Kicking Out Ronald Reagan's Lover

West Hollywood, September 1988

For gay people in the 1980s,  West Hollywood was a sacred site, a Mecca free from the homophobia and other injustices of the straight-dominated world.  Everyone visited at least once, often for an extended period as they tried to find some way to stay.

When you were lucky enough to live in West Hollywood, your phone kept ringing, as gay men you hadn't talked to for ten years suddenly remembered that you were  close friends and dangled for an invitation.

Still, it was a surprise, in August 1988, to answer the telephone and hear "Boomer, darling!  How are you!"

It was Oscar, the retired set designer from Des Moines.  My first boyfriend Fred and I spent a couple of hours with him back in 1980, and that was it.  A very tenuous connection!

"Darling, I'm making the plunge -- I'm finally going to come out and visit West Hollywood.  And I want to see you in particular!"

"Um...what about Fred?"  He had moved to Pomona in the San Gabriel Valley with his boyfriend Matt.

"Oh, I'll be visiting him, too, but he lives so far away, and he has such a tiny apartment, whereas you have such a big house."

How did he know that?  "I'm just renting a room from Derek...."

"Whatever.  Would it be ok if I stay with you?  Just for a few days.  Or a week.  Two or three weeks, tops."

I couldn't think of any reason why not.  I tried.

Derek said it was ok, but he needed the guest room for another visitor, so Oscar would have to stay in my room.  In my bed.

Which means he would expect...you know.  In West Hollywood culture, it would be impolite to refuse. Particularly when you were sharing a bed.

As you know, I am attracted to guys who are dark-skinned, shorter than me, and muscular or husky.  Oscar was tall, thin, and pale.

Plus:
1. Feminine.  Lots of guys in West Hollywood were attracted to guys with feminine traits.  But I wasn't. Rings, ascots, perfume, overmodulated voices, undulating limbs -- instant turn-offs.

2.  And 73.  I was often attracted to older guys.  When I was 20, I dated a 40-ish college professor.  But an age difference of 46 years?  A little much!

But what can you do?  He was coming.

One Friday in early September, Fred, Matt, and I picked Oscar up at LAX, carried his dozen suitcases to my house, and took him out to dinner and back to my place.  Then they scrammed back to the San Gabriel Valley, leaving Oscar gazing at me in expectation.

"The bedroom is over here," I told him.  "I'm just getting over a cold, so it wouldn't be a good idea to do anything tonight."

The "gettinv over a cold" ploy lasted for about three days.  Then I devoted about a week to a whirlwind of sightseeing, everywhere from the LaBrea Tar Pits to the Toy Tiger, a Silverlake bar for older guys.  I didn't enjoy being mistaken for Oscar's grandson or a hustler all the time, but the ploy worked: every night, Oscar was so exhausted that the moment we got into bed, he fell asleep.

But sooner or later, he would be wide awake and ready for...you know.

"How long do you think you'll be able to stay?" I asked over breakfast.

"Oh, darling, I'm as free as a bird.  I can stay until spring!"

Great! I went out and applied for a job in Turkey.

Maybe I could find him a boyfriend to move in with?  Or claim to have a kinky fetish?

Then I remembered Oscar's story of dating future president Ronald Reagan, when they were both working for WHO Radio in Des Moines, back in 1936.

Reagan happened to be in town, campaigning for George H.W. Bush (who was running for president in 1988) and reuniting with old friends.  I knew someone who worked for Attorney General John Van De Camp, a long-time gay rights advocate: a tenuous connection, but it mighit work.

I ran into the living room, where Oscar was reading Frontiers.  "Guess what!  You might be getting a reunion with your old boyfriend, Ronald Reagan!  The Attorney General's assistant is arranging it!"

He turned pale.  "Ronald Reagan? How did you...."

"We just have to pretend to be straight.  You know, Reagan's a big homophobe nowadays."

He exhaled sharply.  "Oh, no, my dear, it would be too painful after all these years. Pretending that we didn't mean anything to each other.  Oh, no, it would be dreadful.  I couldn't abide it."

"Are you sure?  I mean, a party with the President..."

That afternoon he packed his suitcases and called Fred to pick him up.  He spent the rest of his vacation in the San Gabriel Valley.

I'm still not sure if Oscar really dated Ronald Reagan or not.

Reagan was out of office a few months later, but for years I got rid of unwanted houseguests by offering to introduce them to the ex-President.   He wasn't very popular among gay people.

See also: Fred Hooks Up with Ronnie Reagan

My Ex-Boyfriend Hooks Up with the President's Son

Claremont, California, August 1988

My ex-boyfriend Fred has just moved to California to study at the Claremont School of Theology, about 40 miles east of West Hollywood, along with his boyfriend Matt, a twink who is very cute and very well hung, but crazy as a loon.  Alan, Thanh, Will the Bondage Boy, and two other guys whose names I don't remember descend upon them for a housewarming party.

We have Vietnamese spring rolls in rice paper,  bánh bao   (meat rolls), and lemongrass chicken, plus a fruit salad for dessert.

After dinner Matt becomes the "entertainment," stripping, gyrating on our laps, and going down on me and Alan before Fred angrily tells him to cool it.  Then we sit around telling stories about the biggest penises we've been with, dates from hell, and hookups with celebrities.

Everyone in West Hollywood had a good celebrity dating story or two.  Alan tells about Scott Baio.  Will the Bondage Boy tells about Keanu Reeves.  My real-life celebrity boyfriend isn't famous enough to wow anyone, so I tell about Michael J. Fox, with our innocent hug at lunchtime transformed into a wild night of sexual excess.

Fred sits silent.  No one really expects him to have a story -- where will he meet anyone, spending his life in the Midwest?  We're not judging him on his lack, we're trying to entice him with tales of the joys of living in West Hollywood.  Who knows, tomorrow he might run into Tom Cruise at the Gold Coast!

Then Matt tells us about how, as a freshman at Harvard, he spent the night with Bronson Pinchot, the androgynous star of Perfect Strangers (1986-1993).  He does the "don't be ridiculous!" Myposian accent perfectly, although Bronson Pinchot doesn't really talk that way.

Suddenly, in a weird accusatory tone, Fred says "Well, I can top that.  In fact, the first guy I ever topped was Ronnie Reagan Junior!"

The room becomes silent.  We all stare.

Everybody knows that the evil President Reagan, sworn enemy of gay people, tireless fighter against gay rights, has a gay son -- a tall, thin, svelte ballet dancer!  What an embarrassment to the blathering homophobe!  Three weeks after he was elected in 1980, Reagan forced Ronnie to closet himself with a sham marriage.

But no one in West Hollywood has ever claimed to have dated or hooked up with him.  Maybe because he doesn't live in Los Angeles, so you wouldn't run into him on the street.  Or because in order to mention Ronnie you'd have to mention his father, the most hated person in the gay world, sure to put a damper on any party.

Chicago, Summer 1979

Fred was 26 years old, a student at McCormick Theological Seminary preparing for his "internship" year at a church in Rock Island.  He had been with a few guys before, but only oral and 69.  He wanted to "go all the way," top someone, but  he was very well hung, and everyone balked at his size.

He needed to find an experienced guy, and what better place than a bathhouse?

Man's Country was packed that night, all ages from twink to geezer, all shapes from svelte to superchub.  Fred had a few guys go down on him, and kissed and fondled a few others, before he saw Ronnie sitting by himself in the sauna-- in his early 20s, tall and svelte, with a long handsome face, sleepy eyes, a tight, smooth chest, and an average sized penis.

They kissed and fondled, and then went to Ronnie's cubicle.  Ronnie went down on Fred and then Fred turned him over onto his stomach.

"Wait -- I've never done anal before," Ronnie said.

Fred was looking for someone experienced, but it would be impolite to leave now.  "Me, neither.  I'll try to take it easy."

Ronnie stood and knelt over the bed.  Fred spat on his penis and pushed it in slowly.  Ronnie groaned but didn't protest.  He began thrusting, slowly at first, then more vigorously, while fondling Ronnie's back and shoulders and penis. Soon Ronnie started working on himself.  They finished at almost the same moment, wiped off with a towel, and then collapsed onto the bed for a long kiss.

"Wow, that was great!" Ronnie exclaimed.  "I should have been doing this a long time ago!"

"It didn't hurt?"

"Not much.  You knew exactly what to do."

They exchanged telephone numbers, as one does, but didn't call, and a few weeks later, Fred moved to the Quad Cities for his ministerial internship. He met Boomer, his first real boyfriend, in December.

Fred didn't know who Ronnie was at the time.  The presidential campaign hadn't started yet, and he had barely heard of Ronald Reagan, the governor of California.  It wasn't until the following summer that he realized that he had topped Reagan's son.

"So," Thanh says, "Don't keep us waiting.  Show us the penis that the guys in Chicago couldn't take."

Fred unzips and takes it out.

"Very nice."

"Very nice?" Matt exclaims, as if he's personally offended. "Is that all?  The length, the shape, the...the circonférence? Merveilleux!  Like no other man!  You just have to see it aroused, to get the full effect.  I'll show you."  He kneels and starts going down on Fred.

Was Fred Telling the Truth?

Ron Reagan was indeed living in Chicago in 1979, but he never called himself "Ronnie," and he's heterosexual, although he doesn't mind the rumor: "It's not perjorative, it's simply incorrect."  He is a strong advocate of gay rights, including gay marriage.

And his marriage to Doria, which lasted until her death in 2014?   There was no pressure from his parents -- they didn't approve of her, and and didn't even know about the wedding until it was over.

I think Fred was feeling left out because he had no celebrity dating stories, and jealous that Matt was going down on us as the evening's "entertainment." Especially Alan the ex-porn star.  So he invented a story about a celebrity that he could have believably met  in the Midwest, and one that accentuated his size and sexual prowess.

See also: Topped for the First Time.