Nephew Sausage Sighting #4: My Nephew's Boyfriend

Washington DC, November 2014

Of all the strange phone calls I've received from my mother over the years, the weirdest was at 7:00 am one Saturday morning in November 2014.

"When you're in Washington, DC for your conference next weekend, why don't you drive down to Norfolk to visit your nephew?  He lives there now."

What nephew lived in Norfolk?  Last I heard, my sister's son was in Indianapolis, and Kenny's sons were all in Rock Island.  Except Frank, who lived somewhere in Tennessee or...Virginia.  "Is it Frank?"

"No, it's Robbie."

"Who?"

I can't be blamed for not recognizing his name.  I'd forgotten about Kenny's stepson Robbie.

Kenny's first wife died of cancer in January 1993, leaving him 29 years old, working night shifts at the factory, with four kids, aged 10, 9, 7, and 5.  The grandparents helped out a bit, but everyone gossipped that he remarried less than five months after the funeral to get free childcare.

His new wife, Angie, scandalized the Nazarene Church.  She was a heathen Baptist!  Eight years older than him!  And divorced -- nearly the unpardonable sin!   Plus she had three kids of her own:  two girls, ages 13 and 10, and a boy, Robbie, age 15, nearly as old as Kenny!

I saw Robbie at the wedding, at Christmas dinner in 1993, when Kenny and his family took me out for pizza in the summer of 1994, and at Christmas dinner in 1994.  He was a cute teenager with black hair and glasses, pale, soft, and quiet.  I don't think we exchanged more words than a "how's California?" and "how's school?"

By the summer of 1995, Robbie was living somewhere in Ohio or Pennsylvania with his grandparents.  I don't know why.

Maybe he didn't like his new role as "big brother" to his stepbrothers and stepsister.

 Maybe he didn't like living in the big, rambling house downtown, in a "bad" neighborhood.

Maybe the Nazarene rules seemed oppressive.

Although Ken adopted him, so he was technically part of the family, he cut off all contact with the Davises (he did sometimes call his sisters).  As far as I knew, neither Ken nor Mom and Dad had heard from Robbie in 20 years.

How would Mom even know where he was, let alone want me to visit?

"He doesn't talk to your brother, but he talks to the girls [Ken's step-daughters], and they talk to me.  They even had us over when he flew out to visit a couple of years ago."  She paused.  "It wouldn't hurt for you to go see him."

It wouldn't hurt.  I could ask him why he left so abruptly.

Besides, I love Norfolk.  It reminded me of my old West Hollywood friend Alan, and his boyfriend Sandy.  Beautiful Colonial architecture, the Chrysler Museum of Art, lots of gay nightlife, 50% black population.

So I called -- it took Robbie a moment to remember that "Oh, yeah, Ken had a brother."  He invited me down for a visit.

On the Saturday of the conference, I drove down to Norfolk and got a hotel room -- no need to press my luck.  Then I stopped by an antique store to buy a gift, and drove to Robbie's house.

It was way on the north side of town, in Ocean View near the military base.

There was a teenager trimming the hedges with a weed wacker.  Probably 18 or 19, blond hair, scruffy blond beard, blue eyes.  Shirtless, even though it was in the 60s outside: broad shoulders, smooth chest, lightly tanned, firm but not massive, pinprick nipples, tight abs with an innie belly button.

"Hi!  I was hoping to finish before you got here.  We were trying to spruce up the place."

"Oh, everything looks fine, believe me," I said, looking him up and down.

"You must be Boomer.  My name is Beau."  We shook hands.  "Robbie's inside -- he's a little nervous."  He wrapped a buffed arm around my shoulders.  "Come on, let's do the reunion."

Calling him by his first name --  Robbie must be gay!  Beau must be a boyfriend!

He led me into the house and yelled "The victim for the human sacrifice is here!"

Robbie appeared.  My nephew was 37 years old, tall, slim, eyeglassed, balding on top.  "Is this wise guy giving you a hard time, Uncle Boomer?"

None of my nephews and nieces call me Uncle anything.  Way to make me feel old!

"Oh no, he's great."

"He smells like he's been skinning skunks!" Robbie exclaimed.  "Beau, go upstairs and take a shower, and put on that nice shirt I got you.  We're taking Uncle Boomer out to dinner."

"Yes, Master!" Beau shot me a wink and trounced up the stairs.

"He's cute," I said as Robbie led me into the living room.

"Yep.  On the wrestling team.  And smart, too -- he's going to study engineering at Old Dominion.  I really lucked out with this one."

Lucked out?  Obviously Beau was a boyfriend!  Of course Mom wouldn't have said anything -- the whole family practiced a "don't ask, don't tell" policy.

Robbie opened his gift and talked about his job -- at the Navy yard, but a civilian -- and the house -- $150,000 mortgage --  and asked me about the Plains, while I ruminated:

I'm not actually related to Robbie by blood, and since I only saw him a few times, I have none of the family-bond stuff that stifled erotic interest in my other nephews.  

We could have a three way!  My nephew and his boyfriend!  I wonder if they are hung....

It didn't take long to find out.  Beau came bounding down the stairs -- naked, his penis swinging between his legs.  Bratwurst, cut, low-hanging balls, shaved pubic hair.    I gaped.

"Beau!  Where are your manners?"

 "What -- we're all guys here!  I can't find that new shirt."

"Look in your closet, next to your suit."

"Gotcha." He turned -- nice view of his butt as he walked up the stairs again.

"I swear, that boy is a born nudist!  He would go naked at the Metropolitan Opera, if I let him!  He must have got that from his mother."

His mother?  Wait...

"Does...um...his mother live in Norfolk, too?" I asked.

"Oh, no, she's got her own place in Newport News [about ten miles away].  Beau is just with me on weekends.  That's why I moved to Norfolk -- I wasn't going to go months and months without seeing Beau, so when Kathie's husband got a job out here, I came too."

Wait -- that's a weird thing to do for your boyfriend...

"Um...sounds like you get along well with Kathie."

Robbie shrugged.  "I guess so.  I mean, there's no hostility or anything.  I like Joe, too.  He's a good stepfather, supports the boy, but never tries to take my place."

I missed the implied criticism that my brother had not been a good stepfather -- I was too busy being embarrassed.  Beau wasn't Robbie's boyfriend.  They might not even be gay.

Way to make me feel old: my little brother's kid has an 18-year old son!

Who I just saw naked!

I smiled.  That's got to be one for the record books: Sausage sighting of my nephew's son.

See also: I Visit Alan and His Boy Toy in Virginia

"Why Don't Yah Come Ovah?": Tarik's Hookup with a Ghost

Norfolk, July 2000

Tarik was 32 years old, working as a dietician in a hospital and cruising for older white guys, preferably cops.

Norfolk was a rough town, and rather homophobic, so you had to be careful: a lot of the cops would let you go down on them, then rob you or beat you up.  But there weren't a lot of gay venues other than the bars: he went to the MCC, the gay church, and wrote for Our Own Community Press, the local gay newspaper.

It was at the MCC that he met Mitchy: in his 50s, short, thin, greying, a bit on the femme side  (I have an image of Leslie Jordan), and something of a dollar-dropper (trying to attract guys with an ostentatious display of wealth).  Three minutes into the conversation, he had mentioned that he lived in Linkhorn, the wealthiest neighborhood in Virginia Beach, and that he owned a Rembrandt.  All in a thick Tidewater accent: "Hello theah, deah.  Ahm'm from Linhohn.  Ah own a pictuah by Rembrandt."

Maybe because he grew up poor and a member of the black-supremacist Nation of Islam, Tarik always found topping rich white guys very erotic, so he accepted Mitchy's invitation to "come ovah."

Not a great hookup.  A 45 minute drive, and turns out that Mitchy wasn't into anal; he wanted Tarik to go down on his very small, wrinkled cock, and when that took too long,  "Lick mah balls, deah.  That allus gets me off."

And no reciprocation.  He played with Tarik's cock for a bit, but wouldn't go down on him.

Plus his house was very cold, the Rembrandt was of a woman, there was another picture of a naked woman in the bedroom, he had torch songs playing constantly, and he was a bit racist: "Would you lakh to heah something else?  I know y'all lakh rap..."

But Tarik was not used to being pursued, so when Mitchy called two nights later and asked "Why don't yah come ovah?", he agreed.

More going down on Mitchy's small, wrinkled cock while a naked woman looked down on them and torch songs played, and it was so cold that they had to stay under the covers.  This time, at least, Mitchy went down on Tarik -- badly.

"Deah, ya'll are so big.  Ah can't get mah mouth around it."

Three nights later "Why don't yah cove ovah for dinnah?"

Mitchy served pork chops!  Tarik didn't belong to the Nation of Islam anymore, but he still avoided pork.  He filled up on mashed potatoes and green beans, and went down on Mitch's small cock right at the dining room table, before dessert.

And Mitchy insisted that he spend the night.

This was turning into a full-fledged relationship, except Mitchy never wanted to go out.  Apparently he was too closeted to go to the bars, and the day they met was the only time he attended the MCC.  He hooked up in online chatrooms, and went to First Landing State Park, the outdoor cruising area in Virginia Beach.

Great, an unwanted boyfriend who was in the closet!

Tarik accepted "Why don't yah come ovah?" invitations two or three more times before getting the gumption to say "No.  Sorry, I don't feel like it tonight."

"But deah, I'm horney.  I have needs."

It was always about Mitchy's needs, wasn't it?  "Sorry, I don't feel like it."

"But deah, if you won't come ovah, I'll have to go to the park to meet a fella."

"Do what you want.  I'm not coming over."  Tarik hung up on him.

The next night when he went to the office of Our Own Community press, they were talking about a newspaper article. "Does anyone know if he was gay?  Was it really a bashing incident?"

Mitchy's housekeeper found him dead in his bedroom.  He had been beaten and strangled.  Nothing was taken. The police were baffled, but Tarik figured that he had gone out cruising and propositioned the wrong guy.   

Tarik felt guilty, of course.  If he hadn't said "no" that night...but Mitchy made the decision to pick up rough trade.  He made the decision to stay in the closet.

A few weeks later, Tarik was lying in bed, just starting to doze off, when the phone rang. 
"Hello, deah.  Why don't yah come ovah?"

A prank call? But Tarik had told only a few people about his hookup/dates, and no one about Mitch's signature phrase or thick Tidewater accent.

Mitchy still pestering him for a hookup from beyond the grave? 

See also:
Tarik and the Blue-Eyed Demon

Tarik Hooks Up with Jonathan Brandis and Insane Ian

Norfolk, Virginia, July 1995

I'm 34 years old, living in West Hollywood but visiting Alan for a few days.  He's back at his sister's house in Norfolk, so I'm staying with my friend Tarik: about my age, short, dark-skinned, very muscular, with a handsome round face, bright eyes, and thick square hands.

We're having a potluck dinner with Alan and a few other guys.  I'm hoping to get to "share" later with Shane, a twink with short blond hair, a smooth chest, and a basket that won't quit.

We have barbecued chicken, baked beans, greens, grits, and a fruit salad, but Alan doesn't eat anything but a few strawberries.  He looks frail and gets confused easily -- nearing the end, I suspect (actually, he will live another ten years).  So I try to cheer him up with the most outrageous stories I can think of about life in West Hollywood: sausage fondlings in the sauna at the gym, my collision with John Stamos' bulge, Lane's four-way with Cesare Romero, Batman, and Robin.

Back in West Hollywood, Alan didn't like celebrity hookup stories: who cares if the guy happens to be in movies or on tv?  It's what's inside that counts -- inside his heart...inside his pants!  But now he asks for more stories -- maybe they are reflections of his old life, before his HIV diagnosis, when he was young and full of optimism, with a world of infinite possibility in front of him.  He interrogates me about any celebrity I have been with recently, and when I run low, what about Lane?  Raul?  Fred and Matt?

I mention Jeff MacKay, Peter Fonda, and Lost in Space star Billy Mumy.  But Alan wants to hear about a teenager: "Let the dead past stay dead.  I want to know that there are still gay kids growing up out there, a new generation to carry on when we are gone.  Tell me about someone fresh and new."

"I hear that Jerry O'Connell on Sliders is bi," Shane the blond twink says, "And everybody's been in Brandon Call's pants.  Some of your well-connected Hollywood friends must have hooked up with them."

Great, now I need a "fresh and new" celebrity hookup story to please Alan AND to impress Shane with the goal of a three-way later.  My mind goes blank -- could I create one from scratch?

"Um...well...Joey Lawrence jogs past our apartment nearly every day, and...um..."

Then Tarik chimes in:  "That sounds interesting, but I think you should give the rest of us a chance.  Did I ever tell you guys that I hooked up with Jonathan Brandis?"

I sigh with relief. Jonathan Brandis was a famous child star (Ladybugs, Sidekicks, It, The Neverending Story).  Now 19 years old, he is a full-fledged teen idol, playing Lucas in the sci-fi series SeaQuest  (1993-96).  He always denies that he is gay, but there are lots of rumors.

Baltimore, October 1994

There weren't a lot of science fiction fans in the African-American community of Norfolk.  Science fiction was for white people, the adults said, to dream about black genocide and a future all-white universe.

Tarik didn't care.  He loved science fiction, no matter the genre: books, comics, movies, tv.  So much that he went to every convention he could afford.  In October 1994, he drove four hours north to Baltimore for Farpoint 2.

Two of the three guest speakers were gay: George Takei (Star Trek) and Jonathan Brandis.  Of course, neither were out -- you couldn't be out in Hollywood, and hope for a career.  But everyone had heard stories about George inviting particularly muscular fans back to his hotel room at conventions, and Jonathan's preference for black men, with quite a long list of lovers for someone who was barely 18: Don Franklin (his costar on SeaQuest); Geoffrey Owens (Eldon on The Cosby Show); Jaleel White (Urkel on Family Matters)

The convention lasted for three days -- plenty of time to hook up with both George and Jonathan, and have time left over for Nick Miscusi (husband of the third guest, Nana Visitor).

Tarik hooked up several times -- as one of maybe 10 black guys among the 1,000 or fans, he was very popular.  But not with George Takei ot Nick Miscusi.

Jonathan Brandis finally arrived on Sunday, the last day of the convention. In the morning he was on a panel with Wil Wheaton (Wesley Crusher on Star Trek).  Afterwards Tarik asked a question, but he didn't get a chance to talk to Jonathan alone.

Next he stood in line for an autograph, but before he got to the front of the line, Jonathan said  "Sorry, I'm out of time."

So was Tarik -- it was 3:00 pm already, and he had to leave by 7:00 at the latest to get home in time for work.

At 4:00 pm there was a special presentation, a Star Trek/Seaquest parody, with the Brandis character played by a cute redheaded teenager named Ian Bonds.  It was spot-on, and Ian's comedy timing was genius.  Afterwards Tarik went up to shake his hand and talk a bit about sci-fi parodies.

Suddenly Jonathan Brandis was beside him.  "Hi, I saw your performance -- you do me better than I do!"

Ian laughed.  "Thanks, man."

"Hi, I'm Tarik," he said, butting in.

Jonathan shook his hand.  "I saw you waiting patiently in line, but I had to go before you could come up.  I had a great signature all planned for you, too."  He flashed a cruisy smile and touched his shoulder.

Tarik knew a proposition when he heard one!  "Well, I'm free for a couple of hours right now, if you want to give me that autograph in private."

"Oh, I just drove down for the day, and I didn't get a room."

"Hm...and I already checked out of mine"

"I have a room," Ian said hopefully.  "We can hang out for awhile there."

When they got to the room, Ian said "Excuse me," and went into the bathroom.  Tarik didn't waste any time -- he started kissing and groping Jonathan-- average sized, uncut.  Jonathan pulled Tarik's cock out, fell to his knees, and started going down on him.

"Wait -- Ian will be back at any moment," Tarik whispered.

"Surprise -- I'm already here!"

They pulled apart quickly.  Tarik covered his crotch with his hands.

"Hey, I'm as quiet as a Hobbit when I want to be," Ian said.  "And I eat as much, too.  Two guys is just an appetizer."  He fell to his knees, pulled Tarik's hand away, and started going down on him while fondling Jonathan.  Soon he was working on them both at once.  Then they pushed Ian down on the bed, and Tarik topped him while he continued to blow Jonathan.

Tarik pulled out before he came, washed off, and let Jonathan finish taking his load.  Then he went down on Ian (about 7.5 inches, cut) while Jonathan was kissing him and beating off.

Afterwards Tarik and Jonathan both had to leave right away.  They didn't exchange phone numbers.


Norfolk, June 1995

After dinner, as Tarik is driving me back to his apartment, I say "That story seems a little far fetched, unless those fan conventions are a lot wilder than I imagine."

"Ok, you got me," Tarik said.  "I made up everything that happened after Ian got back from the bathroom.  Brandis and I just kissed and fondled.  But I thought Alan would want to hear about some action."

Ian Bonds is now comedic performer Insane Ian.  He is a chunky superfan, cute but straight.

Jonathan Brandis always insisted that the gay rumors were unfounded.  He died on November 12, 2003.

Tarik and I never shared the blond twink.

See also: I Visit Alan, Sandy, and Their Boy Toy; Jonathan Brandis; The Gay Ghost of Ocracoke

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

Alan Hooks Up with a Father and Son in Hong Kong

Norfolk, Virginia, June 1993

"Ok, time for my most memorable Hong Kong pickup," Alan says.

I'm visiting Alan and his partner and their friend Tarik in Norfolk.  Today we drove out to Colonial Williamsburg.  Now we're having a very healthy vegetarian dinner and swapping stories of sexual exploits in days gone by.

"Picture it: seven million people crammed into 426 square miles.  7 of the tallest buildings in the world.  Over 50 shopping malls, including Harbor City, with over 700 stores."

"It sounds awful," I complain.  "Everything I hate about big cities, the reason I prefer small-town gay neighborhoods."

"You don't know what you're missing.  The lights, the color, the shopping.  The 3.5 million Chinese men..."

"The 15 hour plane flight..." his partner Sandy continues..  

"Not to mention the horrific anti-sodomy laws," Tarik adds. "Life in prison for gay sex, not repealed until last year."

Alan glares at him.  "Need I remind you that your beloved state of Virginia still makes gay sex a felony?  That doesn't stop the guys down on Granby Street from cruising everybody in sight."

Hong Kong, Summer 1990

Alan was living in Paris.  Anxious to meet some Asian men, he spent his vacation in Hong Kong, shopping and sightseeing.  

Gay culture in Hong Kong wasn't well developed -- very few organizations, only three gay bars, only one very unsatisfactory bathhouse.  But street cruising was an art in itself.  Beaches, malls, parks were teaming with men, Chinese and Western, gay and straight. Most were available, some for free, some for pay.

One day he went sunbathing at Middle Bay Beach, where a lot of local gays hung out.  He saw a cute Chinese twink going down on an older white guy, who was pretending to be asleep.  

The older guy was a bear, very hairy, with a beard, thick muscles and a little belly. A thick uncut Bratwurst.  Not really Alan's type -- he liked slim, smooth chests. 

But he and the Chinese guy took turns working on the white guy, who then pretended to wake up and invited them all to his hotel.  

"An interracial three-way?" I ask, not impressed.  "You didn't need to fly 6,000 miles to get that.  Go to Mugi in West Hollywood."

"Or come out to the bars with Boomer and me later, and see who we find to 'share,'" Tarik says. "Maybe we'll get a Chinese guy, and have a three-race three-way."

"This is just the set-up," Alan says.  "It gets better."

They drove all the way up to the Crowne Plaza on Leighton Road, had their three-way, and the Chinese guy left.  The white guy invited Alan to get a drink in the bar.

His name was Cormac.  He was 43 years old, from Sidney, Australia, in Hong Kong working on some kind of business deal.  

"Hey, exactly my age!" Sandy exclaims.  "Alan knows how to pick them."

Cormac told Alan that he had been attracted to men all his life, but he married "because it was expected," and had three children.  He never had a same-sex experience until six months ago.  Now he was happily divorced and making up for lost time.

"My wife and kids have been a blessing -- they helped  me through all this.  Especially my oldest, Michael.  He sat me down one day and said, 'Dad, believe me, nothing will change if you just admit that you're gay.'  But he was wrong -- everything has changed -- for the better."

"Nice coming out story," I say.  "So, let me tell you about the time..."

"It's not over.  The best part is coming up."

"Your family sounds very supportive," Alan said.  "I'd love to meet them some time."

As if on cue, a twink appeared in the bar, carrying two shopping bags: in his 20s, slim, short brown hair, handsome face, wearing a red t-shirt and very tight jeans.  He grinned at Alan, then hugged Cormac.  "You've been busy, I see."

Cormac's son Michael!  It seems that Cormac brought him along on his trip to Hong Kong, as a way of saying "thank you" for helping him come out.  And he was gay! 

The three went out to dinner.  Michael was a high school history teacher, so he and Alan compared notes about inept colleagues, martinet administrators, and students who became aroused in class.  

Afterwards Cormac excused himself and returned to his room.  Michael and Alan went out cruising.  One thing led to another.

"So you brought him back to your hotel, and tricked with a father and son on the same day?" Sandy asks.

Alan smiles.  "I asked him to come back to my hotel, but I was staying way over on Victoria Road, and the Crowne Plaza was right there, so...."

There were two double beds in the hotel room.  Cormac was in one, under the covers, sleeping.  Alan and Michael quickly undressed and climbed into the other to kiss and fondle.  Then Michael started going down on Alan.

"...you were with Michael while his father was asleep in the next bed?" I ask.  We stare in shock.  Gay or straight, no father wants to wake up to see his son having sex!

"That's not what happened..."
 .
Alan had his eyes closed, so when a hand started fondling his chest, he assumed it was Michael's.  Then someone was kissing him.  Cormac!  

"A father and son together? Gross!"  Tarik exclaims.  "I mean, I like older guys, and sometimes I call them 'Daddy,' but a real father and son?  That's incest!"

Alan was somewhat surprised himself, but he figured, they were both adults, and there was no chance of pregnancy, so why not? Besides, they didn't actually do anything with each other; they took turns kissing Alan and going down on him, and then he went down on Michael while Cormac topped him (with a condom, of course).  Then Cormac returned to his own bed.

"Well, that takes the cake," Sandy says.  "I don't have anything nearly that weird, and I was quite the player, back in the day."

"That's not the best part, though," Alan says.

We wait expectantly.  What could top a story about sharing a father and son?

Alan pauses to let the suspense build.  

The best part was Michael's beneath-the-belt gifts -- the biggest Alan had ever seen, far bigger than his own porn-star-sized penis.  Easily a foot-long, Kovbasa++!

Leave it to Alan to find penis size more memorable than a night with a father and son.

See also: Alan's Partner and Their Boy Toy; Hooking Up with a Trophy Boy and His Dad; and I Spend the Night with Fred's Son