Yuri Hooks Up at a Russian Orthodox Seminary

East Village, February 1999

Wednesday

"I don't visit you in Manhattan next weekend," Yuri said.  "I must go to Russian Orthodox seminary Upstate."

"A seminary?  Whatever for?"

"There is a weekend for sveštenik kandidata, guys who want to be priests."

"What?" I repeated, shocked.  "You want to be a priest?"  He had been out for less than two years.  Had he succumbed to religious fundamentalism? Was he trying to turn "ex-gay"?

"No, of course I don't really want to be a priest." Yuri said.  "It is to keep...closet.  So I don't tell them I am gay, and I can still go to services."

When I met Yuri, I never expected him to be religious.  He grew up in the Soviet Union, where religious belief was discouraged.  He grew up gay in the Russian Orthodox Church, one of the most brutally homophobic denominations in Christianity.  Plus he was a logical, empirical scientist.

But when he was a kid in Volgograd, his grandparents took him to Mass nearly every week.  He loved the candles, the incense, the droning liturgy in Old Slavonic, and especially the icons, visual images of the Saints, reaching out to him in friendship and love.

They were fully clothed, not as homoerotic as many artistic depictions of saints in Roman Catholicism, but still, they were an alternative to the "girls! girls! girls!" drone he heard everywhere else.

 When he went to graduate school in America, all the way across the ocean, thousands of miles from what he knew, he looked back with nostalgia on those hours in church.  Going to church was an anchor, a memory of home.

The only problem:  you absolutely, positively had to be closeted in the Russian Orthodox Church. If anyone found out, you would be kicked out the door -- after the screaming.

In Manhattan it was easy. Whenever he visited me for the weekend, he took the subway to the St. Nicholas Cathedral on 97th Street, where he could be anonymous, lost amid the milling crowds.

On Long Island, it was harder.  In a tiny congregation Yuri couldn't be anonymous.  Teenage girls flirted with him.  Middle-aged ladies tried to fix him up with their daughters.  Every guy he tried to cruise asked him to evaluate girls.  There were constant questions: "Are you married?" "Are you seeing anyone?"  "Why not?"

How else could he signal that he was not interested?

Then the idea came: he could say that he wanted to become a priest!

"Sorry, I am considering a priestly vocation.  I can't date."

That stopped the fix-ups altogether, and the other guys stopped asking him to rate girls.

Unfortunately, word got around to the parish priest, who started giving him smiles and gifts and hand-on-shoulder talks. and told him about a weekend for postulants (men thinking of the priesthood) at a seminary nearby.  And even offered him a ride up with two of the other pre-seminary boys.

There was no getting out of it -- Yuri was going to go on a postulant weekend.

"It might be fun," I said.  "I remember back when I was a Nazarene, they dragged us to pre-college weekends at Olivet.  Since everyone assumed that no Christian could be gay, I could cruise openly.  And I got some nice bulge sightings."

Friday

It was a four-hour drive to the seminary.  They arrived in time for a communal dinner, students and monks together, in the Refectory.  Then a service called the Compline, and into their dormitory for "study and contemplation."

The dormitory rooms were huge, twelve seminarians on narrow beds with desks between them, with a little tv lounge and a bathroom and shower room off to the side.

They walked naked to the shower. There was a lot of towel-snapping, butt grabbing, and leering, but no fondling.

Lights out at 10:00 pm, and the dorm room got quiet.

Then the stirring began.  After awhile, a guy stood and walked across the cold stone floor, presumably to the bathroom.

But he hadn't turned the light on, and there was no water was running.

Yuri got up and followed.  The seminarian was in one of the toilet stalls, with the door open.

His Bratwurst+ fully aroused, waiting.

Yuri followed him in, closed the door, knelt, and went down on him.

He finished quickly without a word or even a moan.  Then they both stood and returned to their beds.

Yuri waited.  Another got up.  And another.  Another.  For the next two hours, one guy after another went to the bathroom.  If the lights didn't go on, Yuri followed, or if he wasn't quick enough, one of the other seminarians.

He estimated that seven of the twelve guys went "to the bathroom that night" for oral sex, some more than once, while he and two other guys volunteered to be the bottoms.

Saturday

They got up at 5 am and dressed.  Of course, no one acknowledge what had happened last night.

The Divine Liturgy was at 6:00 am, followed by breakfast and chores.  There was a candle factory, a printshop, a museum, and a bookstore.

Saturday afternoon they had off.  Some of the seminarians took Yuri down to Cooperstown, about 20 miles away, to see the Baseball Hall of Fame.

He carefully introduced gay topics.

Saying "Look -- that guy is hot, isn't he?" got only cold stares.

Asking "What do you do when one of your friends tells you that he is gay?"  got a savage response: "Don't talk to him!  Don't associate with him!  He is possessed by a demon!"

They were back by dinner at 7:00, Compline at 8:00, and more study and contemplation.

And, after lights out, more guys making their way to the bathroom.  Tonight Yuri got bolder.  When he saw a guy tenting under the sheets, he went over and touched it.  The guy invariably pretended to be asleep while Yuri fondled him to completion.  Once he even stuck his head under the covers and went down on him (average sized, uncut).

Sunday

Again, no one acknowledged what happened last night.  They had breakfast and studied until the Divine Liturgy began at 9:00 am.  Then, after lunch, they drove back to Long Island.

"Sounds like a fun weekend," I said.  "More action than you'd get in the Village."

"Yes, sure," Yuri said.  "But it made me sad.  Everything was closed, closet.  The guys pretend it doesn't happen the next day, and they say homophobic things.  Not open.  And...the worst of everything... it was sex only.  Nothing warm, nothing happy, just trying to get it over."

He moved across the couch and knelt over me.  "We will kiss now."

See also: Sausage Sighting of a Baptist Boy

Yuri and the Sausage-Size Contest

Long Island, June 2009

In June 2009, Yuri flies back to the States for a two-week visit. He hasn't been back since he moved to London in 2005, although I went out to visit him two years ago.

I want to see Yuri again, of course, but I also want to see some of my old friends and go to some of my old haunts in New York. Even though Upstate is only five hours away, I haven't gone back.

We meet at JFK, and then drive to a townhouse on Powers Street in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, where we will stay with his ex-boyfriend Daniel, a history professor into Beat poetry and jazz.

Daniel is a buffed daddy in his 40s, balding, bearded, with thick hard muscles and a few piercings.

He has two roommates:

Brandon, a tall, slim twink with a round face, a bright smile, and olive skin, maybe Hispanic or Asian, a nurse at a hospital nearby.

Tighe (pronounced Teeg), a gym rat in his 30s, rather short with curly red hair and a short beard, who doesn't have a job but does all of the cooking and cleaning to cover his share of the rent.

   

On the first night, we're too tired from our trip to do anything more than go out to dinner, watch tv, and go to bed. We share with Daniel, but not much sharing goes on, just a little kissing and some oral without completion.

In the morning, Yuri and I take the subway into Manhattan to check out the Strand Bookstore, my old gym, Christopher Street, Central Park, and the Museum of Natural History. We return in time for some brief cruising at the Metropolitan before the dinner party.

Daniel and the two roommates are there, plus:

Liam, the boy who gave me a present on his 18th birthday back in 2000, still a cute blond twink, slim and a little swishy.

My friend Barry, the Colonial Williamsburg boy, in his 30s, with a slim compact frame and a square Eastern European face.

His boyfriend, another Daniel (sorry), in his 50s, short-haired, very buffed, with a hairy chest.

Dinner is a grilled eggplant salad, lamb curry, and a Mediterranean fruit soup, discussions of the new Star Trek movie, Ugly Betty, celebrity hookups, dates from hell, and bulge-watching.

"Bulges are nice," Yuri says. "But they lie.  Some big guys don't show, and some small guys look like they are showing.  You look at their hands and feet, talk to them, see their face."

"Face?" Barry repeats.  "What does that tell you?"

"Big guys have a look.  They are confident, fearless.  Small guys are shy.  They look down.  They are afraid.  That is how I always know if the guy is big or small."

"Then how do you end up on dates with small guys?" I ask. "Like the Unhung Hippie. Remember him?"

Yuri shrugs. "I always know if the guy is big or small, but sometimes the big ones aren't worthwhile.   In Russian we say luchsheye vrag khoroshego, if you look for the best, you miss out on the good."

"Well -- " Daniel begins, "If I'm counting right, there are five guys in the room that you haven't seen naked."

Yuri looks around.  "Right.  Just you and Boomer. I met Barry before, but we didn't share."

"How about a little game?  You guess the sizes of the other five guys, through their pants, without feeling them or seeing them aroused."

"Hum!  Easy!  What do I get if I win?"

"Every guy you guess right has to buy you lunch or dinner while you're in town."

"And if I lose?"

"You have to go down on each guy you are mistaken about.  Two minutes, orgasm not necessary.  Ok, guys?"

They nod their assent.

"Easy!  No problem.  The only guy I go down on tonight is Boomer!" 

He asks them to stand in a row with their hands behind their backs.

Can you figure out their sizes without looking?

Yuri looks at them each, face and crotch, shakes their hands, smiles, asks them a few questions, while they all try to appear confident and fearless.  He writes his size estimate down in a notebook, quickly changes the centimeters to inches, and announces:

Daniel 2:  9"

Brandon:  7.5"

Liam: 8"

Tighe: 10"

Barry:  6"

Next it's time to measure.  Yuri asks them, one at a time, to take it out and bring it to full arousal, with a fluffer if necessary.   I'm ready with a tape measure.  

Daniel 2: Wrong!  7"

Brandon: Wrong!  5"

Liam: Wrong! 6"

Tighe: Wrong!  7.5"

Barry: Wrong!  8"

"Oh, well.  I am having an off day," Yuri says with a shrug.  "Boomer, help me with these guys.  I cannot do them all myself."

I don't need to be asked twice.  I go down on Brandon and Liam, while Yuri works on Barry, Daniel 2, and then Tighe.

Before long Brandon, Liam, and I are off to one bedroom, Daniel, Daniel 2, and Barry to another, and Yuri and Tighe to a third.  But while Yuri and Tighe are kissing, I grab the notebook from his pocket.

He got every measurement right.

"Hey, you lost on purpose!"  I exclaim.

He shrugs, and his hand moves down to Tighe's crotch.  "Wouldn't you?"

Asian Boyfriends, Hookups, Hunks, and Sausage Sightings

When I was growing up in Rock Island, I never saw anyone of East Asian ancestry, ever, not even a face in the crowd.  So the exotic became erotic, and I've been especially attracted to Asian men ever since.  

Here are some of my top Asian dates, hookups, and sausage sightings.  Asian will mean men who can trace their ancestry to China, Japan, Korea, Southeast Asia, or the Philippines.















Childhood

Chi Ehr,  my first Asian boyfriend.  I only saw him for a moment, but his dazzling, seductive smile was an iconic part of my childhood.  I ran into him years later.


Peter, a science nerd from Washington Junior High.  We competed over my boyfriend Dan at a sleepover.

Augustana College

The Korean Muscle Bear who moved in next door.  My bedroom window looked down into his kitchen, where I could see him walking around in his underwear.

Indiana University

Sunan, a bisexual Thai boy who Viju and I picked up at Bullwinkle's.  The next day he picked up his girlfriend, and all four of us went out to breakfast without letting on that we had spent the night together.  

Texas

Dan, a Korean twink who answered my personal ad in the Montrose Voice. Worked in a grocery store, chain-smoked.  

West Hollywood

Huan.  I arrived in West Hollywood with the Gayellow Pages in my hands, and within two days I was at Mugi, a gay Asian bar.  I had never seen so many cute Asian guys in my life, and they were all available!  I ended up accepting a date with the first guy who cruised me, Huan, who had been in the U.S. only a few months and didn't speak English well.  

Jin. Alan moved to Japan in the summer of 1986 to start a gay Pentecostal church, and I visited him for the summer.  We shared a tiny apartment, about 216 square feet (the size of a bedroom in America), so when one of us had a guy over, the other had no choice but to watch or join in.  The most memorable of our hookups was Jin, who kept going back and forth between our futons all night.   









Minoru.  Another of Alan's hookups who played futon-switching. 19 year old student majoring in German literature. 

Tranh.  A gym rat in West Hollywood who I worked on for weeks before a celebrity tried to steal him away.  Alan got him back by asking for the date for himself, with me taging along.  We all ended up friends.  .

Chehay.  The slim, soft survivor of the Pol Pot atrocities, whose Cambodian drag queen Aunti Bopha cornered me at Mugi in an attempt to marry him off.  

Tyler.  A third-generation Chinese-American twink who was the current boyfriend of my housemate Derek's ex.  If that sounds complicated, the story of trying to get with him is even more. 

Ramon.   We met him in Barcelona.  He didn't speak Chinese, but he was fluent in Catalan and a promoter of Catalonian independence.  We had quite a heady conversation for a hookup.  

New York

Prasert.  During my summer in Paris, I hooked up with the chef at the Suam Thai restaurant.  

The Man in Black who accosted me on Christopher Street in a weird paranormal experience.

Shen.  An undergrad history major from China.  We just went on one date, and spent the whole evening awkwardly kissing and cuddling in bed.  

Peter.  An undergraduate sociology major, Filipino.  My professor introduced us in the spring of 2001.  Another series of dates spent mostly in the bedroom.  

Dayton

Tony. I tried to hook up with Bobby Chan, the Chinese food delivery guy, but got his friend instead, a grad student in political science at Ohio State University. 

Chao.  The guy Tony dated immediately after our hookup.  We "shared," my first and only time with two Asian guys at once.  

Upstate

Chad A waiter at the Neptune, the Satyr's housemate and "boy toy."  We dated from October through February. 

Mike.  A twink who came to our bear party, but said he was nervous and asked if we could go off somewhere alone.  He gradually increased the number of guys in the room until it was full.  

Philadelphia

Akamu..  I was staying with friends for the weekend, and their housemate brought him home.  Laotian. He came into my room in the middle of the night.  

The Plains

Nguyen  A muscular gym rat from Minnesota.  I actually hooked up with his cousin at an art gallery.

Phil, a middle-aged bisexual who comes to the M4M Parties.  

See also: My Top Black Boyfriends and Hookups.; 16 West Hollywood Hunks That I've Been Keeping Secret.