We Search for the World's Biggest Penis

Vittoria-Gasteiz. Spain, July 1999

The Basque language, spoken in northeastern Spain and southeastern France,  is not related to any other language on the face of the Earth.  It is the original language of the people who occupied the Iberian Peninsula, so old that some of its words come from the Stone Age:
Knife is labana, stone-that-cuts
Roof is teilatu, top-of-the-cave

I find that fascinating.  Who wouldn't find that fascinating?

My friend Yuri didn't.

Ok, how about this: the penises of Basque men are among the biggest in the world, topping the already-impressive 13.5 cm average of the rest of Spain.

The Basque word for man is gizon, which is similar to the phrase big penis (giz lun) in ancient Sumerian.  Coincidence?

Yuri was very interested in that! Last year he competed with me over Jaan the Estonian Mountain Climber solely because of his enormous proportions, and picked up Kalle, even though he looked like a serial killer.

So in the summer of 1999, when I was in Paris, he came to visit, and insisted that we take a side trip to Basque Country.

Um...the Basque Country is 8 hours from Paris by train! Couldn't we go to Amsterdam instead?  It's only 5 hours by train, and there's the Horsemen's Club, with a strict size requirement.  Or we could pop over to England and see the naked, aroused Rude Man of Cerne Abbas.

Ok, we'll go there, too, but first, Basque penises!

Any reasonable person would check to see if the ancient Sumerians were correct at a gay sauna, like Ego in Bilbao or Venconmen ("Come with men") in San Sebastian, but Yuri was a sports nut, and wanted to go to a bike race.

Basque Country is very rugged, with mountains and the seacoast, perfect for bicycling.  There are so many amateur races every year, it's almost the national sport.  We went to see the Euskaldun Tournament in Vittoria-Gasteiz.

I found it quite boring.  The cyclists all start with a flourish, and then you wait around for two hours for them to get back.

But the bulges made it worth the wait. The winne was 24-year old Ruben Oarbeaskoa (second from the right, later photo), from the Ollara-Ercoreca team.

He actually looked to be among the smaller of the team, but Yuri fell in love anyway, and said "I'm going to touch it!"

"How are you going to do that?"  I asked.  "Sneak up on him in the locker room?  There are reporters and fans everywhere."  The crowd was enormous.

"Russians are smart!  How do you say 'Writer for a sports magazine' in Spanish?"

I told him.  Wielding his camera, he began piecing his way through the crowd.  "Escritor para Sports Seminal!" he yelled, alternating with the Russian "Pisatel dl'ya Sportivnogo Zhurnale!

He made his way up toward Rubin. Eventually I couldn't see him anymore.  After awhile he came back, beaming.

"Basque men are the best in the world!" Yuri exclaimed.

Vittoria Gasteiz

"What happened?  Did you....?"

He grinned.  "I told Ruben I'm a writer, and I wanted to ask him some questions about the race.  He was surprised -- no Russian sports journals talked to him before.  So he reached out to shake hands.  And I fell....I show you."

He mimicked the motion of  reaching out, tripping, and "instinctively" steadying himself by grabbing at -- my crotch.

"Did he get mad?  Did he yell?"

"No, he laughed.  I said I'm sorry.  But boy, I'm not sorry!"  He put his arm around me  "Ok, so tomorrow we go to the gay sauna."

I think Yuri got the idea of the trip-and-grab from an episode of Seinfeld.

Who Topped Me in Barcelona: The Catalan Muscle Bear or the Chinese Twink?

This story is about my second experience as Greek passive (an anal bottom).  Can you guess who it was with?

Left: Guillem, a Catalan muscle bear in his 40s, with a Kielbasa beneath the belt.
Right; Ramon, a twink of Chinese ancestry, in his 20s, rather on the small side.

My first anal experience was with Fred, my first boyfriend, while in college.  And then rarely. if ever.  In West Hollywood, Greek was associated with people dying of AIDS, so even with a condom we rarely considered it.

Between 1985 and 1997, I was Greek passive for only 3 guys, and Greek active for 2.

Guillem or Ramon?  Read the whole story before trying to guess.

Barcelona, Summer 1994

Lane and I planned to spend only two days in Barcelona, but we ended up spending a week.  It turned out to be our favorite city in Spain, and probably in Europe.

Les Rambles, the pedestrian mall in the center of the old city
Sagrada Familia, the unfinished Gaudi church
The Picasso Museum
The best gym with day rates in Europe.

The Catalan language, obviously Romance yet pleasantly distinct from Spanish, French, and Italian.

Spanish: Quisiera tragar su salchicha
Catalan: Vull empassar la seva salsitxa

And Sauna Condal, three floors of saunas, steam rooms, mazes, dark rooms, and glory hole rooms.  We went twice, the second time on Bear Night, when it was crowded with tall, hairy-chested muscle bears, silver daddies, and Catalan chubbies.

Suddenly I saw an Asian guy sitting alone in the video room: in his 20s, short and slim, with a smooth chest, his penis covered with a towel. I guessed that he was of Chinese ancestry.

Wow!  I hadn't even seen an Asian guy since we arrived in Europe two weeks ago, except once at a Chinese restaurant in Madrid.  I figured he was a tourist from the U.S. or France, which had a larger Chinese population.  Or maybe even from China.

I knew all about cruising Asian guys, from many nights at Mugi in Hollywood.

I approached, sat next to him, and tried out my minimal Mandarin: "Ni hau bu hau?"


He glared at me and said something in Catalan that I didn't understand.  So he was a native Spaniard!

"Lo siento?"

He switched to a slow, careful Spanish.  "You were speaking Mandarin.  My grandparents speak Wu, not Mandarin.  They say Nung hau, not Ni hau, or better, Ve'tich va, which means 'have you eaten?"

A linguist!  Just my type!  "Me llama Boomer, de Toronto." [I always claimed to be Canadian while overseas to avoid getting yelled at.]

"Ramon," he said in a distracted voice, offering his hand to be shaken.

"Quisiera...."

Then he stood, crossed the room, and started working on the nipples of a muscle bear standing in the doorway.

Snubbed?  We'll see about that!  I walked over, knelt, and went down on the muscle bear's  curved Bratwurst, then gradually reached beneath Ramon's towel and fondled him- rather small, though very aroused.  I started working on both, as well as I could when one was three times as big as the other.

Soon the Muscle Bear knelt and motioned for us to change positions. I stood and kissed Ramon and fondled his butt, while the Muscle Bear worked on both of us.  It didn't take long for me to finish.  Then the Muscle Bear wordlessly left.

We looked at each other. That was a little abrupt -- Ramon was still hanging.

 "Have you eaten?" he asked with a grin, and pushed me down onto my knees again.

After he finished, we looked up Lane and Ramon's roommate Guillem, who had already been together earlier.

Guillem was a buffed, hairy muscle bear in his 40s, with a long face and a salt-and-pepper beard.  One of his hands was in a brace.

We went out for drinks at La Chapelle, a small gay bar crowded with religious artifacts about 8 blocks away.

Ramon told us that he knew only a few words of the Wu language, from his grandparents, who settled in Barcelona after the Communist Revolution of 1949.   His parents spoke only Catalan at home, and were not at all interested in their Chinese heritage.

Neither was Ramon.  He got annoyed when people assumed he spoke Chinese, or became interested in him only because they thought he was Asian.

Both he and Guillem belonged to the Catalan Independence movement, and tried to promote the Catalan language whenever they could, even pretending that they didn't speak Spanish.

"Did you know that only 40% of the people in Catalonia speak Catalan at home?" Guillem said.  "It is the native language of only 30%.  This is shameful!"

I turned to Ramon.  "You must stand out at Catalan advocacy meetings, being the only Chinese guy there."

Guillem glared at me.  "He is Catalan. Are you English or German, because your grandparents were from those places?

I could see who was the dominant partner in this relationship!  "Well...I like to claim my Potawatomie Indian heritage..."

It was now about 9:00, dinnertime in Barcelona.  Ramon and Guillem invited us back to their apartment on a very dark, narrow street in the old city, near a famous cafe,  Els Quatre Gats, where Picasso used to hang out.

We ducked inside for a look.

Dinner, served around 10:00, was trinxat, a sort of potato and cabbage quiche with fried eggs, a dark black sausage, and bread on the side, while a Spanish language version of Roseanne played in the background.

I guess it didn't come in Catalan.

After dinner we sat in the living room.  I hadn't been with Guillem yet, so I fondled his chest and kissed him.  Soon all four of us were naked.  I was going down on Guillem's rather thick Kielbasa, while Guillem and Lane were both working on Ramon.  I shrugged and grabbed Ramon and kissed him.

Then..

Have you guessed who I had my second Greek passive experience with?

Answer after the break

Third Wheel to a Muscle God

San Sebastian, Spain, Summer 1999

In gay neighborhoods, the custom of "sharing" one's boyfriend with friends and roommates applied only to guys in committed relationships.  It was practically unheard of  for you to be invited into your friend's bed during a hookup or first or second date, for obvious reasons:

The date might like you better. 
Or
He might not like you at all.

I learned that the hard way in 1999, when Yuri and I were visiting Basque Country, in search of the World's Biggest Penis.

After the Euskaldun Tournament in Vittoria-Gasteiz, where Yuri got "acquainted" with bicyclist Ruben Oarbeaskoa, we spent a weekend in San Sebastian, aka Donostia, the heart of Basque Country.

On Friday afternoon, after sightseeing, I wanted to go to the Donosti Libreria, a gigantic bookstore, to get some Basque books, but Yuri wanted to go to the gay beach. 

When we met up later, he exclaimed, "I met a hot Basque guy! His name is Garan.  Volosaty (hairy), big muscles, and a big package, too!  He invites us to have dinner with him tonight!"

"Are you sure he meant the two of us?" I asked.  "Remember last year in Estonia, when you met that Swedish guy who looked like a serial killer?"

"No, no, I tell him we are visiting Spain together.  He invited you, too. 10:00 pm."

So at 10:00 pm we arrived at the Bokado, a romantic restaurant with a beautiful view of the Bahia de la Concha.

My heart sank.  Was I really expected?

"Yuri!  Que tal?"  A gigantic, bearded bear with a massive chest and impressive biceps rushed across the foyer and enveloped Yuri in a bear hug.  He was so much bigger than Yuri that they looked like father and son.

Then he blinked and stared at me.  "Who is this?"  he asked in English.

Turns out I wasn't expected, but that may have just been the language barrier -- Garan didn't speak English well, and Yuri didn't speak Spanish or Basque.

But Garan was gracious about me tagging along on their date.  In fact, he gave me the embarrassing job of translating his Spanish, including compliments of Yuri's eyes and descriptions of his favored sexual positions.

After dinner Garan took us on a tour of Donostio by night.  I sat cramped in the tiny back seat of his car while he drove with one hand and fondled Yuri with the other.

Then he invited us back to his apartment on the Lizardi Kalea in Intxaurrondo.

"Thank you, but this is your date," I said.  "No me gusta andar como chaperon.  I would be a third wheel."

"Nonsense!" Garan exclaimed in Spanish.  "It is only hospitality.  Yuri's friend is my friend!"

So we went into his apartment, and I got to sit on the couch next to Garan and Yuri while they kissed.

A lot.

Occasionally Yuri would lean over and give me a "pity kiss."


Then we moved into the bedroom for more of the same.

Watching Garan and Yuri ripping off each other's clothes and exploring each other's tonsils wasn't fun.  It made me feel lonely and jealous.

When Yuri reached over and pulled me into the clinch,  Garan obligingly gave me a brief fondle.

Eventually he let me go down on his Kielbasa, which was enormous, #5 on my Sausage List.

But only as a courtesy.  He was too into Yuri to really notice that I was there.

He did put his massive bear arms around us both to fall asleep.

In the morning, I watched more rolling around and tonsil-swallowing.  Then Garan made coffee, put out some hard rolls, and asked "Who wants to go to Saturday Mass?"

Yuri opted to go for a run and then hang around the apartment, but I was anxious to hear a religious service in Basque.

Besides, if I could get Garan alone, I would feel less like a third wheel.

But it turned out to be a Spanish mass!

"Why do you want to hear a mass in Basque?" Garan asked  "It's only for old ladies.  It's what you speak when you go home to visit your mother!"

And he spent the entire morning talking about Yuri.  "He's so cute!  He's so hot!  You must convince him to stay in Europe longer -- I can come to Paris to visit you in a few weeks!"

On Sunday afternoon, when Garan took us to the train station for our trip back to Paris, he said "Call me when you return to Europe -- or if you want to move here and be my lover."

Later Yuri revealed that, for all of their passion, Garan wasn't really his type.  He was a little clingy, and his Kielbasa just wasn't big enough -- Yuri wanted Mortadella+!

See also: Yuri and the Unhung Hippie.