin.  He was mostly an anal bottom but open to suggestions.  Like every famous person I've been with, he was heavily into cuddling.

The moment Sean fell asleep in Barney's arms, I rushed to my room, turned on my computer, and googled Melissa Joan Hart, Jason, and Ferguson.

I found Clarissa Explains It All, which aired on Nickelodeon from 1991 to 1994, about a junior high girl (Melissa Joan Hart) who addresses the camera to explain tween problems like acne and book reports.  She had a bratty little brother, Ferguson (Jason Zimbler), and a skateboarding best friend, Sam (Sean O'Neil).

Sean O'Neil was born on November 29, 1977, and grew up in Orlando, Florida.  He sang in a boy band before going to work on the series.  When it ended, he majored in theater arts in college.  He had two voice-over credits on his film resume, but not much else.  Apparently he had moved into the theater.

I went back to bed.

In the morning we had breakfast and discussed Clarissa some more, and then sent Sean on his way.

Later I began to wonder if Sean Stuart was putting us on, not really the guy from Clarissa at all. It doesn't make sense to change your name to avoid fans -- you want fans to come to your performances.  In West Hollywood it was commonplace for guys to try to increase their desirability by claiming to have been in a popular tv show or movie, where they worked with someone famous (and usually dated them).


But claiming to have been in such a minor tv show, and to have dated a guy from another minor tv show?

If I was going to make something up, I'd claim to have been on Beverly Hills, 90210 and dated Jason Priestley.

It's been over a decade, and I'm still not sure.

Here's a picture of Sean O'Neil today.  What do you think?

See also: My Celebrity Date with Nate Richert.

Getting the Shy Boy in the Third Row into my Bed

Wilton Manors, June 2002

When I moved to West Hollywood in 1985, I joined the All Saints Metropolitan Community Church, and I saw John there every Sunday.  He always sat by himself in the third row.  Eventually he joined the Food Bank Committee, and then he served on the church board, but he still sat by himself.

He was about five years younger than me, a junior at UCLA when we met, short and slim, with ruddy blond hair and blue eyes.  Very cute.

But I never even thought about asking him out.

Maybe it's because I usually dated Asian guys, or  gym rats like the Pentecostal Porn Star and the Thug on my Sausage List.

Or because I never saw him at the French Quarter, the Different Light, the gym, or anywhere in West Hollywood.  He seemed to exist only in church.

But it's probably because John just didn't seem like the dating kind.  He never sat with anyone; he never cruised anyone.  At the coffee hour after church, he was all Attitude, staring into the crowd without making eye contact.  He would talk to you about business, the church's financial goals and Food Bank program, but offered few personal details.

The only conversation we ever had on another topic:  he came up to me one day and said "I hear you work for Muscle and Fitness."

"Just part time.  I'm mostly in it to meet bodybuilders."

"Oh."  He  walked away.

In four years, I probably saw John 200 times, and said 200 words to him.

When I started dating Lane in 1989, I dropped out of MCC.  We attended the gay synagogue, Beth Chaim Chadashim, or the Episcopal Church.

A few years later, around 1991, I was visiting a friend in the San Fernando Valley, and we went to the gym together.  As I walked into the locker room, I saw John!  He was just out of the shower, with a towel around his waist.  He had bulked up a bit, with nice six-pack abs.

"John, how are you!" I exclaimed.  "Small world!"

"Yeah, hi, Boomer."  He caught me sneaking a peak at his rather small endowment, and quickly turned away.

As he got dressed, I got undressed.  I told him about Beth Chaim Chadashim, and he told me about MCC and his job doing some kind of statistical analysis.

Then he said, in a rather odd, stilted voice, "I might go for... um... coffee... um... um... never mind."  And he was gone.

He had been trying to ask me for a date!

I started wondering about John.  What was his story?  Why was he so standoffish?  Or maybe I just didn't express any interest.  Maybe there was a hidden gem at the All Saints MCC that I was too caught up in the big, loud gym guys to notice.

Too late now.  I was in a relationship, and besides, I didn't even remember his last name.

But gay neighborhoods are small.  Sooner or later, everyone you have ever met will show up again.

The years passed.  I moved to San Francisco, then New York, and then Florida, where I shared a house with Yuri and Barney, a former bodybuilder who owned a gym in Wilton Manors.

 Every morning Barney prepared us a bodybuilder's breakfast of egg white omelets, seven-grain pancakes, or oatmeal infused with spinach and kale (try it). On special occasions, cinnamon buns.

All three of us were dating and hooking up, and we often got out-of-town guests, so you never knew who would be sitting at the breakfast table in the morning.

But I never expected to see John!

One morning in the summer of 2002, I came into the kitchen, where Barney was making whey-protein French toast with apple slices and strawberry yogurt.

"Boomer, this is my friend John from Seattle," he said.  "He's here on vacation for a few days."

"Nice to meet you," I said, glancing at the kitchen table, where Yuri was drinking coffee with -- John from West Hollywood!

Not the slim, shy college kid I knew at the MCC.   Nearing middle age, graying at the temples, a little craggy, and heavy muscled, a semi-pro.  But umistakable!

We stared at each other.

"This is my other housemate, Boomer," Barney continued, his back to us.

"Small world," I managed.

"Oh, do you guys know each other?"

"Yeah, from West Hollywood."

"From the All Saints MCC!" John exclaimed.

"Is this one of your church boys?" Yuri asked.  "He's so hot -- did you date him?"

"No."  I sat down next to John, and we hugged.  "I would have liked to, but it never happened."

Over breakfast John told us about being a shy, closeted college student going to his first gay venue, the All Saints MCC, but too self-conscious about his scrawny body and undersized endowment to approach a guy.

Who didn't have sex until 1988, when he was 23.

Who started weight training to increase his self-confidence, found a lover who dumped him for a celebrity, found another lover, and now was immersed in a community of gay bodybuilders and fans in Seattle.

Not bad for a guy who, a few years before, couldn't even ask someone out for coffee.

Oh, and I finally did make it into his bed. Barney did a lot of sharing that weekend.

See also: Wade the Real Beach Boy; The Pentecostal Porn Star and The Thug on My Sausage List

The Bodybuilder and the Teenage Underwear Thief

Wilton Manors,  Summer 2001

I have just moved from New York to Wilton Manors, Florida, to live with Yuri and his housemate, bodybuilder turned gym owner Barney.  On my first weekend in town, in an attempt to fix me up with an instant boyfriend, they have invited two guys over for dinner: Kevin, a bodybuilder in his 30s, and Jordi, a slim, eyeglassed twink from Romania, who teaches at Florida International University.

After dinner, we sit in the living room with dessert (yogurt-covered strawberries), cruise, decide who is going to share who, and exchange stories about dates from hell, celebrity hookups, and gigantic penises.  Kevin asks Barney, "Do you think they'd like my story of the Great Underwear Thief?"

"I think so," Barney says, "It starts out weird, but I like the ending."

Buffalo, New York, Summer 1995

Kevin was 25 years old, a recent graduate of Canisius College, working in an office and training hard for the Mr. Olympia contest in Atlanta (he didn't place).

Bodybuilder or not, when you live in apartment, you spent a morning once a week trudging a clothes hamper to the laundry room at the other end of the hall or down the stairs, putting my clothes in the washer for 30 minutes and the drier for 45 minutes, returning to your apartment to wait in between.

He didn't worry about thieves.  Washers don't open during the cycle, and who'd want to break into a drier to get damp clothes?  Especially when they don't know what's there?  Could be the wrong size, the wrong gender, crappy?  It's not worth the trouble, right?

"Well, maybe for a pair of your Speedos, I would take the trouble," Jordi says.

Kevin laughs.  "That's exactly what happened."

One week he couldn't find his favorite blue briefs that cost him 50 francs in Paris.  He checked under the bed, in all the drawers, even under the couch.  He figured a hookup stole them.

Then he couldn't find his favorite Speedos.

Then, when he was folding laundry, he found only two pairs of underwear.  There should have been seven.

Was he being targeted by an underwear thief?

Kevin decided to catch the culprit in the act.  The laundry room was adjacent into the boiler room, a perfect place to hide and see who was coming and going.

He  put the laundry in the drier, and then instead of returning to my apartment, hid.

Sure enough, after about 30 minutes -- long enough for the clothes to be dry, but before anyone would be coming back -- someone came in, knelt, and stared going through his stuff.

A kid!  Teenage, tall, slim, long dirty-blond hair, brown eyes.  Big hands and feet.  Bubble butt.

"Hi!"  Kevin said,  jumping out from behind the boiler.

The kid froze.

"Thanks for your help, but that's ok, I can take it from here."

He stood, staring at Kevin, petrified with terror.

Kevin emptied the remaining clothes.  "You know what?  Why don't you give me a hand with these?"  He shoved the basket into the kid's hands, put his arm around his shoulders, and pushed him up the stairs and down the hall.

The kid didn't resist.  He didn't look at me or even speak.

They went into the apartment and the bedroom.  "Just put those down anywhere."

He deposited them in a corner and stood, trembling.

"What's your name kid?"

"K...K...Kyle."  This was the first time Kevin heard anyone stutter from fear in real life.

"How old are you?"

"I'm...I'm....eighteen...."

"What did you want with my ratty used underwear?"

"I don't know."  Suddenly he started to cry.  Instinctively Kevin went over and wrapped his arms around him.  Kyle hugged him and sobbed and murmured.

"My underwear wouldn't fit you, anyway."

"I didn't think...I don't...don't tell my Mom, ok?"  

"I"m not going to tell your Mom.  But just tell me why..."

Suddenly Kevin understood.  An underwear fetishist!  Some bodybuilders he knew made good money selling their underwear.

 "I don't know, I just did it."  He stopped crying but still hugged Kevin tightly.  I don't have to go, do I?  Tell me I can stay."

"Oh, you can stay, Underwear Thief," Kevin said.  "But you need to return my stuff, and you need to be punished.  You can do some chores...or maybe you'd rather be spanked."

Kyle looked up, flushed with anticipation.  "Yes, sir.  Spanking sounds good."

"Or you could let me kiss you," Kevin added.

"So, what was he like?" Yuri asked.  "How big was he?"

They never dated, but they got together for hookups frequently during the next year, until Kevin moved to New York.

Kyle was a college freshman, gay but not out to anyone.  Smooth, slim physique, cut Mortadella beneath the belt, an anal bottom, but he liked to mount Kevin from the top.  Also into kissing and oral, with Kevin going down on him.

"A twink admirer!" I exclaim.  "I know the feeling.  But I never had anyone steal my underwear before."

"He wasn't really an underwear fetishist -- it was just to get  my attention," Kevin says.  "I think..."

By the way, I ended up sharing Yuri and Kevin.  Barney wasn't into hookups, so he and Jordi went out to the bars.

See also: Zack Hooks Up with the Prince of Sweden; The Bodybuilder and the Teenage Underwear Thief.

The Beach Boy and the Giant, Part 2

Wilton Manors, September 2002

This is Part 2 of the story of the Beach Boy and the Giant.

We left everyone asleep on the night of September 22nd, 2002:

Barney is in bed with Brent, the the 6'10", broad-shouldered giant who he met at the bathhouse.

Across the hall, my other housemate Yuri is in bed with Wade.

In his bedroom off the kitchen, Boomer is in bed alone.

Just another Sunday night in the gay ghetto.

Wade lies awake, trying to think of a way to hook up with the Giant without offending Barney.

He tried for a midnight sausage sighting in the bathroom, and got Barney instead.

Maybe he could get up and "accidentally" get into the wrong bed?

No -- he has been here many times.  He knows the house too well.

He gets up, goes into the kitchen, and helps himself to some leftover rhubarb crisp.


He hears footsteps -- Barney again?  Yuri?

It's the Giant, naked except for his bikini briefs.  Wade's heart begins to beat fast, but he plays it cool and tries not to stare at the Giant's basket.

 "Want some rhubarb crisp?" he asks nonchalantly.

"Sure."  He sits at the kitchen table and grabs a plate. His gigantic hand dwarfs his fork.  "So, are you and Yuri a couple?"

"No, dude, just friends...I'm totally single," Wade says, overjoyed.  The Giant is into him!

"What about Boomer?  Is he single?"

"Um...yes.  Why?"

"Well, I shouldn't say this, right in the middle of a date, but he's totally hot, exactly my type!  Barney is nice, but -- well, I think I'm going to ask Boomer out."

Boomer?  Wade repeats, hurt, offended.

But then he comes up with a plan.  "You know, Boomer and I used to be boyfriends.  He's only into young, slim, twink types.  If you're over 30, forget it.  He was with Yuri for years, but when Yuri gets too old, he dumped him.  That's why he dumped me, too."

These are all lies, but they have the intended effect.  The Giant stares at his plate. "So I guess a guy in his 50s has no chance with him."

"Not of romancing him, no.  But there's always hooking up."

"But...if he's not into older guys, why would he want to hook up with me?"

"Ex-boyfriends always get invited into your bed."

The Giant grins.  "So if we were dating, I could spend the night with him.  But would you mind going out with me just so I could get Boomer into bed?"

"I'm willing to make the sacrifice."

"I see -- you still have a thing for Boomer yourself, right?"

So, with Wade's telephone number in hand, the Giant returns to his bed.


The Giant waits until he and Barney have settled into a friendship before calling Wade.  Then, during the next two weeks, they date four or five times, mostly to go swimming or boating, or to walk along the beach.  Everyone thinks it's an instant romance, like the ones we used to have in West Hollywood.

No one knows that the couple isn't actually getting intimate, that they end the evening with a hug-on-the-doorstep and then return to their separate apartments.

Wade doesn't mind.  He's biding his time.

Then he calls me.  "Are you free on Saturday?  I want you to come over and share the Giant."

I  hesitate -- he's not at all my type. But it's only polite, and besides, sharing the Giant would mean time with Wade, too.

Saturday, October 19th.

I drive to the Giant's small garden apartment (the front door opens directly onto the yard).

The Giant doesn't cook -- when you work in a supermarket, you can't stand the sight of food -- so we order a pizza and watch a DVD.

We are all sitting on the couch, on either side of the Giant.  He puts his massive arms around both of us.

Not at all attractive, but I'm sure he'll be enormous beneath the belt.

Suddenly the Giant envelops me in a hug and shoves his massive tongue down my throat.  I grope him. Average beneath-the-belt gifts.

We move into the bedroom.  Wade tries to go down on the Giant, but he pushes him away and grabs my head instead.

I assume that they are kissing and fondling as I work, but when I look up, Wade is lying on the bed alone.

"Is anything wrong?" I ask.

"No, no.  I just like to watch."


I move to the bed and start kissing Wade, expecting the Giant to go down on him, or to reach for a condom.  Instead he goes down on me.

And so on for the whole night.

A few days later, Barney tells me that they have broken up.

"The Giant is pretty upset.  I'm going over later to try to cheer him up.  You should come, too."

"Why me?"

"Apparently you made quite an impression the other night.  He can't stop talking about you."

It takes a few weeks for me to get the story out of Wade.

See also: The Beach Boy at the Bear Party

The Beach Boy and the Giant, Part 1

Wilton Manors
Saturday, September 21st, 2002

A Saturday morning during my second year in Florida.  We're all sitting at breakfast, when my housemate Barney abruptly announces that he plans to go to a bathhouse.

Yuri and I hide behind cereal boxes to hide our shock. Barney is a former bodybuilder who runs a mostly-gay gym.  He lives a scrupulously healthy lifestyle: low-fat diet, daily exercise, meditation, herbal supplements.  And, after he lost his partner to AIDS three years ago, no hookups.

He dates, of course, and occasionally he invites us into his bed to "share," but he would never dream of casual sex.

"Are you ok?" Yuri asks.  "I don't think you liked bathhouses."

"Well, I haven't been to one for ages.  But think about it -- I'm 61 years old, I have Cute Young Things clamoring to get into my bed all the time, but all the guys my age are taken or not interested.  I figure the bathhouse is my best place to find someone my age.

"You know it's mostly for anonymous sex, right?" I say, dubious.

"But you often make a date with the guy afterwards.  At least, you did in my day."

"Well...do you want us to go with you, show you the ropes?"

He chuckles and turns back to his egg white omelet.  "I was going to bathhouses while you were still in diapers.  I think I can handle myself."

We advise him that the bathhouse would have a lot of older guys in the mid-afternoon or early evening, so he goes about 5:00 pm, after pumping up at the gym.  I can't wait around to hear the details -- I have a date with a guy in Boca Raton.

Saturday evening

When I return from my date, Barney is already in bed.  I peer through the open bedroom door, curious.  Nope -- he's alone.

Sunday morning

"So, how did it go?" I ask over breakfast.

"Some sex, some prospects," he says with a sly grin.  "Nobody spectacular.  I'm going to try again this afternoon."

On Sunday afternoon, I have to work at the gym, and Yuri goes swimming with Wade the Beach Boy, my ex-boyfriend.

After we broke up, Wade and Yuri stayed friends, so he hangs around the house a lot, and sometimes spends the the night in Yuri's bed.

They never do anything together except for some incidental groping.  They simply aren't attracted to each other. They are both twinks -- 24 and 28 years old, respectively, smooth, pleasantly muscular but not bodybuilders and they both like 40+, super-muscular, with Mortadella+ beneath the belt.

Sunday evening

My shift ends, and I go home to find Yuri and Wade in the living room, watching Futurama and eating Chinese food.  I help myself to some kung pao chicken and join them to watch King of the Hill and The Simpsons.

Then Barney returns with the Jolly Green Giant: about 60, huge, at least 6'8" tall, with gigantic shoulders, a massive chest.

"This is Brent," Barney announces.  "He works at the Publix [supermarket] on Sunrise.  This is Yuri, Wade, and Boomer."

He shakes each of our hands.  His hands are huge, as big as typewriters.

"Where do you train?" Yuri asks politely.  Wade just stares as if he has never seen anyone so beautiful before.

"I don't train," the Giant says, his voice a deep basso profundo.  "I do some sit-ups and push-ups, but that's about it."

"It's all from moving boxes all day!" Barney exclaims.  "Can you believe it?  Brent is a natural!"

"Did you meet at the bathhouse?" I ask.

Barney grins.  "That would be telling."

They decide to watch Malcolm in the Middle with us.  Barney takes his favorite chair, and the Giant sits on the floor in front of the couch, leaning his arms against my lap and Wade's leg.

Wade starts to blush and grabs a pillow to cover his arousal.

Yuri notices, too.  "Will you spend the night?" he asks Wade with a grin.

Barney goes to the kitchen to get some of his famous low-fat rhubarb crisp for dessert.

Sunday night

Picture it: Barney and the Giant in their bedroom, with the door a crack open (Barney is a fresh air freak). The sounds of erotic activity drift across the hall to Yuri's bedroom, the door also a crack open.  Yuri is reading a book and Wade is lying in his underwear, thinking.

"I could just..."

Yuri cuts him off.  "You don't share on the first date. And they don't even ask you."

"But dude, he's so hot!  So tall -- I'll bet he's got a big one!"

"He is Barney's date.  You must keep your hands off."

Soon Yuri turns off the light and goes to sleep.  But Wade doesn't.  He lies awake, thinking.

After awhile he hears the door of Barney's room creak open, footsteps down the hall, and someone urinating.  He jumps out of bed, rushes to the bathroom, and flings open the door, planning to say "Oh, sorry, I didn't know...." and at least get a glimpse of the Giant's Mortadella+.

It's Barney.

The rest of the story is here.

See also: Wade the Beach Boy; Jack the Vacuum Cleaner.