Monday, November 13, 2017

Heterosexual for a Day

Remember "What do the Simple Folk Do?" from Camelot:

What do the simple folk do
To cheer them when they're feeling blue?
When they're beset and besieged, the folk not noblesse obliged,
How do they manage to shed their weary lot?

In West Hollywood, it was easy to cheer up when you were feeling blue: buy some books, look at art, have lunch at the French Quarter, go cruising at the Gold Coast.  But West Hollywood is 2000 miles away, and I'm surrounded by heterosexuals.

What do you do on gloomy Saturdays in November, at the start of the "Ho Ho Ho" madness, when all of the melancholy songs are playing but it's not even your birthday yet, and your 5K running speed is down by 5 minutes, and West Hollywood is 2000 miles away and you're surrounded by heterosexuals?

"How do hetero men spend their Saturdays?"  I ask my boyfriend Bob, who is 19 years old and has lived in the Straight World his whole life.  He writes me out a list, then leaves for work.

It sounds like a fun game: see how the other half lives.  Spend a day as a heterosexual, doing everything that hetero men do.


9:00 am: They work on cars.

You mean, like, open the hood and stuff?   In gay neighborhoods we walk or take the subway.  I know how to put gas in those car things, and steer them, and that's it.  But maybe I could get an auto mechanic to do something, like change the oil.

Score!  The guy at the Jiffy Lube is in his 30s, short and buffed, with a round face and square workman's hands.  And he squirts things with lube all day....









10:00 am: They hunt things.

Like, um...cuddly bunnies and such?  I've never once in my life held a gun, but I can certainly hunt.  How about antiques?  I can look for some additions to my beefcake art collection.

Score!  "A Surf Boy Tiki Mug" from Orchids of Hawaii, a restaurant supply company operating out of the Bronx during the tiki craze of the 1960s.  An evil Dennis the Menace.

Besides, there;s a hot father and college-aged son at the Antique Mall, scoping out some antique model cars.  I make eye contact with the son, and get a cruisy smile.






11:00 am:  They play baseball.

I would prefer to avoid having projectiles hurled at my head.  But working out the gym is the same thing, nght?


1:00 pm: They have lunch at Five Guys Burgers and Fries

I would gain ten pounds just walking into that joint. Fortunately, there's a Jersy Mike's next door, which not only has turkey subs, it has some cute college boys for me to exchange witty banter with.











2:00 pm: They shop for tools.

Kitchen supplies count as tools, right?  I go to Cooks Plus and buy a frittatta pan.









3:00 pm: They drink beer and watch the game.

Diet Coke will have to substitute for the beer, and I can't watch sports on tv -- I only get Netflix.  But I happen to have some old bodybuilding contests on DVD.  Will the 1985 Mr. Olympia, with Lee Haney, do?'














6:00 pm: Bob comes home and cooks dinner (frittattas).  

"How did your day as a heterosexual go?" he asks.

"Great!  I worked on cars, hunted things, played sports (if bench pressing counts), had lunch, shopped for tools, and watched a game.  There's just one thing on the list I didn't get around to.  I thought of it after you left this morning."

I show him the last thing that hetero men do.

"I'm totes up for that!  After dinner and some making out, that is.  We can't do it until about 9:00 anyway."

After a day of beefcake and cruising, I'm up for more than making out.  I go down on Bob while beating off, then push him onto the floor for interfemoral, with him on top.

Then we watch tv until it's time for the last item on the list:



9:00 pm: They go out to try to pick up babes.

Preferably babes with handsome faces, hard smooth chests, and gigantic penises.

See also: Searching for Twinks on the Plains


Saturday, November 11, 2017

5 Shirtless and Nude Photos of Chuck Connors

This is the uncensored photo of Chuck Connors,
or someone who looks like him, from Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.



















Compare with this picture of Chuck in his baseball days.






















Here's another photo, reputedly of Chuck doing porn during his baseball days.














Chuck also played basketball for the Boston Celtics in 1946.  Notice the big difference in facial structure.













You probably don't need a nude photo of Chuck anyway.  There are plenty of semi-nude photos floating around the internet. He was shirtless a lot on The Rifleman
















And with Doris Day in Move Over, Darling



















There are even some candids.








Monday, October 30, 2017

Bob and I Hook Up with a Saint

Plains, October 2017

The problem with living in the Straight World is, there are so few open, out gay men over 30 around that you have to be friends with them even if you don't like them.  And I can't stand Boyle.

He's in his 40s, tall, homely, with long gray hair, a skinny physique, and multiple rings, tattoos, and beads.  He reeks of cologne, incense, and pot.  He says "Namaste" instead of "Hello," and talks in platitudes like "Why be normal when you can be unique?"

We got off on the wrong foot when we met at a diversity event, with a Spanish chorus.  I translated the lyrics for him.  Turns out he spoke fluent Spanish and had worked in Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, Bolivia, Peru, and Chile.

It got worse.

Me: I go to Montreal as often as I can.  Great museums, great restaurants, and the best bathhouse in the Western Hemisphere.

Boyle: What a coincidence!  I go to Kangiqsujuaq in Nord-du-Quebec as often as I can.  I'm a liaison with the regional government for tribal rights.

Ok....

Me: I'm going to Los Angeles for spring break.  I'm invited to an Oscar party.

Boyle: I'll be spending spring break in Bangladesh, teaching tribal communities how to recycle plastic refuse into clothing and jewelry.  

Ok....


Me: I'm quite a world traveler, too.  I've been to Russia, Japan, Thailand..

Boyle: Thailand, really?  What did you do there?

Me:  Um...sightseeing and hookups...

Boyle: I worked with a nonprofit helping rescue victims of human trafficking.  

Grr...there go, my heart's abhorrence, go, water your damned flowerpots, do!

Me:  Um...I walked in the AIDS Walk.  

Boyle:  I worked with Richard Gere to place Tibetan refugee children with foster families.

I give up.  Candidates for sainthood, this way, please.

Me:  I'm...er...I'm dating a 20 year old.....

Boyle:  I know!  Isn't it annoying.  The twinks  just won't let up.  Night after night, call after call.  I mean, they're cute and all, but one of these nights I've just got to get some rest!

Me:  Um...er...I have a big dick?

Aside from his regular job in Student Services and his humanitarian work in India, Bangladesh, Mongolia, Laos, Cambodia, Thailand, Vietnam, Borneo, and impoverished countries too numerous to mention, Boyle is writer, with two books of poetry that have won regional awards, and an artist, sewing things onto photos of dour-looking Brahmin and big-eyed refugee children. The other night he had an opening of several dozen of his horrible mixed-media works, and Bob, the economics major who is thinking of switching to art, insisted that we go.

He fell instantly in love with the aging hippie: "He's so spiritually aware!  A citizen of the world!  I'll bet he's a vegan.  Do you think he'd be up for sharing?"   

No way!  I wasn't going to let the Saint steal my boyfriend!  I needed a distraction,

"I don't know -- I don't know anyone who has dated him," I said, truthfully.  "But there's a guy who hangs around him a lot.  Over there -- he looks like a young, thin Harvey Fierstein.  Maybe they're dating."

"Well, let's go talk to him."

He turned out to be an aspiring artist, a fan of Boyle's work, but not personally acquainted with him.  And straight.

I looked around for another candidate.  Most of the people at the reception were women.  The few men, older, wilted, looked like they had been dragged along by their wives.  

Suddenly I saw a cute twink, black haired, rather feminine, bulging pants, standing with an older hetero couple - had he been dragged there by his parents?

A distraction for Bob, and a twink for me.  Perfect.

"I think that might be Boyle's boyfriend," I lied.  "He brought his parents with him to the reception.  Isn't that sweet?"

Bob shrugged.  "I'm not into younger guys, but if it will get me into Boyle's bed, I'm all for it."

"Or not.  We could just share him by ourselves."

"I suppose. Let's go talk to him."

"I'd better go alone.  Twink magnet, you know."

I waited until the boy wandered off by himself, then approached. 

Langdon turned out to be a junior at West High School.  He didn't actually know the Saint, but he had heard his parents talk about him.

A junior?  Probably sixteen years old.

There was no one else at the reception who was male and not attached to a woman, so I had no choice: if I didn't let Bob share the hippie, he'd probably seek him out on his own.  So after the Saint's  platitude-filled speech, Bob and I approached and asked if he was doing anything after.  He was going to dinner with six of his female friends and their husbands.  But after that he was free....

He appeared at my house at 11:00 pm.  While Bob ushered him into the living room, I went to the kitchen to get some drinks.

When I returned, the Saint and Bob were on the couch, kissing,

"Mind if I join in?" I asked.

Without looking up he grabbed me and shoved my shoulder down.  I knlt in front of him.

This will work out fine, I thought as I spread his legs and unzipped him.  Boyle might be a world citizen, a saint, a poet, and an artist, but there's one area where I have him beat.  


His cock, already aroused, sprang up into my face.






L

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