The Best Friend of Terry the Homophobe

Rock Island, July 1989

I'm in no mood to be back in Rock Island: I just got back to West Hollywood after my semester in Turkey, and I just started dating an amazing guy named Lane.  If I'm gone for too long, someone else will snatch him up.

But it's my baby sister's wedding, and I have to be in the wedding party, even though I detest the heterosexist ritual, and I'm not too fond of her fiancee Terry.

He's definitely cute: curly blond hair, round face, glasses, hard biceps, Bratwurst+ (yes, I got a sausage sighting).  But he is intensely boring, all about cars, sports, repairing things, and girls, girls, girls!.

And he drifts easily from heterosexist "She's every man's fantasy" to blatant homophobia, telling "fag" jokes, making limp-wrist gestures, exclaiming "Everybody with AIDS should be shot!" and "Why don't we just put the homos on an island and be rid of the problem?"

Tammy tries to squash him, not always successfully.  Hasn't she told him that I am gay?  Doesn't she know? We never actually had a coming-out conversation, but she met Fred and Viju, and she's heard all about Alan, Raul, my celebrity boyfriend, and most recently Lane.

Terry and Tammy dated during their last year of high school, a disastrous year of college, and a year in the workforce at the same auto dealership in Davenport, so I've seen him lots of times on Christmas and summertime visits.  I've met his parents and his three friends, who I call the Three Jerks.

They're rather hot also.


1. Rod, Terry's oldest friend (far left), a grinning, round-faced Augustana student (biology major) and jogging enthusiast.

2. Anky, his next oldest friend, a history major at the University of Illinois.  He is short and tightly-muscled, with swarthy Mediterranean looks (second from right).

3. Paul, a tall Nordic blond with a swimmer's build, slicked-back hair, and beady eyes, Terry's most recent friend.  He's a little older, about my age, and works at the car dealership.

Regardless of their hotness, the Three Jerks are loud and boisterous and way, way heterosexist.  The minute they burst into the house for a Christmas party or into the back yard for a Fourth of July Barbecue, they bore me with talk of cars and sports, and pepper me with questions about the "hot girls" of California, and how many have I bedded, and could I get them the telephone number of Heather Locklear?




Two Days Before The Wedding

Tammy is out somewhere. Terry and his three friends, aka the Three Jerks, still damp from swimming at Longview Park, descend upon our game room to yell loudly while playing foosball.  Then they settle down to watch a VHS tap of Big Trouble in Little China.

I join them, squeezed onto the couch between Anky and Paul -- it's rather fun to sit with hot guys, heterosexist or not, and  I can ignore the hooting at Kim Cattrell's breasts.

Paul nudges me.  "Is she as hot as your girlfriend in California?"

 I should respond according to the rules of survival drummed into my head in West Hollywood:


Never come out.  When asked about your girlfriend or interest in girls, lie. Make something up.

But I'm tired of being mistaken for straight. "Gross!  I don't have a girlfriend!"

"No girlfriend!" Anky exclaims.  "With all those foxes around in California?  Well, maybe you just need some Midwestern talent."

"You just leave everything to us," Paul says.  "We'll check out the guest list, and make sure you get laid tomorrow night -- right, Terry?"

Terry shoots him a pained look, but says, "Sure, I'll see what I can do."

The Day Before the Wedding

We gather at the United Methodist Church for the rehearsal.

The wedding is going to be entirely heterosexist, with the men filing down the church aisle, arm in arm with the women, separating for the ceremony, and then coming together, arms around each other in heteronormative bliss, for the photo.  Then we're going to be seated together at the reception.

Sure enough, the Three Jerks have fixed me up with Charlene, one of the bridesmaids, Tammy's friend from high school.  She's heavily made up and stinking of perfume.

"You are so lucky, bud!" Paul grins at me. "Cream of the crop!  A lot better than those fags in California, right?"

Terry shoots him a pained look.

Anky presses his hand on my back.  "And I hear she puts out.  You'll definitely have a story to tell all your friends back in California."

We start down the aisle:

Anky, the Best Man, with a girl.  Then: Paul, me, Rod, and my brother Ken, each of us arm-in-arm with our corresponding girl.

But instead of grabbing onto Charlene, I take one step back and latch onto the arm of Paul!  He looks stunned, but walks a few feet with me until the preacher stops us and tells us to try again.

This time I take a step forward and latch onto Rod!

"Boomer!" My mother commands.  "Do it right, or don't do it at all."

I grudgingly comply.

Later, at the rehearsal dinner, Anky buttonholes me.  "What's up, man? It looked like you were deliberately trying to ruin Terry's wedding."

I am sick of hiding.  "Oh, no, I just have a hard time figuring out the moves.  I'm not used to boy-girl pairs.  Back in West Hollywood, it's all boy-boy pairs."

"Boy-boy pairs?"  He repeats, staring.  Then he breaks into a wide grin.  "I had no idea you were...we'll talk later, ok?  After dinner."

After dinner Anky walks me out into the parking lot and reveales that he is gay!

"I've seen you maybe eight, ten times over the last three years.  Why didn't you tell me before?  I ask.

He shrugs.  "Why didn't you tell me?"

Well, why didn't Terry tell me that his best friend was gay?  Or tell his best friend that his fiancee's brother was gay?

Turns out Terry didn't know.  Neither of us lisped or swished, so he couldn't "tell" from visual clues, and everybody who did know was following the rule:  Never come out. 

And he still won't know.  Anky makes me promise not to out him.

He still goes to Terry's bachelor party.  I claim a headache and bow out.






The Day of the Wedding

Anky and I sit together at the reception, and then visit my ex-bully Dick for dinner and "sharing."  He has a slim but firm physique, nice hands, and an average-sized but beautifully shaped penis that presses straight up against his abdomen.  He goes down on Dick and me at the same time, and then he lies on his back so I can go down on him while Dick is topping him.

We get together a few more times, when we're both back in Rock Island for Christmas or the summer, but eventually we lose contact.

Terry stopped being homophobic,by the way.  In 2016, he lent his son his vintage 1969 Chevy Camero to drive in the Indianapolis Gay Pride Parade.

See also: How We Survived the Homophobic 1980s; My Date with the Groom's Grandson at a Gay Wedding; and Sausage Sighting of My Parents' Contractor

Tarik Hooks Up with Jonathan Brandis and Insane Ian

Norfolk, Virginia, July 1995

I'm 34 years old, living in West Hollywood but visiting Alan for a few days.  He's back at his sister's house in Norfolk, so I'm staying with my friend Tarik: about my age, short, dark-skinned, very muscular, with a handsome round face, bright eyes, and thick square hands.

We're having a potluck dinner with Alan and a few other guys.  I'm hoping to get to "share" later with Shane, a twink with short blond hair, a smooth chest, and a basket that won't quit.

We have barbecued chicken, baked beans, greens, grits, and a fruit salad, but Alan doesn't eat anything but a few strawberries.  He looks frail and gets confused easily -- nearing the end, I suspect (actually, he will live another ten years).  So I try to cheer him up with the most outrageous stories I can think of about life in West Hollywood: sausage fondlings in the sauna at the gym, my collision with John Stamos' bulge, Lane's four-way with Cesare Romero, Batman, and Robin.

Back in West Hollywood, Alan didn't like celebrity hookup stories: who cares if the guy happens to be in movies or on tv?  It's what's inside that counts -- inside his heart...inside his pants!  But now he asks for more stories -- maybe they are reflections of his old life, before his HIV diagnosis, when he was young and full of optimism, with a world of infinite possibility in front of him.  He interrogates me about any celebrity I have been with recently, and when I run low, what about Lane?  Raul?  Fred and Matt?

I mention Jeff MacKay, Peter Fonda, and Lost in Space star Billy Mumy.  But Alan wants to hear about a teenager: "Let the dead past stay dead.  I want to know that there are still gay kids growing up out there, a new generation to carry on when we are gone.  Tell me about someone fresh and new."

"I hear that Jerry O'Connell on Sliders is bi," Shane the blond twink says, "And everybody's been in Brandon Call's pants.  Some of your well-connected Hollywood friends must have hooked up with them."

Great, now I need a "fresh and new" celebrity hookup story to please Alan AND to impress Shane with the goal of a three-way later.  My mind goes blank -- could I create one from scratch?

"Um...well...Joey Lawrence jogs past our apartment nearly every day, and...um..."

Then Tarik chimes in:  "That sounds interesting, but I think you should give the rest of us a chance.  Did I ever tell you guys that I hooked up with Jonathan Brandis?"

I sigh with relief. Jonathan Brandis was a famous child star (Ladybugs, Sidekicks, It, The Neverending Story).  Now 19 years old, he is a full-fledged teen idol, playing Lucas in the sci-fi series SeaQuest  (1993-96).  He always denies that he is gay, but there are lots of rumors.

Baltimore, October 1994

There weren't a lot of science fiction fans in the African-American community of Norfolk.  Science fiction was for white people, the adults said, to dream about black genocide and a future all-white universe.

Tarik didn't care.  He loved science fiction, no matter the genre: books, comics, movies, tv.  So much that he went to every convention he could afford.  In October 1994, he drove four hours north to Baltimore for Farpoint 2.

Two of the three guest speakers were gay: George Takei (Star Trek) and Jonathan Brandis.  Of course, neither were out -- you couldn't be out in Hollywood, and hope for a career.  But everyone had heard stories about George inviting particularly muscular fans back to his hotel room at conventions, and Jonathan's preference for black men, with quite a long list of lovers for someone who was barely 18: Don Franklin (his costar on SeaQuest); Geoffrey Owens (Eldon on The Cosby Show); Jaleel White (Urkel on Family Matters)

The convention lasted for three days -- plenty of time to hook up with both George and Jonathan, and have time left over for Nick Miscusi (husband of the third guest, Nana Visitor).

Tarik hooked up several times -- as one of maybe 10 black guys among the 1,000 or fans, he was very popular.  But not with George Takei ot Nick Miscusi.

Jonathan Brandis finally arrived on Sunday, the last day of the convention. In the morning he was on a panel with Wil Wheaton (Wesley Crusher on Star Trek).  Afterwards Tarik asked a question, but he didn't get a chance to talk to Jonathan alone.

Next he stood in line for an autograph, but before he got to the front of the line, Jonathan said  "Sorry, I'm out of time."

So was Tarik -- it was 3:00 pm already, and he had to leave by 7:00 at the latest to get home in time for work.

At 4:00 pm there was a special presentation, a Star Trek/Seaquest parody, with the Brandis character played by a cute redheaded teenager named Ian Bonds.  It was spot-on, and Ian's comedy timing was genius.  Afterwards Tarik went up to shake his hand and talk a bit about sci-fi parodies.

Suddenly Jonathan Brandis was beside him.  "Hi, I saw your performance -- you do me better than I do!"

Ian laughed.  "Thanks, man."

"Hi, I'm Tarik," he said, butting in.

Jonathan shook his hand.  "I saw you waiting patiently in line, but I had to go before you could come up.  I had a great signature all planned for you, too."  He flashed a cruisy smile and touched his shoulder.

Tarik knew a proposition when he heard one!  "Well, I'm free for a couple of hours right now, if you want to give me that autograph in private."

"Oh, I just drove down for the day, and I didn't get a room."

"Hm...and I already checked out of mine"

"I have a room," Ian said hopefully.  "We can hang out for awhile there."

When they got to the room, Ian said "Excuse me," and went into the bathroom.  Tarik didn't waste any time -- he started kissing and groping Jonathan-- average sized, uncut.  Jonathan pulled Tarik's cock out, fell to his knees, and started going down on him.

"Wait -- Ian will be back at any moment," Tarik whispered.

"Surprise -- I'm already here!"

They pulled apart quickly.  Tarik covered his crotch with his hands.

"Hey, I'm as quiet as a Hobbit when I want to be," Ian said.  "And I eat as much, too.  Two guys is just an appetizer."  He fell to his knees, pulled Tarik's hand away, and started going down on him while fondling Jonathan.  Soon he was working on them both at once.  Then they pushed Ian down on the bed, and Tarik topped him while he continued to blow Jonathan.

Tarik pulled out before he came, washed off, and let Jonathan finish taking his load.  Then he went down on Ian (about 7.5 inches, cut) while Jonathan was kissing him and beating off.

Afterwards Tarik and Jonathan both had to leave right away.  They didn't exchange phone numbers.


Norfolk, June 1995

After dinner, as Tarik is driving me back to his apartment, I say "That story seems a little far fetched, unless those fan conventions are a lot wilder than I imagine."

"Ok, you got me," Tarik said.  "I made up everything that happened after Ian got back from the bathroom.  Brandis and I just kissed and fondled.  But I thought Alan would want to hear about some action."

Ian Bonds is now comedic performer Insane Ian.  He is a chunky superfan, cute but straight.

Jonathan Brandis always insisted that the gay rumors were unfounded.  He died on November 12, 2003.

Tarik and I never shared the blond twink.

See also: I Visit Alan, Sandy, and Their Boy Toy; Jonathan Brandis; The Gay Ghost of Ocracoke

The Friend I Didn't Have Sex With

 This month I will have lived in the Straight World for seven years.  Granted, there's a gay-friendly coffee shop with a huge rainbow flag in the window a few blocks away, and every year during Pride Month about half the shops nearby have "Happy Pride" signs up.  But heterosexism, heternormativity, and overt homophobia is commonplace.

  I get asked about "my wife" by nearly everybody I meet.  

You hear homophobic slurs at the mall.  

On campus, out LGBT professors are commonly denied tenure (except in the music and drama departments), and LGBT students are commonly denied admission to some programs, like law enforcement and social work.  

But I expected that.  It's just life among heterosexuals.  

Almost all of the gay men in town are under 30.  As soon as they can afford it, they move to a gay neighborhood in Chicago or Minneapolis (no one chooses West Hollywood anymore).  

I know only one gay male couple over age 30, but I don't socialize with them; they are too deeply immersed in the lives of the ex-wives and kids they had before coming out.

Almost every guy who came to my pre-COVD sex parties was married to a woman, bisexual or on the downlow.

But I expected that, too.  Gay men growing up in the Straight World have two options: conform to social expectations by marrying a woman, or get out. (I got out, but then the necessity of getting a job pushed me back in.)

What I didn't expect about life in the Straight World:

You don't have sex with your friends.  Even your gay friends.  They draw a strict line between friendship and romance.  Ex-boyfriend?  Stay out of my bedroom!  Sharing?  Unheard-of!

In gay neighborhoods, your ex-boyfriends continued to share your bed on occasion, and your friends invited you to "share" their boyfriends on the third or fourth date.  Failing to invite was considered extremely rude, as was refusing the invitation.  

Friends went cruising together and brought home a third person to "share."

At the parties we held almost every week, oral sex was a party favor.

I can only think of one friend in West Hollywood whom I didn't have sex with: Mickey.

Mickey was a short, round chub of indeterminate age, soft and smooth, extremely fragile; you felt like if you hugged him too hard, he would dissolve.  But that would not, in itself, be sufficient cause for refusing to share.

He  latched on to us somehow in 1992 or 1993.  I don't remember how; one day he was just there.  No "coming out" story, no growing up stories, no background at all.  It was as if he was just conjured up out of the dew at that moment.  This was not unusual in West Hollywood: many guys had experienced such trauma in their homophobic small towns that they wanted to forget everything and start afresh.

After a friendship of six or seven months, he vanished.  No goodbye, no note; he just stopped showing up.  This was not unusual in West Hollywood, either: when you moved home or to a new gay neighborhood, you were immersed in a new social circle, and forgot about all but your very closest friends.  

He may have been living in his car; his financial situation was unclear.  But that wouldn't be a cause for refusing to share.  Most jobs, even in gay neighborhoods, required you to stay in the closet; being out often led to poverty.  

 I remember watching our usual Monday night tv lineup (The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Blossom, Murphy Brown), going out to dinner (he didn't know how a buffet worked, and piled his plate embarrassingly high).  I remember buying comics at the Book Circus, getting Pollo Loco after the gym, Shabbat services at the gay synagogue.  But we never invited him to any party where sex was going on, or to spend the night in our bed.

A few random conversations: cats (liked), baked beans (yuck!), the Holocaust (horrified by), and BDSM (would like to try it). 

So why didn't I offer to tie him up, at least?

Some other conversations:

"I wish I could find a relationship like you guys have, with a lover who was faithful to me, who never even looked at another guy."

"Guys in Weho are such sleazoids!  I met someone at the Gold Coast last night, and he wanted me to go home with him!  Not even a date, just sex.  Disgusting! I'm so glad you guys aren't like that."

During the whole six or seven months of our friendship, Lane and I had to pretend to be monogamous!