Showing posts with label Tarzan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tarzan. Show all posts

Saturday, July 30, 2022

"On Your Knees, Boy": Johnny Sheffield Almost Becomes Tarzan's Lover

Born in 1931, son of stage star Reginald Sheffield and socialite Louise Van Loon, Johnny Sheffield was already a star at age five, playing "Pud" in the Broadway play On Borrowed Time.

In 1938, MGM movie Tarzan Johnny Weissmuller picked him out of 300 hopefuls to play his adopted son, Tarzan Jr., renamed Boy, in Tarzan Finds a Son!  He kept the role going for eight movies at MGM and RKO.

As the years passed, Boy co-opted Jane's role as Damsel in Distress: in the climactic scene of every movie, he was tied to something and about to be killed or violated while Tarzan rushed to the rescue.  Tarzan and Boy became the chief jungle couple, while Jane took to staying home in the Escarpment, or leaving altogether ("visiting America").

Big John and Little John were inseparable off-camera, too.  Weissmuller was married to Beryl Scott at the time and having innumerable affairs with men and women, but it was Johnny Sheffield who appeared with him at the Brown Derby and the Trocadero, at movie premieres, on drives up the coast to Malibu.  When Johnny was fifteen, Weissmuller bought them a house on the beach near Santa Barbara, where they could get away for weekends of swimming, fishing, and sunbathing, just the two of them.

In the 1940s, no tongues wagged about the "couple."  Many people were not aware that LGBT people  existed, and those who did thought only of swishy queens. Johnny Weissmuller was 6'4" and all muscle, a "real he-man."  No way he could be a "swish."

And, in fact, there was nothing sexual going on:  Weissmuller never touched Johnny in that way. 

Even as a teenager, when he developed a beautifully muscled physique and a dazzling matinee idol smile.

Even when the Tarzan series ended and they separated, Big John to play Jungle Jim (1948-1955) and Johnny to star in his own Bomba the Jungle Boy series (1949-1955), Big John still treated him as a little brother, a son.

Johnny found this odd -- since around his 15th birthday, every single person he met, man or woman, boy or girl, without exception, wanted to peek under his loincloth.  And he gave quite a few of them the opportunity: Tommy Cook, his costar in Tarzan and the Leopard Woman; Peggy Ann Garner, his costar in Bomba the Jungle Boy; Cesar Romero, Bobby Driscoll, Jean Simmons.  Why was Weissmuller immune to his trademark flirting?

He was especially interested because he had heard from several of Big John's former lovers that he was gifted with the biggest cock in Hollywood, a veritable third leg.  Johnny was always a bit self-conscious about his size (barely 5"), and anxious to see what the cock of a Greek god looked like.

One day in the summer of 1953, they went swimming, and Big John, as usual, carefully turned his back to put on his swimsuit.  Johnny had had enough. "Why don't you ever show me your manhood?"  he asked.  "You'll show any stranger on the street.  You're more proud of it than your Olympic medals.  Aren't I important enough to rate?"

Big John turned around, startled.  "Of course you are," he said.  "But you know, it's not just a look.  When I show them, they always want to touch it, and then they want me to go to bed with them, and I don't want you to end up in my bed.  You're my son, my Boy, not some random fairy."

Johnny chuckled.  "I promise I won't go to bed with you.  Lord knows I get enough offers as it is."

Big John still refused, but Johnny persisted, and cajoled, and flashed his trademark flirting smile, and finally he said "You're a little pain in the neck, you know that?  One look, fine, but no touching"

They went back to the house, to the master bedroom, and Big John dropped his swimsuit. Johnny stared: his penis hung down about 4", long and thick even when dripping wet from the ocean. His balls hung down even farther.  Johnny always thought that the key to a man's erotic power was in the size of his balls, not his dick.

Johnny couldn't help himself -- he reached out and lightly cupped Big John's balls.  His own penis started to stir.

Big John had a weird expression on his face, stern like a schoolmaster facing a class of dullards.  "On your knees, Boy!" he commanded.

Johnny didn't know if he meant "Boy" the character, but he obediently dropped to his knees and put his hands around the hardening cock. Now it was at least 9"!

"No, Boy, with your mouth."

Johnny had gotten head a lot, but he had never given head.  That was just for women  -- and queers, like Cesar Romero, right?  But this was Big John asking -- no, commanding!

He opened his mouth as wide as he could, and Big John's cock became hard as an iron rod, thrusting past his tongue, hitting the back of his throat. Johnny gagged and spit, grabbed Big John's butt cheeks to steady himself, and prepared for the onslaught.

Johnny was too busy trying to do a good job to find it erotic.  What was he supposed to do with his teeth?   Was he supposed to use his neck and jaw, or wait for Big John to enter him?  What would he do with the sperm?

And suddenly the thought hit him with the force of a gigantic penis.  Would he and Big John now be...um...boyfriends?  A pair of queer lovers?  Would Big John leave his wife?  How could either of them continue their careers as queers?  Billy Haines had to retire...and...

Suddenly Big John spurted down his throat.   Johnny ran to the bathroom to spit it out and wash out his mouth.

They didn't become lovers.  In fact, Weissmuller was rather cool and distant for the rest of the day.  They didn't see each other again until his son's birthday party, nearly a month later, and after that only rarely.

Whatever bond they had was broken.

The next time someone asked for a peek beneath Johnny's loincloth, he told them in no uncertain terms to back off.

Johnny retired from acting in 1955, got a degree in business from UCLA, and spent his life in farming and real estate.   He lost contact with most of his old Hollywood friends.  Johnny Weissmuller, Maureen O'Sullivan, Ford Beebe, and Tommy Cook got Christmas cards.  Trying his best to put those days behind him, Johnny refused requests for interviews and autographs.

As the years and decades passed, requests grew fewer, fans grew older, John himself grew older.

He concentrated on his home in Chula Vista (a suburb of San Diego), on his wife Patricia, on his children -- he helped his  sons Patrick and Stewart start a successful construction company -- on his grandchildren.  No one recognized him anymore.

On the rare occasions that he saw an old photograph or clip from one of his movies, Boy and Bomba seemed like other people, with no connection at all to John Sheffield of Chula Vista, California.

He never told anyone about that afternoon at the house in Santa Barbara when he and Weissmuller almost became lovers, until one day in July 1989 when his 23-year old son -- the quiet, bookish one, the one who didn't like sports and was shy around girls -- came to him and said "Dad, I've got something to tell you...."



See also: Cesar's Three-Way with Desi Arnaz Jr. and Dean Paul Martin; Tarzan's Boy Johnny Sheffield; Matt Hooks Up withTarzan's Grandson.

Monday, December 7, 2020

The Football Star's Date with Tarzan

Rock Island, June 1972

One day in the summer of 1971, when I was ten years old,  my boyfriend Bill and I were out riding bikes near Longview Park, when we came to a big house "on the register of historic places."  There was an old guy in the back yard, sitting in a lawn chair reading a newspaper.

He had his shirt off!

He was very muscular, with a thick hairy chest, big shoulders, hairy flat abs, and square hands.  Balding on top.  A round open face.

"Hey, I know that guy from church!" Bill exclaimed.  [He was a heathen Presbyterian]  "Hi, Mr. Franck!"

Frank -- like my Dad?

He looked up.  "Hi, Bill.  Who's your buddy?"

We went into the back yard through a little gate, and Mr. Franck stood up and shook both our hands -- not many adults did that!  He told us to call him Sonny -- everybody did, even kids.  He was a teacher at Rocky High, so he would see us both in his biology class in a few years.

After that, the promise of beefcake brought us past Sonny's house quite often.  He was often in his back yard in mid-afternoon, giving us just enough time to gawk at his muscles and get home in time to watch Captain Ernie's Cartoon Showboat.

During the school year, we went on Saturday afternoons.  Sometimes he wasn't there, of course, but often he was, sometimes in back yard, sometimes on the front porch, often with his shirt off, even in October.  He always waved, and talked to us when we stopped.

Once he invited us in for lemonade.  There were pictures of cute, muscular guys all over his parlor.  Sonny must like men with muscles, too!

"Is this your friend?"  I asked, pointing to a teenage bodybuilder lifting an enormous barbell.

"It's me, when I was about your age.  Sports were sort of my bag, back then.  You boys like football?"

"Sure!"  We actually hated football, but it seemed polite to say we liked it.

 Sonny told us that he was an All-American wingback at the University of Minnesota, and then he was a halfback for the New York Giants.

"They're good," Bill offered.  "I like...um...."

"Randy Johnson?"

"Right, him."

Having to hear about football was almost a deal-breaker, but beefcake was hard to find in Rock Island, so we continued to visit Sonny.   We could see his hairy chest, and maybe someday we would even get a glimpse of his shame (his beneath the belt gifts).

No sausage sighting, but the next summer, when I was 11 years old, we biked past Sonny's house, and he was sitting in the back yard, drinking lemonade with Tarzan!












Jock Mahoney, who starred in three movies that we saw on Tarzan Theater on Saturdays: Tarzan the Magnificent (1960), Tarzan Goes to India (1962), and Tarzan's Three Challenges (1963).

Not my favorite Tarzan: too scrawny, with stupid slicked-back hair.  But he had a kid sidekick, a Indian boy named Jai, which allowed for all sorts of role-playing fantasies: "Let's pretend that you're Jai, and the cannibals have tied you up, and Tarzan has to rescue you."

We biked up.  'Wow, Sonny, I didn't know you knew Tarzan!" I exclaimed.

"Come in and sit down, boys," Sonny said.  "I'd like to introduce you to my old friend, Jock Mahoney."

We shook hands.  Tarzan had a strong, pleasant grip.

"How do you know each other?" I asked.  "Did you live in Hollywood?"

"We go way back, long before Hollywood," Sonny said.  "Jocko and I went to Davenport High School together."

A famous actor grew up in Davenport, right across the Mississippi!

"Sonny was two years older than me," Jocko said.  "And a  Golden Boy, a track star, a football star.  Way out of my league, But I eventually won him over."  He leaned in close.  "Always remember this, Boomer: the key is, be persistent.  Show up where he is.  Pretend to be interested in the things he's interested in.  Eventually he'll see the light."

Wait -- this wasn't how friends talked.  Were Jocko and Mr. Franck boyfriends?

"Wrong, as usual!" Sonny exclaimed.  "I noticed you right away.  Why do you think I joined the Glee Club -- because you were in it!"  He turned to us.  "Imagine me, trying to hold a tune!  I may have been older, and an athlete, but Jocko was taller, and bigger.  A lot bigger."

They looked at each other, paused for a moment, and laughed.

At the time I didn't know what he meant.  Now I do.

"Remember the night of the Harvest Dance?" Jock asked.  "We both had dates, but we dropped them off early so we could go down to the Mississippi and..."

"That's a lie!" Sonny exclaimed, but he was smiling.  "Sheer rumor-mongering!  Nobody can prove it happened."

At the time I didn't know what he meant.  Now I do.

"What about after high school, when you grew up?" Bill asked.  "Did you live together?  Boomer and I want to live together in a house."

"Sonny was recruited to play football for the Golden Gophers, in Minnesota" Jock said.  "I went to the University of Iowa,  Then during the War we both joined the Marines, but we weren't in the same unit.  Then I moved to Los Angeles to become a stuntman and actor, and Sonny played for the Giants and later became a teacher."

"Life takes you in different directions, and you can't always be with the people you care about," Sonny added. "But that doesn't mean you lose them.  You can keep in touch, write letters, visit.  And you always have memories."

"Like that night when your folks were out of town..." Jock began, "And I brought over a bottle of tequila..."

"Lies!  All lies!"  Sonny exclaimed.  "Defamation of character, that's what it is!"  And they both laughed.

Were Mr. Franck and Jock Mahoney Boyfriends?

George "Sonny" Franck (1918-2011) was married for 57 years, although I don't remember a wife being present when we visited.  He had four daughters.  

Jock Mahoney (1919-1989) was married three times, and had three children and four stepchildren.  One of his stepdaughters is actress Sally Field, whose son Sam is gay.

See also: Zack Hooks Up with the Prince of Sweden; My Third Grade Boyfriend


Saturday, August 11, 2018

Kalabro: The Art of Action Hero BDSM



How many times did you get tired of Tarzan or Conan fighting off 100 guys?  Surely they should lose a fight once in a while, especially against those odds.

Or when they were captured, they were tied up with flimsy ropes and...nothing, just standing there.  They have just foiled your diabolical plan -- wouldn't any self-respecting villain want to rough them up a bit?










Fortunately, we have Kalabro, an artist who specializes in action heroes with enormous penises losing a fight.























Or captured -- and not just standing there.











Their assailant is usually a gigantic monster (with an enormous penis)  in a heroic fantasy setting, but occasionally there are paranormal or science fiction themes.

Kalabro explains:  "I've been fascinated with muscles, men, and sword and fantasy along with bondage and S&M for...well, a very long time. I always wanted to see...more...happen to Tarzan or Conan if they got caught by "bad guys."

















He has ongoing characters, Anak, Omari, Shane, and the Jungle Boy, all extremely muscular, extremely well hung, and naked.



















There are no ongoing plots, just situations: the hero is fighting a rock monster, attached to a milking machine, about to be eaten by a giant spider.


















There's lots of CBT, but not much sex, and only as part of the assault. 


You're not here for the sex, you're here to see the heroes getting pummeled, punched, hoisted, tied to trees, and attacked by monsters.











Kalabro's work is not exactly erotic, but it's certainly a lot of fun.


See also: Why is Bomba the Jungle Boy Always Tied Up?

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