12 Valentine's Day Dates, Hookups, and Boyfriends

My least-favorite holiday is Christmas, but Valentine's Day comes a close second: a corporate-controled paeon to heterosexual desire, with millions of male-female couples paraded out to proclaim that their emotional bond is the most important thing in the world, the meaning of life.

And therefore you should spend money on maudlin cards, boxes of gut-busting candy, and dead flowers.

In gay neighborhoods it was ok, but in the straight world, same-sex couples who try to participate get stared at in restaurants, laughed at at the flower shop, jeered at the candy store.  Or at least they feel hideously out of place amid the cooing boys and girls.

And God forbid you're single!

Here are the highlights of Valentine's Day seasons past, some ok, some bad, some horrendously bad.

Not counting childhood, when everybody in the class got a valentine from everybody else, regardless of gender.

1. My First Gay Bar. Valentine's Day, 1983. At Indiana University, my friend Viju talks me into driving up to Indianapolis.  I've never been in a gay bar, or any type of bar, before, and I'm blown away by the light, color, and camaraderie.  Nothing like the dark, sleazy, leering gay bars they show on tv.

2. T, the Thug from Catch On.  Valentine's Day, 1986.  There aren't a lot of black men in West Hollywood: if you want to meet them, you have to go to Jewel's Catch-One.  Alan and I go, and get cruised by a thug wannabe named T.

3. My Celebrity Boyfriend.  Valentine's Day, 1987.  The Celebrity and I have only been dating for about a month, and he says he wants to go "all out" for Valentine's Day.  I wonder what a famous ex-teen idol considers "all out."  A thousand doves swooping down from a helicopter?  A life-sized box of candy?  Sharing Scott Baio?  Turns out to be him on a heart-shaped blanket.

4. A Boy for Valentine's Day.  Valentine's Day, 1990.  I'm dating Lane, and still thinking of that "sharing Scott Baio" thing.  I don't actually pick up Scott Baio, but I get a nice substitute with Raul's friend Dominic, a cute Mexican twink.  While Lane and I are having dinner, Raul lets Dominic in the house, where he puts on a Cupid outfit and hides in the bedroom.  

5. The Estonian Word for Valentine.  Valentine's Day, 1998.  Yuri and I are both dating Jaan, the Estonian mountain climber, and we both want to impress him.  We plan a three-way date involving Estonian food, Estonian music, Estonian everything, until Jaan gets sick of it and kicks us both out.

But there's a nice side effect to gay dating: if the guy you both want rejects you, you can always spend the night with each other.

6. The Boy Who Cried Fabulous.  Valentine's Day, 2005.  What could be worse than to be dating the annoyingly cheerful, annoyingly upbeat Florian on hearts-and-flowers day?  Nothing.  A 5-pound heart-shaped box of candy, a dozen roses, a card two feet square with a horrible pun, and a teddy bear with a heart-shaped bib reading "I Wuv You."   He doesn't even love me, he wuvs me.

7. The Great Trick-Off of 2007.  I'm back in West Hollywood for a job interview, and Lane suggests that we hit the bars.  On Cupid Day?  It will be all depressed single guys.

"Precisely," Lane says.  "We can spend the night tricking, like we did before AIDS -- pick someone up, bring him home, do him, kick him out, back to the bar for the next guy."

"But we were Cute Young Things back then.  I'm 46!"

"So what?  I'm 51!"

8. The Asian-American Family Valentine Dinner.  Valentine's Day, 2009.  I'm dating Chad, who is second-generation Korean-American.  He invites me to dinner with his family, which turns out to be like a Korean Thanksgiving: tons of food, relatives you only see once a year, and innumerable questions about the new guy Chad is dating.

9. The Guilt Trip. Valentine's Day, 2010.  I'm dating Troy, a newly-graduated French major who says "Oh, I hate Valentine's Day.  Let's not celebrate at all."  Fine with me.  Until February 14th, when I awaken to candy, flowers, expensive jewelry, and dinner reservations.  Fooled you!

10. I Become a Creepy Old Guy.  Valentine's Day, 2012.  #9 is probably the reason I hate Valentine's Day now.  I insist that we don't celebrate.  At all.  We go to a bathhouse instead, the River Club in Albany, where I become a Creepy Old Guy.








11, The Youngest Guy I've Ever Dated.  Valentine's Day, 2015.  A 22 year old theater major.  Fortunately, we start dating too close to the Day to celebrate it.

12, My Ex-Student Naked in the Locker Room.  Valentine's Day, 2016.  A 19-year old political science major who wants to become a lawyer.  Our first date is the night before.  I wake up, go down on him, give him a bagel, and kick him out.

I get to spend The Day alone in my apartment, doing course prep, downloading porn from the internet, and watching The Walking Dead.  

Best Valentine's Day ever!

Asian Boyfriends, Hookups, Hunks, and Sausage Sightings

When I was growing up in Rock Island, I never saw anyone of East Asian ancestry, ever, not even a face in the crowd.  So the exotic became erotic, and I've been especially attracted to Asian men ever since.  

Here are some of my top Asian dates, hookups, and sausage sightings.  Asian will mean men who can trace their ancestry to China, Japan, Korea, Southeast Asia, or the Philippines.















Childhood

Chi Ehr,  my first Asian boyfriend.  I only saw him for a moment, but his dazzling, seductive smile was an iconic part of my childhood.  I ran into him years later.


Peter, a science nerd from Washington Junior High.  We competed over my boyfriend Dan at a sleepover.

Augustana College

The Korean Muscle Bear who moved in next door.  My bedroom window looked down into his kitchen, where I could see him walking around in his underwear.

Indiana University

Sunan, a bisexual Thai boy who Viju and I picked up at Bullwinkle's.  The next day he picked up his girlfriend, and all four of us went out to breakfast without letting on that we had spent the night together.  

Texas

Dan, a Korean twink who answered my personal ad in the Montrose Voice. Worked in a grocery store, chain-smoked.  

West Hollywood

Huan.  I arrived in West Hollywood with the Gayellow Pages in my hands, and within two days I was at Mugi, a gay Asian bar.  I had never seen so many cute Asian guys in my life, and they were all available!  I ended up accepting a date with the first guy who cruised me, Huan, who had been in the U.S. only a few months and didn't speak English well.  

Jin. Alan moved to Japan in the summer of 1986 to start a gay Pentecostal church, and I visited him for the summer.  We shared a tiny apartment, about 216 square feet (the size of a bedroom in America), so when one of us had a guy over, the other had no choice but to watch or join in.  The most memorable of our hookups was Jin, who kept going back and forth between our futons all night.   









Minoru.  Another of Alan's hookups who played futon-switching. 19 year old student majoring in German literature. 

Tranh.  A gym rat in West Hollywood who I worked on for weeks before a celebrity tried to steal him away.  Alan got him back by asking for the date for himself, with me taging along.  We all ended up friends.  .

Chehay.  The slim, soft survivor of the Pol Pot atrocities, whose Cambodian drag queen Aunti Bopha cornered me at Mugi in an attempt to marry him off.  

Tyler.  A third-generation Chinese-American twink who was the current boyfriend of my housemate Derek's ex.  If that sounds complicated, the story of trying to get with him is even more. 

Ramon.   We met him in Barcelona.  He didn't speak Chinese, but he was fluent in Catalan and a promoter of Catalonian independence.  We had quite a heady conversation for a hookup.  

New York

Prasert.  During my summer in Paris, I hooked up with the chef at the Suam Thai restaurant.  

The Man in Black who accosted me on Christopher Street in a weird paranormal experience.

Shen.  An undergrad history major from China.  We just went on one date, and spent the whole evening awkwardly kissing and cuddling in bed.  

Peter.  An undergraduate sociology major, Filipino.  My professor introduced us in the spring of 2001.  Another series of dates spent mostly in the bedroom.  

Dayton

Tony. I tried to hook up with Bobby Chan, the Chinese food delivery guy, but got his friend instead, a grad student in political science at Ohio State University. 

Chao.  The guy Tony dated immediately after our hookup.  We "shared," my first and only time with two Asian guys at once.  

Upstate

Chad A waiter at the Neptune, the Satyr's housemate and "boy toy."  We dated from October through February. 

Mike.  A twink who came to our bear party, but said he was nervous and asked if we could go off somewhere alone.  He gradually increased the number of guys in the room until it was full.  

Philadelphia

Akamu..  I was staying with friends for the weekend, and their housemate brought him home.  Laotian. He came into my room in the middle of the night.  

The Plains

Nguyen  A muscular gym rat from Minnesota.  I actually hooked up with his cousin at an art gallery.

Phil, a middle-aged bisexual who comes to the M4M Parties.  

See also: My Top Black Boyfriends and Hookups.; 16 West Hollywood Hunks That I've Been Keeping Secret.

Do Seasons Affect Your Dating Success?

I'm depressed today because there are three weeks left in the semester, my favorite tv show just had its season finale, and the last play of the theatrical season is next week.  Soon everything will be over, and it will be time to endure three months of boredom and isolation: summer in the Straight World.

My favorite seasons are, in order: Fall, Winter, Spring, and...ugh...Summer.

Maybe I can snap out of my depression by calculating how many cute guys I've landed dates with in each season.  Is there a dearth of dating in Summer, and a plenitude in Fall?

During my 11 years in the Straight World, Ohio, Upstate, and Plains (so far), I've had first dates (not hookups) with 72 guys.








Fall (September, October, November) 

After the dead time of the summer, everything starts over again.  New classes, new books, new faces at the gym, new tv shows, new theater season, new museum exhibits.

There's a little nip in the air, so you can go outside without getting soaked in half a block, and wear a hot sweater inside.

My favorite holidays, Halloween and Thanksgiving.  And my birthday, of course.

Dates: 27 (42%), including boyfriends Charlie and Paul in Ohio and Chad in Upstate New York.

Winter (December, January, February).  It's cold, so you can stay in the house without people trying to guilt you into "enjoying the outdoors."  The cold air is invigorating.  The sun goes down at a normal hour, so it's dark in the evening.

The social world is in full swing, with parties, dinners, benefits, concerts, plays, art exhibits, film festivals, book signings.

Christmastime is a pain, but if you stay out of the Mall and don't watch network tv in December, you can avoid most of it.  Stick to New Year's Eve and Valentine's Day.

Dates: 24 (37%), including Pete (the water delivery guy) in Upstate New York and Dustin (the son of my host at the heterosexual party) in Plains, who I'm still dating, whenever he gets a school break.

Spring (March, April, May).  You can jog outside again, the flowers start to bloom, and there's a smorgasbord of holidays and events: Mardi Gras parties, St. Patrick's Day, Easter, film festivals, Oscar parties, and spring break.

In May the year runs down: the last day of class, the last episode of your favorite tv show, the last play of the season, saying goodbye to friends.  But before that, it's a fun ride.

Dates: 15 (23%).  I'm usually with someone, so dating is not a top priority.

Summer (June, July, August).  Dead time.  All of your friends are out of town, there's no classes, nothing to do, nowhere to go, and even if you did have somewhere to go, it's too hot.

Baseball games.  Camping.  Eating outside.  People forcing you to "enjoy the outdoors."

Long, boring car trips to the Midwest for uncomfortable visits with fundamentalist relatives.

Dates: 7 (11%), including Troy, my boyfriend in Upstate New York (but we met in the spring).

Some hookups while on vacation, but not a lot of dates.  Is it because there aren't many guys around to date, or because I'm too depressed to cruise properly?

See also: Best, Worst, and Most Erotic Christmases; 34 Reasons to Like Summer.

The Satyr and His Boy Toy

Upstate, October 2008

When I moved to Upstate New York, my social calendar was soon crowded with invitations from members of the Gang of Twelve, guys who had known each other for years, and who shared everything, from gossip to boyfriends.
1-2. The Rich Kid and the Crying Truck Driver.
3-4. The Rapper, and the Grabby Nurse.

All of them told me, "You have to meet the Satyr!"  But they all had different stories.

The Rich Kid: he's a muscle bear who used to work in porn movies.

The Truck Driver: he's cultured, artistic, and very romantic.

The Rapper: he's a Sugar Daddy with a fetish for black men.

The Grabby Male Nurse: he's a sexual dynamo, able to keep going all night (thus his nickname).


Date #5. The Satyr

He didn't send any photos or give any stats, so I didn't know what to expect when I drove to old Victorian on the west side of Cooperstown.  But I certainly didn't expect Chad, the waiter from the Neptune, to answer the door.

"Hey, Chad! I didn't know the Satyr had a roommate."

"I'm not his roommate," he said with a cryptic smile.  "He's still getting dressed -- come on in and wait in the parlor."

He ushered me into a room cluttered with heavy leather furniture, old black-and-white photographs, bookshelves, a coffee table made out of an old crate.

I was left alone for about ten minutes to leaf through coffee table books on Asian art and try to make friends with a skittish cat, until the Satyr finally came down the stairs.

A tall, husky, bearded bear, around 60 years old.  Broad shoulders, round belly.  And, when he gave me a hug, I felt that he had a baseball bat down there, all revved up and ready to go. 

"Don't take it personally," the Satyr said with a chuckle.  "I'm always like that when I meet a new guy."

"You're always like that when you're breathing!"  Chad re-appeared with a tray of cheese and crackers.

"I see you've met my boy toy."

"Housekeeper!"  Chad insisted.

"How many housekeepers get paid to keep the boss's bed warm?"

"How many boy toys hook up with studs of their own?"

I thought I'd seen every kind of relationship, but this was a new one.  I spent the evening looking for clues on how it worked.  Chad cooked dinner, and ate with us-- sesame chicken, fried rice, and seaweed salad.  But when we took our ice cream and coffee into the parlor, he vanished.

I was disappointed -- I liked Chad.  He was not a stereotypical hustler.  He was studying art history at the university, he spoke four languages, and he had some interesting stories about growing up gay in a conservative Korean-American family.

The Satyr, however, was annoying, rather boastful, and a name-dropper.  When he was a teenager, hustling in Times Square, one of his clients was Christopher Isherwood.

"Um...well, I met Andrew Lloyd Webber..."

When he was a camera man in Hollywood, he dated Tom Selleck, Rob Lowe, and John Travolta.

Um, well...I dated a former teen idol..."

While he was working at the American consulate in Japan, he had an affair with the son of Prime Minister Toshiki Kaifu that caused a major scandal.

I was not at all interested in a relationship with the Satyr, but who can turn down a baseball bat? So when he suggested we go upstairs, I consented.

"Chad!  We're ready for bed!" he yelled.

Wait...what?  You don't "share" roommates on the first date!  Or housemates, or boy toys, or whatever he is!

When we got upstairs, Chad was waiting, naked, in the Satyr's bedroom.  But he just gave us massages and left.

Very weird date, so far.

By the way, he had the second biggest "sausage" I've ever encountered.   Chad must have felt like a muppet.

Later, on my way to the bathroom, I passed Chad's bedroom. His door was open.  He was lying in his bed, watching Saturday Night Live.

"Hey, I haven't seen that in years!" I exclaimed.

"Well, come on in and watch it with me."  He grinned and pulled up the covers.

"Won't the Satyr mind?"

"Not at all.  Lots of his dates end up in my bed, or my dates end up in his bed, or our dates find each other and head to the guest room. You need a score card to keep track!"

We watched tv, talked, and cuddled, but no erotic activity happened-- "I want to take things slow with you, not just grab and go," Chad explained, rather paradoxically for a professional bed warmer.

I never shared the Satyr's bed again.  Chad and I dated through the fall and winter of 2008, but I always insisted that he come back to my apartment.  I was never really comfortable with the housekeeper-boy toy thing.

The Satyr turned out to be fiercely protective of Chad.

See also: The Satyr's Sinister Scheme.