Sunday, July 12, 2020

The Priest with Three Boyfriends

Des Moines, March 1980

In the spring of 1980, my sophomore year at Augustana College, Fred the ministerial student took me to Des Moines, where he had friends among the closeted gay religious community. Like Oscar, who had a romance with future President Ronald Reagan back in the 1930s.  And Malcolm Boyd, the Episcopal priest who wrote the counterculture classic Are You Running with Me, Jesus? (he actually came out in 1977, but I didn't know until we had lunch together).

We stayed with Thomas, a Episcopal priest whose congregation didn't know: "They assume that because I'm a priest, I'm celibate."  He lived alone, except for two dogs, with a huge collection of pornographic magazines and photos, both gay and straight, neatly classified by author, magazine, and type.  I spent the afternoon rummaging through it while Fred and Thomas were out talking about religion or something -- Fred didn't approve of porn -- and got my first glimpse of some of the great gay erotic artists, like Tom of Finland, Sean, and the Hun.



I thought Thomas lived alone, but the first night of our stay, I woke up in the middle of the night, walked down the hall to the bathroom, and found the door to Thomas's bedroom wide open.  The lights were dim, but inside I saw two guys asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

The next day at breakfast I met Boyfriend #1, a tall, slim redhead who worked at one of Des Moines' straight bars. He lived with his girlfriend, but sometimes came over when his shift ended.

Later that day, we had lunch with Oscar, Malcolm Boyd, Thomas, and Boyfriend #2.  I don't remember much about him.

I drove back to the house later that evening -- Fred was off with Oscar -- and yelled "Is anybody home?"  No answer.


Thomas was in the study, with porn magazines scattered all about, naked.  Kissing a very muscular teenager.  Also naked.

Boyfriend #3!

He disentangled himself long enough to say "Jason, Boomer.  Boomer, Jason."  In the midst of a kiss, the boy held out his hand for me to shake!

Freaking out, I retreated to my bedroom and sat down in a swivel chair.  Jason followed. He stood at my bedroom door, naked.  "Hey, I hope we didn't scare you," he said, panting.  "It's no big deal -- we were just playing around."

"No, it's fine.  I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"You didn't disturb us."  He walked over to me and caressed my chest.  "You're hot.  Maybe we could get together later."

Was he asking me for a date, with his boyfriend in the next room? "Um...um...I have a lover," I stammered.  That was our word for same-sex relationships.

"He can come, too -- the more the merrier."

Now Thomas stood in the doorway, naked, huge. "Can't leave you alone for a minute, can I?" he said, feigning anger, but with his eyes twinkling. "Get back in the playroom, pronto!"

He paused.  "You too, Boomer!"

I was unaware of the gay community custom of "sharing."  I wasn't even aware of hookups.  Sex with someone you weren't in love with?  Gross!  Besides, I had to stay faithful to Fred.

  But I was single 1 1/2  years later, when I saw Thomas again.

See also: The Boy in the Mesh T-Shirt; and Fred's Nine Lovers


Sunday, July 5, 2020

Ozzie Hooks Up with John Kennedy Jr.

Old Westbury, New York, October 1999

It's raining hard outside, so Ravi's Bear Party in Old Westbury had rather a low turnout to begin with, and now there are only five of us left:
Ravi and his partner Ken
Yuri and me, waiting for the rain to lighten up a bit.
Ozzie, a NYU undergrad whose ride left, so he's stuck. He'll probably be staying overnight.

We're sitting in the living room, finishing the last of the snacks and swapping stories about the biggest guys we've ever been with, dates from hell, and celebrity hookups.

I tell about my date with Michael J. Fox
Ravi tells about his hookup with Elton John.
Ken tells about his date with Barry Manilow.

Then Ozzie says "Have you ever heard of John F. Kennedy, Junior?"

The jetsetting son of President John Kennedy, lawyer, journalist, athlete, a fixture of New York high society?  Of course!  He was rumored to be gay or bisexual throughout his life, but we haven't heard about anyone who actually dated him.

"I helped him come out," Ozzie says.

"But..he never actually came out," Ravi protests.  "He was married to the end of his life."

"To the end of his life, yes."


Eastside Club, New York, Summer 1999

Ozzie was 19 years old, a biochemistry major from Morocco, newly out, enormously attractive and enormously well-hung.  He had a fake id, and he was living in the city with the largest concentration of gay men in the world.  Where could he go to meet some?  As many as possible?

He wanted to go to the bars, but his friend Jeremy suggested a bath house.  No blaring music, no drunks, you could see the guys naked without bringing them home, and you could get with them instantly.

New York had only two bathhouses.  The closest was the East Side Club on 56th, a very perfunctory affairs with showers, a small sauna, a video room with bleachers, and rows of small cubicles.

They went on a Friday in July.  It was stormy, with black clouds and thunder.

"So, like tonight?" Yuri asks.  "Is this a Halloween story?"

Ozzie smiles.

The club wasn't very busy:  a scattering of old guys, a few  hustlers, and two scared, newly-out teenagers with fake ids.

Jeremy wandered off, and Ozzie checked out the video room, with old porn movies playing.  There was only one guy there: completely out of place, neither old guy nor hustler.  In his 30s, very attractive, with thick brown hair, an oval face, a moderately hairy, muscular frame, and a Bratwurst beneath the belt.  He was dripping wet, like he had just gotten out of the shower, but he wasn't wearing a towel, like most guys in bath houses.

Ozzie didn't know a lot about cruising, but he figured he could play up the Middle Eastern angle.  He sat next to him and said "Hi, I'm Ozzie, from Morocco, but now I am at NYU."

Ozzie thinks that the guy murmured the name "John."

He didn't look over, or offer a hand to be shaken.  He kept staring at the screen, and in a low monotone, he said "I'm nowhere.  I'm in a dark pit.  I'm on a winding road with no ending, and all the stars went out."

"Ok, this guy sounds high!" I exclaim.  "You'd better give him a miss!"

"I know," Ozzie says.  "But there was something about him...I could't move.  I couldn't look away."

"It can't be that bad," Ozzie told him, touching his shoulder.  It was cold.  John must have just come in from outside.

"That's why he was wet -- it was raining," Ravi says.

"All my life I did the things I was supposed to do," John said.  "I saw the people I was supposed to see.  All my life I waited.  And for what?"

"Notice that he said 'waited,' not 'I've been waiting,'" I point out.  "This guy is dead."

Ozzie looks annoyed.  "You're giving it away."

Back at the East Side Club, Ozzie decided to move on.  "Good luck with...that," he said.

John grabbed his arm. His hand was very cold.  "No -- wait," he said, still staring ahead.  "Stay with me here.  Just for a minute.  I just need a minute."

He stood.  His Bratwurst was fully aroused.  Ozzie noticed that his ankle was in a cast, but he didn't use crutches.

John led Ozzie to a dark corner and hugged him -- he wouldn't kiss -- and felt his chest and penis.  The cold, wet skin was a little distasteful, but the guy was cute, so Ozzie quickly found himself aroused.  John knelt and went down on him, his hands clamped on his buttocks.

Even his mouth was cold!

Ozzie pulled John to his feet and went down on him.  John's Bratwurst was very hard, like iron, but still cold from the rain outside.  He had shaved pubic hair.  He didn't moan, or speak, or make any sound.  It took him only a few minutes to finish with a monumental spurt.

Ozzie rose to his feet.  "I'm ready now.," John said, still not looking at him.

"Ready for what?"

Without another word, John walked off into the darkness.


Old Westbury, New York, October 1999

"I was with two other guys that night," Ozzie says.  "I didn't think anything about it at the time -- I don't know American celebrities very well.  But then I saw the pictures on tv the next day.  John F. Kennedy Junior, who crashed into the ocean.  He was my guy!"

"Wait -- when was this?"  Ravi asks.

"I was at the East Side Club on July 16th, 1999, the day of the crash.  I saw his picture on tv the next day."

"His plane crashed late at night.  He must have gone from the bath house directly to the airport."

Ozzie shakes his head.  "No.  I looked it up already.  We got to the bathhouse at 9:00 at night, and John took off at 8:39.  The crash was about an hour later.  When I helped him come out, John was dead already."

"You had sex with a ghost!" Ken exclaims.

"Well, at least it was with a famous ghost," I say.

Ok, what happened that night at the East Side Club?

The last few days of John F. Kennedy Jr.'s life are well-documented

He spent July 13th-15th at the Stanhope Hotel on Fifth Avenue, depressed over his financial difficulties and his relationship with his wife, Carolyn.

They were on their way to a divorce.  She thought he was a "fag" because of his many male friendships, especially with the muscular Michael Bergin.


Explanation 1: Struggling to come out, to admit his same-sex interests to himself, Kennedy went to the East Side Club sometime during the week, and Ozzie got the date wrong.

Kennedy had an ankle cast, but it was removed on the 14th.

But Ozzie swears that it was the 16th.

On July 16th, Kennedy got up and went to the office of George magazine at 1633 Broadway.  He stayed in the office all day, except for lunch with his editors and working out in the gym.  At about 4:00 pm, his sister-in-law Lauren Bessette arrived, and they began their trip to the Essex County Airport, where they would meet his wife and fly to Martha's Vineyard.

Explanation #2: Kennedy went to the East Side Club early in the day on the 16th, and Ozzie got the time wrong.

But Ozzie swears that it was in the evening

Explanation #3: Ozzie hooked up with a guy who looked like John F. Kennedy, Jr., who had just come in out of the rain, and who was a little high..

Explanation #4: There are ghosts wandering the hallways of the East Side Club.

See also: The Amazing Invisible Boy; The Boy Who Refused to Leave My Room

Friday, June 26, 2020

Being Gay 24/7

Today gay men with a certain level of privilege criticize you for activism:  "Being gay is only a tiny part of who I am. We're married; my parents hosted the wedding.  We have a house in the suburbs.  I bring my husband to office parties.  Who cares what we do in bed?"

But for most of my life, being gay was not about the hour before bedtime. . You have to be gay 24/7.

Take a typical day in 1989, when I was living in West Hollywood, working two part-time jobs and taking classes at USC:

7:00 am:  Get up.  Breakfast.

8:00 am:  Head to work. Turn on the car radio: "Senator suggests concentration camps for AIDS victims."  Turn off the car radio.

9:00 am:  Part time job, processing applications in Human Resources at the Community Redevelopment Agency.  Pass all of the desks with heterosexual husbands and wives' photos, stop at your desk which has none. 

Coworker:  "What did you do this weekend?"
You: "Oh, we went...I mean...I went to...a festival..."

9:45 am: Overhear the boss: "He's a good family man, he'll be perfect for the job."

10:00 am: The boss comes out of her office.  "Boomer, you should find a nice girl and settle down."

11:00 am: Walking toward the break room, pass two guys: "Hey, Boomer, settle a bet.  Which is hotter, Michelle Pfeiffer or Meg Ryan?"

1:00 pm:  Head to USC.  Pass a billboard with a smiling happy heterosexual family, mom, dad, teenage daughter, preteen daughter, all blond.

2:00 pm. Class in Modern Drama.  You're discussing the Tom Stoppard play Rosencrantz and Guildersterin are Dead.  Mention that there's a gay subtext between the two guys.

Girl: I don't think this play is about..(pause, lowered voice)...homosexuality.

Guy: Shakespearean fags!  (flashes a limp wrist).

Professor: Keep it clean!

3:30 pm:  Head to the gym.

4:00 pm:  Be careful -- don't stare, especially in the locker room.

4:30 pm: Overheard:  "Didn't they elect one in Massachusetts? Barney Fag?"

5:00 pm: Stop at the florist on the way home, pick up flowers. 

Florist: "Who's the lucky lady?"

6:00:  Dinner at a Mexican restaurant.

Hostess:  Will anyone else be joining you?  No.  But she seats us at a table for four anyway.

The waitress keeps ignoring you.  Is it because she thinks you are gay?

8:00 pm: Back home, time to watch tv.

21 Jump Street: Cop going undercover in a high school falls in love.

9:00 pm: Time for sex, which is a crime in 16 states.




L

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