A Twink Parade at the Gym

Plains, October 2017

I don't know what's going on.  Yesterday an amazing success rate in hooking up on the world's worst hookup venue, and today a cruising paradise in the world's worst place for cruising.

Gay gyms are good for cruising: lots of pumped-up guys trying to attract attention and phone numbers.

Straight world gyms, not so much: straight men get insulted by the idea that another guy might think they're hot, so they are constantly checking to make sure no one is looking at them.  Any random glance is perceived as a threat, so cruising has to be subtle.  It's easier just to let it go altogether.

The YMCA on the Plains doesn't usually have much to offer anyway: a lot of old, out of shape heteros who spend too much time in the sauna discussing sports matches and the grandchildren's college plans, until they turn into red, sweat-soaked out of shape heteros.

Hardly anyone under age 70, except for groups of little kids -- the ones who have to sign the "under 15" list to work out.

They are cruisy., for some reason, but who wants some 14-year old following him around with a goofy grin on his face?  Seriously, what does he expect me to do, invite him out to dinner?

 But today the stars must have been aligned just right, or maybe karma was rewarding me for passing up that pie at lunchtime, because the staid old YMCA suddenly became a cruising paradise.  Wall to wall hot guys in their 20s and 30s, with as much face-crotch-face glancing as at the Faultline ten minutes before closing.

1, Reddish brown hair, long face, very thin, wearing a t-shirt from a school I had never hard of.  Constant eye contact.

2. Black, thin, diamond earring, sort of fey. Kept watching me on the incline press.  Later I worked on a pulldown and got a good view of him on the exercise bike.  What he had in his pants kept bouncing up and down.

I got a "Hi, how's it going" from him.

3.  Buffed guy in his late 30s, very hairy chest, big biceps, military haircut, working out with a college boy.

"Is that your son?" I asked.

"I'm his coach.  We're in town for a game with the local university."  He mentions a college in Minnesota, about 200 miles away.  That explains the twink parade.

4. Time to make a selection and seal the deal.  I spy a tall, thin guy in his mid 20s with thick brown hair, a handsome face, not much of a physique, wearing a "We are liberal arts" t-shirt.

"What liberal art are you studying?" I ask.  "I majored in modern languages."

He gives me the standard face-crotch-face glance.  "Um...actually it's the College of Liberal Arts at ___ university.  They were having a fundraiser.  I'm a health science major."

"Oh, ok."  I am disappointed -- I wanted to go out with a nice history or philosophy major.  On to the next guy!

"But...I have nothing against the liberal arts," he adds, doing another set of calf raises.  "I've taken classes in languages and philosophy.  This semester I'm taking African Culture and Civilization.  It's just hard to find a job with something like that.  What work do you do?"

"Professor at your rival university."

"Cool!  I'll look for you in the stands tomorrow afternoon."

"Oh, I can't make the game, I'm busy.  But afterwards, if you're not going home right away,  I know a place that serves Ethiopian food.  You can report back to your African Culture Class."



His name is Hunter, by the way.   I'll report on the date.

But karma wasn't finished with me yet.  In the locker room, I stumbled upon:

5. A tall, thin twink with a nondescript physique but a thick cut sausage that hung down about 5" soft.

5 Craigslist Hookups in One Day

Plains, October 2017

Craigslist is the bargain-basement of hookup venues, full of crazy downlow guys who think it's still the pre-Stonewall dark ages.
"Are you a cop?"
"There was someone on the sidewalk, so I was afraid to get out of my car."
"I haven't done anything bisexual before, and..."
"Will you screw me while I'm wearing my black panties and high heels, and tell me I'm a naughty girl?"

Plus they're usually over 100 and extraordinarily out of shape, they show up half-drunk, and they want to watch straight porn while I go down on them.

But the other major hookup apps are not active during the daytime, and last Tuesday I was home all day and in the mood, having not been with anyone except Bob for two weeks, so I resorted to a craiglist ad: "Any age, race, size, but no crazy closet types, no endless questions about exactly what we will be doing.  It's not hard to understand: you come in, sit down, and unzip."

To my surprise, I hit paydirt.  Five guys, each hotter than the last (if you arrange them that way), most not even crazy.

1. Mid-thirties, smooth chest, hung about 7.5", uncut.  Said he worked in dry wall, whatever that is, and was waiting for the rain to let up.

2. Deonte, who I've been with before.  Short black guy, 23, very tight muscles but thin -- I could put my hand around his waist!  At least 8".

3. Trent, mid-20s, gym rat, smooth chest, shaggy hair, average size.  In and out in five minutes, but a memorable five minutes.

4, Jay, age 19, from Iowa, "in town visiting friends."  Says "I've never done this before"  -- yeah, right.  Very tall, smooth chest, a little belly, very long cock.  I went down on him, but realized that he liked nipple play and kissing.  And going  down on me.

"This was my first time doing that with a guy," he said

I looked him up on Facebook.  He really is 19, from Iowa, with a girlfriend.

5. Joey, 21, music major, gay, not bi or downlow, smooth chest, 7".  We immediately started kissing.  He wanted me to do interfemoral.  Unfortunately, an hour after #4, I couldn't oblige, so I went down on him,  We exchanged phone numbers.

It was only 2:00 pm, but I took the ad down.  My jaw was getting tired.

Earle Has Public Sex with Teen Idol Matt Dillon

Orange County, August 2017

I'm visiting Los Angeles for a week, having dinner with my ex-boyfriend Lane, his husband Ben, and four of their assimilated married couple Orange County friends, all in their 50s and 60s.  No nudity, no sharing, just discussions of aluminum siding and 401k accounts, and what I'm doing wrong with my career and personal life.

I try to steer the conversation away from what's wrong with me to celebrity hookup stories, and to my surprise, hear a number of new ones.

Lane and Ben hooked up with Keanu Reeves' boyfriend.

Stan went down on John Amos in the shower.

 James dated Ricardo Montalban.

 And Earle had public sex with 1980s teen idol Matt Dillon.




West Hollywood,  May 1982

Earl grew up in Buffalo, New York in the 1960s and 1970s, which was just as conservative, repressed, and homophobic as it sounds.  Gay people were never mentioned in school, except once in high school health class, where the teacher advised them not to engage in "self abuse," or they would turn into "he-shes."

There was lots of sex, but it was clandestine, guilty, never spoken of.  Earl started going down on his next door neighbor when he was still a pre-teen.  In high school he went down on practically the entire football team, and got screwed by the coach.

There was public sex at Delaware Park, at the Greyhound Station, and at dirty bookstores.  And as a last resort, there was the movies.

This was before VHS tapes or DVDS, so if you wanted to see a porn movie, you had to go to the a "dirty movie" theater downtown.  Usually it showed legitimate movies until midnight, when the porn came out.  Straight porn, of course, but an audience consisting of 30 or so horny, repressed straight men, all ages and races, all sizes and shapes, tenting in their pants while watching naked girls.  Some would pull it out and beat off, right in the theater.  You weren't supposed to, but no one bothered them.

Gay guys would walk down the aisles, as if they were heading for a seat.  If the straight guys covered up, they weren't interested, but if they displayed their cock, you could get on your knees and give them a blow job.  Sometimes Earl took three loads on the same night.

But he wanted more.  He wanted a place where you could go out on dates, hold hands, kiss, not just suck dicks in secret.

 In 1980, at age 23, he made the Big Move to West Hollywood.  He changed his name to Earle with an E  and threw himself into the heady, optimistic world of pre-AIDS gay culture.  Dancing, drinking, muscles, Frontiers magazine, the Different Light bookstore, Gay Rights Marches, Gay Pride.

This world, though bright and glittery, had perils of his own.

 He was judged on his looks, his belly, his smallish cock, his less than stylish wardrobe, his lack of awareness of social norms.

He met hustlers and manipulators.  He tried to date, and ended up with tricks.  He tried to trick, and ended up with an empty bed.

One night Earle had been stood up by a blind date and struck out at the bars.  Depressed, lonely, and horny at midnight, he was driving aimlessly down Santa Monica Boulevard, when he saw the Pussycat Theater on Santa Monica, a few blocks east of Fairfax.

Closeted straight men getting blow jobs from anonymous strangers in the dark?

A wave of nostalgia hit him.  A simpler time, when size, shape, bank account, and knowledge of social norms didn't matter -- all that mattered was a cock and a mouth.

 A happier time?

Earle parked, bought a ticket, got popcorn, and went inside.  On screen, a naked lady being screwed by one guy and sucking another.  He looked down.

About thirty guys, like the dirty theaters back home, sitting in widely separated seats.  Earle began walking down the aisles, looking for someone who was tenting or aroused.

Suddenly an usher was shining a flashlight in his face.  "Hey!  Pick a seat or get out!"

Embarrassed, Earle sat down immediately, next to a twink with shoulder-length brown hair, a long face, and a slim physique.

"You can't do that here," he whispered, nudging Earle. "You have to do it this way." He grabbed for Earle's crotch under his popcorn.

Soon Earle was fondling the twink under his popcorn.

"Ok, now," the twink said.  "He won't be back until the movie is over."

"You do this a lot?"

He shrugged.  "It's 21 for the bars, but 18 for movies."

Earle knelt. The twink unzipped, and Earle went down on his thick 7".   He said nothing else, just stroking Earle's hair while he licked and sucked.  Earle began playing with himself.

He had never masturbated in a public place before.  The floor was sticky, and littered with candy boxes, napkins, straws, popcorn kernels.  There was a thick, musky smell in the air.  And he couldn't drown out the disgusting sound of female orgasms.

We're in West Hollywood! He thought.  We don't need to do this anymore.

"Let's go back to my apartment," he whispered.  "More privacy."

"No can do," the twink said.  "Try this."  He raised Earle up and kissed him.

Kissing a guy was enough to revv Earle's engine.  Soon he was spurting onto the floor beneath the seat.

But he must have been too loud.  Other patrons turned around, and one guy said "Get a room!"

The twink zipped up and scooted past Earle and headed for the lobby.  Earle thought he wanted to go somewhere more private and followed, but he rushed out, got into his car, and sped away.

In the lobby he finally recognized the twink as Matt Dillon,  Tiger Beat fave rave, star of Little Darlings and My Bodyguard and Tex.

Earle never went back to the Pussycat Theater -- he was beyond skulking and slithering and hiding in the shadows.  And when he saw The Outsiders, The Flamingo Kid, A Kiss Before Dying, In & Out, and Wild Things,  he couldn't help but feel sorry for Matt Dillon, who was still trapped in that world.


Was Earle Telling the Truth?

Matt hasn't been linked with many women, so he could be gay and closeted.  I haven't heard any other gay dating stories about him, but he wasn't a major star after the early 1980s, so maybe whatever stories guys had were put on the "B List" while they told about Scott Baio and Sylvester Stallone yet again.

By the way, this is what Earle looks like today.  I assume -- this was conservative Orange County, so I never got to share.

See also: On My Knees in Central Park with Macaulay Culkin; Lane is Tied Up by Keanu Reeves