Alan's Gift from Beyond the Grave

Indianapolis, January 2005

In January 2005, when I was back in Indiana for the holidays, I got a phone call saying  Alan, my ex-boyfriend, roommate, and close friend for 20 years, had died of AIDS-related cancer.  The memorial service would be held in Norfolk.

I didn't go -- I was too busy, it was too far away, I already had a flight reservation back to Fort Lauderdale, etc., etc.  But the truth is, I didn't want to think about Alan being gone.  I wanted to him to be in West Hollywood, cruising at Mugi, holding court at the French Quarter,  working out at the Holiday Spa, reliving those magic moments, unchanged, eternal.

About two weeks after the memorial service, I got an email from Tarik, Alan and Sandy's boy toy in the 1990s: "Can you come to Ocrakoke?  Alan left you something that you have to come here to pick up."

"What is it?" I responded.  "Can you just ship it to me."

"His instructions were that you have to come here to pick it up -- actually Norfolk, but since I live in Ocracoke now, I'll keep it for you here."

I had never heard of Ocracoke, so I rushed to look it up.  It's an island in the Outer Banks of  North Carolina: very isolated, accessible only by boat.  Permanent population 900, but a lot of tourists in the summer.  Nothing to do but swim, fish, look at wild horses, visit an iconic lighthouse, and go to a weird pirate museum (Blackbeard died there.)  Restaurants called the Back Porch Lunchbox and the Sweet Tooth Deli.  No gay bars, no gay organizations, 99% white.   Not the sort of place that a gay black urban guy would choose.

What was Tarik doing in Ocracoke?

I emailed him back.  "Can you tell me what the gift is?  Or give me a hint?  And what the heck are you doing in Ocracoke?"

"I got a job here.  So, Alan asked me to pass out the four gifts that he left to his old friends.  They all have to come to Ocracoke to get them.  I can't tell you what it is, but I can tell you that Alan picked it out especially for you."

The gift was probably a souvenir of West Hollywood, like a glass from Mugi or a menu from the French Quarter -- something nice, but not worth crossing the country for.  Still, I said that I would come during the summer.

"Great!  Come during Memorial Day Weekend.  Some of the other guys are coming then, too.  It will be a nonstop party!"

Ocracoke, May 2005

From Fort Lauderdale I flew to Norfolk, where I rented a car and drove 4 hours to Hatteras.  I barely made the last ferry, and arrived at Ocracoke at 1:00 am Saturday morning.

Tarik met me at the ferry terminal. He was in his early 40s, but still black-haired and buffed, with square workman's hands and a couple of new gold earrings. We hugged.

As we left the ferry station, he waved at people he knew.  "I'm one of like three black guys on the island, so everybody knows me.  It's like being a celebrity."

He drove m to a house on Back Street Road, around the corner from a coffee shop ("mostly gay") and a place called the Flying Melon ("gay-friendly").

"Sounds like quite a gay presence for a tiny speck of land in the Atlantic."

"It's a small community, mostly lesbians -- I know two other gay couples and about six single guys --but it gets much bigger in the summer.  You picked a good time to visit -- Memorial Day Weekend is nonstop cruising."

It was a big, airy house with hardwood floors, a piano in the front room, a patio out back.  Two dogs padded up to say hello.

There was a naked guy asleep on the sofa.

"We have a full house this weekend -- you know what it's like to live in a resort town!  But don't worry, you get your own room.  Um...my boyfriend is already asleep, so no sharing tonight -- but definitely tomorrow, ok?"

"Sure," I said, grabbing his butt.

The master bedroom was downstairs ("The owner of the house, and whatever Cute Young Thing he's convinced to come out from the mainland") and four bedrooms upstairs: "our room, the third roommate's room, guest room,, occupied, guest room for you,"  plus a finished attic, occupied ("I figured you wouldn't want to deal with the horny gay ghost").

He pointed out the bathroom, said "Breakfast is at 8:00," and left me alone.

The room was very dark, with heavy drapes and no night light.  When I turned off the lamp, I couldn't see anything at all.  Spooky!

A couple of hours later, I was awakened by a hand caressing my chest.  The gay ghost?  I thought -- no -- this guy was corporeal, with thick arms, a smooth hard chest, and a thick 7" cock.  Tarik was much bigger -- he must be one of the housemates or guests.

In a house occupied by four gay men and their boyfriends and hookup, it's not unusual for someone to get up in the middle of the night and end up in the wrong bed, accidentally or on purpose. I started kissing and fondling my unexpected guest, and soon I was going down on him.

"Yeah...like that..." he whispered.  "Do that...oh, I'm going to come..."

Afterwards I lay on top of him to do interfemoral.  "Wait -- I brought some lube."

When I finished, we lay in each other's arms.  Even with my eyes adjusted to the dark, I couldn't make out his face.  I went to turn on the lamp, but he said "Well, I should go wash off" and left.  I saw the outline of his naked backside as he opened and shut the door.

He never came back...apparently this was a secret mission.

I figured that in the morning I could figure out the identity of my mysterious visitor by process of elimination.

I awoke to the smell of coffee brewing, and the sound of laughter and clattering plates.  Downstairs, the owner's twink boyfriend, naked except for an apron, was making pancakes.  Other guys drifted out to the deck, where there were scrambled eggs, sausages, muffins, and pitchers of orange and tomato juice.  The owner, a burly bear; Tarik and his boyfriend; the asleep on the couch guy; Sandy from Norfolk and his date...and a buffed Asian guy wearing only red jockey shorts.

"It was...you?" I asked tentatively.

"Good morning," he said with a smile, and scooted over so I could sit next to him on the bench.  Jonathan Peng Lee, originally from Hong Kong, now a grad student in engineering at UNC Chapel Hill.

When the flurry of eating and gossip died down, Tarik clicked on a glass to get our attention.

"As some of you know, we invited Boomer, Sandy, and Mark here today to pick up the gifts that our friend Alan bequeathed them.  We'll start with Boomer.  Here's Alan himself to give the introduction."

He brought out his laptop and pushed a button, and suddenly I heard Alan!

"Greetings from the spirit world, Booooomer...." he said in a spooky voice.  "I have to get to my date with River Phoenix and Brandon Lee, so I'll make this brief.  One of my favorite memories of our time together is when we were sharing that tiny apartment in Japan, and I brought home a trick, who kept jumping into your bed.  Well, I recreated that experience for you.  I got a Japanese boy to sneak into your bed -- but don't freak out if there's another dick down your throat.  I just may pop in to share.   Enjoy!"

Everyone applauded.

"We couldn't find a Japanese guy," Tarik said,  "But I hope Jonathan is close enough."

"Sure, he's great."  I turned to Jonathan, who had his arm around my shoulders.  "Um...so you're a hustler?"

He grinned.  "It pays my tuition.  They hired me for the whole weekend, so anytime you want another session, just ask."

I reached down and fondled his crotch.  He immediately sprang to life.  "Pencil me in for this afternoon."

See also:  Jon Takes Me to the Scariest Place on Earth;  Ocracoke:Gay Ghosts, Pirates, and Beach Boys

The Gay Ghost of Ocracoke

Ocracoke, a community of 900on the Outer Banks of North Caroline, is so isolated that it has its own dialect,  the Ocracoke Brogue, with terms and usages leftover from Shakespeare's day.

buck: friend
mommick: to make a mess of
offshore: crazy
quamish: queasy
scud: a short trip

And it is full of ghosts.

Springer's Point, where Blackbeard the Pirate was beheaded, is haunted by a burly man with matted hair and red glowing eyes, who chases trespassers with an axe before disappearing.

The British Cemetery features a lady in Victorian costume who tells visitors that she lost her way en route to a party.

After closing, the employees at Gaffer's Bar often see an elderly man sitting at a booth by himself.  When they approach, he vanishes.

But the most unusual ghost lurks in Tarik's attic.

When Martin and his then-lover Paul bought the house in 1990, they expected the usual haunted house noises: footsteps, slamming doors, mysterious voices.  Maybe some things moved around.  But they didn't expect a horny ghost, a sex-crazed demon, or whatever it was.

The attic was once used as a library -- there were about a dozen thick, heavy bookshelves which absorbed all of the light and made the sloping rafters look forlorn and abandoned. They planned to use it as an overflow bedroom, so they put a in a futon, a nightstand, a lamp, and a couple of chairs.
One weekend a few weeks after they moved in, there were 7 guys in the house, so they put up their old friend Josh in the attic bedroom.

He came downstairs the next morning and said "I don't know which of you did it, but thanks.  That was the best blow job of my life!"

Everyone denied climbing up to the attic to give Josh a blow job.

"I actually didn't get a good look -- it was too dark.  Now that I think about it, I never even opened my eyes.  I didn't reach down to touch the guy's head or shoulders, either."

"How do you get a blow job without touching the guy?" Martin asked.

He shrugged.  "It just never occurred to me.  So, come on, 'fess up, guys -- which of you is the culprit, and can you come back tonight?"

Josh eagerly waited for his mysterious visitor the next night, but nothing happened.

The second guy to encounter the ghost or incubus, Michael, was not so pleased. After a long trip from the mainland, he went right up to bed.

He was lying on his back with his eyes closed, having a sexual fantasy, starting to masturbate, when suddenly he was frozen in place.  He couldn't even open his eyes.  It was like being paralyzed!

Then someone went down on him.  He couldn't feel a body, just the mouth bobbing up and down on his cock, the tongue licking his head, the suction of a demonic throat.

He didn't even like oral -- he got too sensitive -- and this was torture!  It seemed to last for hours.

Finally Michael had a painful orgasm.

He looked up to see a dark male figure, naked, vanishing into a bookcase!

He bolted downstairs, and slept on the couch for the rest of his visit.

Martin and Paul avoided placing guests in the attic room after that.

Martin tried to research the house, to see who the horny gay ghost might be.  Someone with unfinished business, who died without acknowledging that he was gay, or without having a sexual experience.

The house was built in 1906 as a summer home for a Dr. Carroll, a physician from Raleigh. One day in 1910, the village constable broke up a party there with "only men present."  Probably a gay party.

Dr. Carroll died in 1941 -- but not in the house.  And if he had been having sex parties for 30 years, it's unlikely that he died with unfinished business.

Next Dr. Carroll's married daughter took possession, but she and her husband lived in Norfolk, and rarely stayed in the house.  There was a series of summer tenants.

In the 1960s a psychic name Sandor bought the house, and saw hippie clients in the attic library, which at that time had its own private entrance.  He wasn't married -- gay?  He died in 1990 -- but in a hospital on the mainland, not in the house.  Could he be the horny ghost?

The only other possibility was a hippie who was staying in town for the summer in 1971.  He may have known Sandor, or he may have been a stranger -- the newspaper article was unclear.  One night, high on LSD, he was attracted by something in the attic window, and tried to climb up the wall instead of going up the stairs.  He lost his footing, fell, and broke his neck.

Whoever or whatever was giving nonconsensual blow jobs in the attic room, Martin and Paul thought it best to keep him under wraps.

They broke up in 1998.  Martin could no longer afford two mortgages, so he sold his house in Chapel Hill and moved to Ocracoke permanently.  To help with the loneliness, he got two roommates, both gay men, of course.  One of the roommates eventually got a boyfriend, Tarik.  Now there were four gay men in the house, with boyfriends and dates staying over, and mainland friends visiting all the time, and often there was no choice but the attic or a sleeping bag on the floor.

Martin and his roommates always warned the guys about the gay ghost.  Sometimes they hoped to get a ghostly blow job, but nothing happened.  Sometimes they laughed off the warning, only to run down the stairs ashen-faced with horror.

They tried sending couples up to the attic, but one of them got a blow job while the other slept, oblivious.

As the legend grew, gay men volunteered to be ghost busters from as far away as West Hollywood.

The neighbors started talking -- they were already famous as "the gay house," and now "the house with the gay ghost."

You don't need notoriety in a small town.

Then one weekend Tarik invited his Norfolk friend, Bammy, for a visit.  They called Bammy "Monster" because he was hung -- way hung.  8" long, thicker than a beer can -- and that was soft.  When aroused, he was 11" long, with a head as big as a baseball.

He was an oral and anal bottom, but not by choice.  No one had been able to give him a blow job  since he was 16 -- the most they could do was lick the shaft. Lots of guys wanted him to plow their butt, but he didn't get hard enough to enter -- his arousal was more like a spongy tumescence.

"Let me at this so-called ghost," Monster said.  "If he can take it, he's welcome to it."

So he spent the night in the attic room, naked, lying on his back, with the covers down, inviting.

Nothing happened.

About 2:00 am, Monster grew tired of waiting, and started to masturbate.  He displayed his aroused cock.

Nothing happened.

Finally he dozed off, and turned over onto his stomach.

Monster awoke to the feel of an erect penis pushing against him.  Figuring that Tarik had come up during the night, he lifted his head and opened his mouth.  The cock pushed up against his throat.  Average size, very hard, uncut, not cold or anything, just like a regular cock.

He bobbed up and down on it, feeling the pubic hair against his face.  reaching up to grab two butt cheeks.  He saw nothing but a dark form.   Still thinking that it was Tarik.

The spurt came a few minutes later, a huge mouthful.  Bammy swallowed, and the dark form moved away.

"Thanks, man," Monster whispered. "Always happy to take your load."

Then the dark form moved off the bed.  Monster watched as it moved toward the bookcases -- and vanished!

With a shout he ran downstairs to Tarik's room, and jumped into the bed like a little boy afraid of the dark.

"That darn crazy ghost!  He couldn't go down on me, so he made me go down on him!"

That was the last anyone saw -- or felt -- of the horny gay ghost of Ocracoke.

A Live Sex Show for Alan

Washington, DC, April 1995

I had a lot of fun visiting Alan the Pentecostal Porn Star, his partner Sandy, and their friend Tarik in Norfolk in 1993, so I couldn't wait to return.

By April 1995, they had moved back to Sandy's home town of  Washington, DC.

Even better!  Dupont Circle, one the best and brightest gay neighborhoods in the world!

Sunday, April 9th.

I arrived on Sunday, April 9th, planning to spend a week and go home the day after Easter.  Sandy met me at the airport, explaining that Alan couldn't come -- he was "a little low energy."

I nodded.  Alan became HIV positive in 1992.  The virus must be catching up with him.

Their apartment was even cooler than I thought -- on R Street at Connecticut in Dupont Circle, within a few blocks of a dozen gay bars, bookstores, retail outlets, and organizations (plus the Embassy of Sierra Leone).


Alan didn't get off the couch to greet me.  He was a little thinner, a little tired-looking, but still warm and jovial.

The living room was bare -- no artwork on the walls, no objects d'art on the coffee table, no rugs, just plain furniture.

"We've been taking our time unpacking" Sandy explained.  "We don't typically spend a lot of time at home, what with my job and Alan's appointments."

As in medical appointments? 

We sat down to a dinner of goat cheese-and-turkey divan, a salad, and fresh strawberries..  Alan just picked at his.

"So what's the plan?" I asked.  "Since you're a DC native, Sandy, you can probably give me the insider tour."

"Sure, but I'm working until Saturday," Sandy said.  "But don't worry, you can walk to all the tourist places in about fifteen minutes."

I didn't ask whether Alan could come -- obviously not.  Shortly after dinner, he excused himself and went to bed, leaving Sandy and me watching tv.

This was turning out to be a depressing visit.  Was there some way to turn things around?  "Do you mind if I go out cruising some night, and bring someone home?"

"Not at all," Sandy said with a smile.  "In fact, we might even watch.  Alan has been so down lately, it might cheer him up."

That's it! I thought.  I'll bring a guy home and give Alan a live show.

Monday, April 10th

Alan was particularly into twinks, especially Asian and Hispanic. Maybe I could bring in two, and they could go with each other while we watched.

I spent Monday touring the White House and the Smithsonian, then stopped at the Crew Club to work out and cruise.  I went down on a couple of guys, but nothing serious.

I met Alan and Sandy for dinner, then excused myself and went alone to the Cobalt, the biggest twink dance club in town.  But I was 34 years old, not yet a twink magnet, and after getting extensive Attitude, I went home.  No live show for Alan!

Tuesday, April 11th

The National Gallery, the Capitol, and then to the Crew Club to work out and cruise.  I met a very cute Capitol intern named David: round face, sharp features, smooth hard chest, average beneath the belt.  A political science major from Boston University.

But after we finished, in the 69 position, he refused my idea of going home to give Alan a live show.  "I'm too shy to do it in front of other people,"

Back home, Sandy made dinner -- cheese enchiladas with mango salsa -- and we stayed in to watch tv: Wings, News Radio, Frasier.

No live show for Alan.

Wednesday, April 12th

Early morning jogging past the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial, then breakfast, the Ford Theater, the Freer Gallery of Asian art -- where I didn't meet anyone -- and back to the Crew Club.  I went down on a couple of guys, including a tall, thin British twink named Bertram, but nothing serious.

Alan, Sandy, and I had dinner at the Great Wall, a Szechuan restaurant, and then walked around Dupont Circle for a bit, but Alan quickly got tired, and wanted to go home.

 Later I went to the Ace Club, where guys dance in jock straps in front of you.  Mostly hard-bitten musclemen, but there was one Asian twink!   I kept shoving dollars in his jockstrap to keep him chatting:  Hiroki from Japan, mid-twenties, day job as a waiter, hoping to go into restaurant management.

I told him about my live show idea.  "I do private parties, sure," he said.  "Costs $200. No sex, just dancing.  He bent over and hugged and kissed me.  "But if I like you, I spend the night for free," he whispered.

A little pricey, but why not?  I arranged for Hiroki to arrive tomorrow night, a little after dinner.

Thursday, April 13th.

Jogging, then Georgetown University to check out their linguistics department, then the National Cathedral, the Freer Gallery again, and home for dinner.

I was overbrimming with excitement -- Alan's surprise live show would start any moment.

The doorbell rang while Sandy was still cooking dinner.  Hiroki was early!  "Don't get up -- it's for me!" I exclaimed, and rushed to buzz him in.

A knock on the door.  I opened it.

To Tarik, the guy Alan and Sandy set me up with in Norfolk two years ago!  He hugged me.

"Alan said you were feeling a little lonely, so I pulled some strings and drove up for the weekend.  And I brought you a present," he said to Alan.  "He's out looking for a parking space.  Straight from Honolulu, Hawaii, by way of the Norfolk Naval Base, Ensign Mark Kimura!"

Turns out Tarik and I both had the same idea.

Hiroki, Tarik and Ensign Mark Kimura put on quite an energetic live show that night.

See also: I Visit Alan, Sandy, and Their Boy Toy

"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