Five Celebrity Hookups from Hell

I moved to West Hollywood in 1985 after a childhood of seeing no famous people in real life except for Jonathan Frid (Barnabas on Dark Shadows), former Tarzan Jock Mahoney, and the King of Sweden, so I became a veritable celebrity fetishist.  If I saw you on tv, I wanted to date you (or, after I moved in with Lane in 1990, hook up with you).

In part it was due to envy: my friends were all apparently giving blow jobs to Sylvester Stallone, making out with Rob Lowe, getting tied up by Keanu Reeves, and after a year, all I could brag about were Lee H. Montgomery and Douglas Barr, plus a hug from Michael J. Fox.  

I was meeting -- or seeing -- tv stars quite often, but none of them seemed interested in dating.  So I made the rounds of the lesser known and downright obscure, hoping that the guy I dated last night would make it big, and I could say "I went down on him back when."  Sometimes it worked out ok, and I got a nice romantic evening, a blow job, a sausage sighting, or at least lunch.

Sometimes it was regrettable, to say the least.

Here are five celebrity hookups from hell.  I'm sure that these actors are very nice, and some people no doubt find them hot, but for whatever reason our time together ranged from dismal to "get me out of here!"


1. James Faulkner, Herod in the I, Claudius miniseries (1976) and Aldous Huxley in Priest of Love (1981).  Not at all my type: bald, pale, chunky, small beneath the belt, and sharing a last name with my least favorite author.

To be fair, he wasn't my hookup, he was Lane's.  We met him at a leather bar in London in 1993, and brought him back to our hotel, where wee discovered that he was into wet, sloppy kisses and the biting of nipples.













2. Cain Devore starred with John Stamos in the short-lived comedy Dreams (1984-85), and I guess did some soap work after.  Not my usual type: skinny, frizzy dirty blond hair, very tan, but cute in a rockster-Bohemian way.  Alan and I picked him up at Mugi in 1986 and brought him home, but he was too drunk to rise to the occasion.

3. I had never actually seen Howard E. Rollins, Jr. in anything when Lane and I met him at an AIDS benefit in 1995. He told us about his work in The Heat of the Night (1988-94), but not that he had 3 DUIs and a cocaine problem, or that he was in rehab.  Very well hung, but an anal bottom.  Neither of us were into that, so we just kind of beat off.

4. Which of the stars of The Incredible Hulk (1978-1982) would you like to go down on?  Lou Ferrigno?  Bill Bixby?  How about Jack Colvin, who played the sleazy reporter on the Hulk's trail?  Nondescript physique, weasel face, small cock, and he didn't stick around for breakfast.
















5. At least Georg Olden was cute.  He was starring in Rocky Road (1985-87) about three siblings who run an ice cream parlor on Pismo Beach, when I saw him at a Greek restaurant in Hollywood -- while I was on a date with someone else!  He was only 18, still going to Beverly Hills High, and I was not yet a twink magnet, so I had no way to attract his attention.  I made a complete fool of myself, and lost both guys.

My Date with Two Brothers...and their Dad

Hell-fer-Sartain, Texas, November 1984

During my horrible year in Hell-fer-Sartain, the worst place in the world, I tried to find a boyfriend by placing a personal ad in The Montrose Voice:

But most respondents lived in the Montrose, an hour away in Houston.  Others lived even farther away, in far-flung southern suburbs, even in Galveston. So I was overjoyed to hear from someone who lived only about 10 miles away (a half-hour drive in Houston traffic).

Jack said he was 24 years old, a little older than me, an English major at the University of Houston, with exactly my interests: literature, science fiction, classical music, languages, and foreign travel.  Plus, he said, he had a bodybuilder's physique and a Mortadella+ beneath the belt.

That was probably just "personal ad" bragging. But I didn't care. I would have accepted a date with a garden troll that was male, breathing, and less than an hour away.

He said he was laid up with a broken leg, and couldn't go out.  So I drove out to the house, a weird gray Tudor surrounded by crazy thin acacia trees and a bare mud lawn.

The door opened before I got to the front porch.  A shirtless guy stood in the doorway: short, compact, dark-skinned, just my type.  But definitely not 24.  Probably a teenager.

"I'm Eric, Jack's brother," he whispered.  "Keep your voice down -- my stepfather is asleep.  This way."

Brother!  Stepfather!  I thought we'd be alone!

He led me to the kitchen, and up a staircase to the attic.  It was now a messy bedroom: twin beds, both unmade; clothes scattered all over the floor; posters of Duran Duran, George Michael, and Rob Lowe.

One of the beds was occupied by another teenager, wearing only a bathrobe.  His leg was in a cast.  He was short and compact, but thin, no bodybuilder.

"I'm Jackie," he said.  "Sorry I can't really go anywhere.  But we can talk here...and stuff," he added with a leer.

I couldn't help asking, "Are you really 24?"

"Well, 20.  That's close.  And Eric is 18.  He's a senior."

Five years younger than me --  not a big deal. Maybe I could date Eric instead?

 "But I like girls," Eric added. "Jack and me never fool around together."

Jackie smiled evilly and reached out to stroke his basket.

"Ok, we fool around sometimes," he admitted, somewhat flustered.  "But I still like girls better.  Can I get you a soda?"

"Sure, Coke would be great."

He left.  There were no chairs, so I had no choice but to sit on the bed next to Jackie.  He quickly put his hand on my upper thigh.  I saw that he had "accidentally" left his bathrobe open.

"I'm not...really into tricking," I said (the old word for "hooking up").  "My ad was more for relationships. That's why I mentioned my interests in literature and music and...."

"I'm into music, too.  Who do you like the most?  I like Wham."

After more dismal conversation with a thin, naked kid with no interest in literature or classical music, Eric re-appeared with two cans of Coke and set them on the nightstand.  "Boomer, you want to see something cool?  Follow me."

He led me down the stairs and into the master bedroom, where Stepdad was asleep: Hispanic, in his 30s, very muscular.  He had kicked the covers off.  He was obviously having an erotic dream.

"Watch this!" Eric whispered.  He went to the bed and fondled Stepdad for a few moments. Then he pushed me down.  Stepdad drew me into an embrace.  Without waking up.

Which was admittedly erotic.  But:  Help! This is too weird!

I tore myself away and rushed out the door.  Eric followed.  "Don't freak -- I do it all the time," he whispered.  "He never wakes up.  Except sometimes I think he's just pretending to be asleep. You know..."

He put his arms around me. Soon we were kissing and doing other things in the hallway outside Stepdad's bedroom.

Which was admittedly erotic.  But: Help!  This is too weird!

I disentangled myself.  "Shouldn't I be getting...um...back upstairs," I stammered.

"Sure.  Jack must be getting lonely by now."

He followed me back up the stairs to the attic room, where Jackie had gotten completely naked.  I sat down on the bed, thinking that Eric would leave.  No -- he pushed me into a kiss with his brother.  Then he started undressing me.

Which was admittedly erotic.  But: What am I doing?  Two brothers, one straight, one into tricking, with Stepdad asleep but grabby downstairs?  

I made an excuse and went home.

I have often wondered what would have happened if I had stayed.  Would I be in a relationship with all three?

See also: Three Guys in My Bed in Baltimore.; Lane has a three-way with his boyfriend and his brother; Sausage Sighting of a Father, Son, and Grandson

The Greek Orthodox Priest with the Pushy Mom

Davenport, Iowa, September 1981

I began my senior year at Augustana (1981-82) with a single burning question: grad school or a job?

My professors claimed that I could use an English and Modern Languages major to launch a career in journalism, public relations, advertising, translating, or publishing. Surprise -- you needed specialized training for all of those jobs.  300 resumes, and not a single bite.

So I applied to grad school:
1. Russian, University of Iowa (I know, I was just in first year, but I really liked my Russian major friend in Iowa City)
2. Law, Indiana University
3. English, Indiana University
4. Linguistics, University of Chicago
5. Byzantine Studies, University of Chicago

Why Byzantine Studies?

With my new Russian obsession, I wanted to try out Russian Orthodox Church, but the nearest was in Chicago, so I picked the next best thing: St. George's Greek Orthodox Church in Rock Island.

I was disappointed: the liturgy was in English, not Greek, there were pews (I heard that the Orthodox stood), and the sermon was on heterosexual marriage.  But I did meet Peter, formerly a Greek Orthodox priest, now a private investigator for an insurance company.

Being a clergy groupie, I eagerly accepted his invitation to dinner, even though he was substantially older than me, in his 40s.

He lived in a big house in Davenport with his elderly parents, a bedridden Dad and a frail, tiny Mom who talked incessantly of the old country (she left Greece at the age of five, but still remembered it as a "good place").

The dinner was awful -- lamb in some kind of disgusting white sauce, undercooked potatoes -- what happened to the moussaka, spanikopita, and stuffed grape leaves?  No desert -- not even baklava.  And Peter and his Mom drank incessantly.

Afterwards, Peter invited me into his study to see his books on Orthodox theology, Byzantine history, and modern Greek.  He told me about the Russian Orthodox Saints Boris and George, who were gay, and suggested that the Byzantine world was a "good place."

At least it was bright and colorful.

We went downstairs to the basement rec room, where his Mom was watching Fantasy Island. When it was over, she said goodnight and went to bed, and we watched a late movie on tv, something with Bette Davis in it.  Then Peter asked if I wanted to spend the night.

We went into his bedroom and began to get intimate.

I didn't realize at the time, but his Mortadella+ was one of the biggest on my Sausage List, #11.

Suddenly, when I was in the middle of going down on him, the door swung open, and Mom walked in.  No knocking, no words, no nothing.  She saw us, shrieked, and ran out.

"What was...why..."  I stammered.

"Oh, don't worry," Peter said.  "Mom knows that I'm gay."

"Why did she rush in like that?"

"She didn't realize that you were spending the night."

That wasn't a satisfactory answer.

In the morning Mom was perfectly gracious.  There was no breakfast except coffee and juice -- the Greek Orthodox fast before Communion.

Peter invited me over for dinner several more times in the fall of 1981, and afterwards Mom always asked "Boomer, will you be spending the night?"

I loved hearing about the Byzantine World, but he never wanted to go out in public, not even to the Greek Festival.  We would have dinner -- the food was terrible -- and watch tv -- it was always Love Boat and Fantasy Island.  Besides, Mom was a little creepy.  After about two months, I called it quits.

But not before I applied to the Byzantine Studies Program at the University of Chicago.

I ended up going to Indiana University to study English.

See also: Yuri Hooks Up at a Russian Orthodox Seminary