This story has moved to RG Beefcake and Boyfriends
Tuesday, November 8, 2022
Monday, November 7, 2022
Yuri and I Share the Boy Toy and His Daddy
The main rule about sharing boyfriends and hookups was: a couple brought in a third person.
During the 1980s, it was always romantic partners bringing in a close friend or roommate.
By the 1990s, the couple could also be a pair of close friends, and the third person a stranger, as long as there was a date first.
But you never shared with four. I can remember only a few times when that happened. It was always a little weird, and made me feel uncomfortable afterwards.
1. The multiracial four way with Lane.
2. The live sex show that we put on for Alan.
3. Victor and his Sleazoid Daddy
During the winter, hundreds of wealthy snowbirds from New York invade Wilton Manors, clogging the streets, crowding the bars and restaurants, throwing money around -- and prowling for beach boys. Suddenly Daddies have some Sugar Daddy competition, so if you're over 40, and you don't have a boyfriend by Thanksgiving, you're likely to go dateless through Valentine's Day.
It was Valentine's Day 2004, I was 43 years old, and I hadn't had a date since Thanksgiving. An occasional hookup, some afternoons at the Club, and not much else.
So when Victor at Barney's Gym stopped me in the locker room and asked me for a date, I consented, even though he wasn't exactly my type. He was in his 20s, muscular, with a smooth chest and a nice uncut Bratwurst, but his long, narrow face, tattooed biceps, and rings were a turnoff.
Over dinner at a Thai place in Oakland Park, Victor told me that he was Cuban-American, from Miami. He moved to Wilton Manors two years ago, had a job as some kind of juice distributor -- and had a boyfriend, Jauvier.
"He's a snowbird. He lives in New York, and only flies down to Florida in the winter. So we're allowed to date other guys, but when he's in town, we have to share."
Ok -- Lane and I engaged in that sort of dating quite often back in West Hollywood. What does this Jauvier look like?
"Oh, he's very hot. An older guy -- a Daddy, like you. Shorter than me, very muscular, blond, a short beard, super hung."
Blond? "Isn't he Hispanic?"
"Well, more of a redhead. In Spanish, rubio could mean either."
It seems that there are a lot of redheads in Peru, mostly of Irish, German, and Scandinavian ancestry. They tend to live in Lima and the other large cities of the north, and in racist Peruvian society they tend to be middle and upper class, so they rarely immigrate to the U.S,
"There aren't a lot of blond Hispanic guys around," Victor said. "Jauvier really stands out in a crowd."
Victor wanted to take me home that night to "share" his boyfriend, but I wanted to at least meet him first. We weren't as trusting in the 2000s as we were in the 1990s -- being alone with two guys you didn't know was a bit risky. So I invited Victor and Jauvier over for dinner a few days later, with Yuri and Barney.
Yuri was also in the middle of a dating slump, so he peppered me with questions about Jauvier. Is he a bodybuilder? How big is he? Does he like Russian guys?
"The four of us won't share," I warned him. "Lane and I tried that a couple of times in West Hollywood, and it was just weird."
"There won't be four tonight, naturally. But if we are friends, Victor and Jauvier will ask me to share on many other nights."
Victor and Jauvier arrived at 6:00, carrying a bottle of wine (I forgot to warn them that I didn't drink).
My first impression: ugh. Jauvier was shorter than me, with a substantial v-shaped torso and a hairy chest. When we hugged, I felt thick, heavy pecs and an impressive beneath-the-belt package. But he stank of cologne, he was wearing rings, and his face -- not so much ugly as sinister, balding, with gray hair that used to be red, and a villain goatee.
Ugh.
But I had to go through with it -- at this point it would be impolite not to share. Besides, when you're going down on a guy, who cares about his face?
Sample: "Oh, please, she spreads her legs so wide, you could fit the Queen Mary inside and have room left over for six maxi-pads."
About his ex-boyfriend!
Victor laughed uproariously at his boyfriend's so-called "humor."
After dinner, we gathered in the living room for coffee and baked apples, and Jauvier said "So, I never been in a gang bang with five guys before. Who goes first?"
Barney glared at him, came down with a sudden "headache," and retreated to his room.
"I must meet my friend at the Manor," Yuri began, heading for the door.
I grabbed his arm. "No -- stay!" I mouthed the words "share."
Yuri shook his head.
"Please," I whispered.
He shrugged.
The four of us went into Yuri's bedroom and stripped. I immediately dropped to my knees and went down on Jauvier's impressive Bratwurst, while Victor went down on Yuri, and Yuri studiously avoided kissing Victor.
Jauvier pointed his penis at Yuri, who shrugged and went down on him. Then Jauvier tried to throw his legs in the air, but Yuri refused. He turned to me. I refused.
"Come on, girls," he said. "Somebody has to be up for anal tonight!"Yuri and I got into the 69 position, leaving no orifice available for Jauvier, so Victor mounted him for anal.
After sharing, spending the night is mandatory, but when Victor finished, we claimed an early day and pushed them both out the door.
Yuri glared at me. "I do you a favor, so now you must share a guy that I want. Anybody I want, ok?"
And I didn't even get a chance to do anything with Victor.
See also: Yuri's Revenge: the Cowboy with the Kovbasa+; and Lane and I have a Multiracial Four-way.
Thursday, November 3, 2022
My Cousin Phil's Boyfriend
A week after my 11th birthday, we are back in Indiana for Thanksgiving.
Grandma Davis, Aunt Nora, and Dad got up at dawn to fuss about in the kitchen, stuffing the turkey, making a scalloped corn casserole, putting little fork prints into pie crusts. The rest of us watch tv or wander around outside with the dogs, as the house gradually fills up with aunts and uncles, great-aunts and uncles, cousins and second cousins, their boyfriends and girlfriends, miscellaneous friends invited at random.
I have door-answering duty when my Aunt Edna and Uncle John arrive with their grown-up son Phil.
Dad doesn't get along with his older sister, so we don't see them very often, even though they live only an hour's drive from Rome City. I haven't seen Cousin Phil since I was a little kid. Now he's grown up, in college: medium height, clean-shaven, light brown hair cut short, kind of cute but not "dreamy."
But waiting at the front door next to him is the most beautiful man I have ever seen!
Afro-American, and not just brown-skinned, but actually black., very, very dark, flawless. A head taller than Cousin Phil, with a round smiling face and a huge v-shaped torso that pushes out his blue business suit and white overcoat. Huge hands.
As Aunt Edna and Uncle John head toward the kitchen, I stare, thunderstruck. Cousin Phil looks nervous.
"Um...Boomer, this is my friend Malcolm from school."
"Hi, Boomer," Malcolm says in a beautifully accented English. "What subject do you study in college?"
"What...no, I'm not in college, I'm in sixth grade!"
He laughs. "My mistake -- you seem so mature." We shake hands. My small hand is engulfed in his.
"No, Little Man. I am from Ethiopia, a country in Africa."
Africa! I want to ask him about the languages and cultures and lost civilizations, like the ruins of Great Zimbabwe. But, trying to be polite, I ask only "What's your favorite thing about America?"
"Hamburgers and french fries, of course. Very good. And the people -- very friendly." He nudges Cousin Phil, who smiles.
Wait -- could Cousin Phil and Malcolm be best men? Everyone is always telling me that I will someday "discover girls," and start dating girls, and eventually marry a woman -- it's inevitable, it happens to everybody.
But Cousin Phil and Malcolm are both in their 20s, with no wives. Maybe they have each other! Maybe they have found a way to reject their future of wives and kids, found a way to live with each other!
I'm anxious to interrogate them, to find out how they did it. Unfortunately, I have to sit at the Kids' Table during dinner, but afterwards, when the men are watching some sports game and the women are washing the dishes, I tag along when Cousin Phil takes Malcolm out to see Sylvan Lake, a few blocks from Aunt Nora's house.
"How did you meet Cousin Phil?" I asked, hoping to hear about a meet-cute, an instant attraction, an invitation to dinner, a sleepover.
"We are taking physics together.""A lot of late-night study sessions," Cousin Phil adds, nudging Malcolm. They both laugh.
"My friend Bill and I are moving to Ethiopia when we grow up," I hint. "We're going to live together and study lost civilizations. And we're going to speak Swahili."
Malcolm pats me on the shoulder. I notice that he and Cousin Phil aren't holding hands, but maybe they're just shy. "Swahili is an important language in East Africa, Little Man, but in Ethiopia most people speak Amharic. There are other languages as well. In the north they speak Tigrinya."
"Tigrinya," I repeat. "It sounds like Tiger."
He laughs. "There are no tigers in Africa, but the Amharic word for lion is anibesi."
I write back, and through the winter and spring of sixth grade, Malcolm writes to me every couple of weeks. Short letters, just a few sentences, but still -- letters!
Strangely, he doesn't say anything about Cousin Phil, but I guess he's just shy.
"Tell me when you come to visit your Aunt and Uncle," he writes. "Then you will visit me, too. We will go out for hamburgers."
A date with Malcolm and his Best Man! Maybe we'll hug. Maybe we'll have a sleepover!
I imagine lying in bed between Malcolm and Cousin Phil, both of us in our underwear, their arms wrapped around me, our legs intertwined.
The only problem is: Dad doesn't get along with my Aunt Edna and Uncle John. He'll never agree to drive out to visit them.
I luck out: this year our camping trip is in Canada, and we're taking Grandma Davis with us. Since we're driving right past Montpelier, it would be impolite to not stop and visit.
We sit on the porch of their big white house on Main Street, talking and drinking lemonade. Suddenly Malcolm drives up -- by himself!
"Little Man, how are you?" he asks, holding out his hand. I push him into a hug instead.
"Where's Cousin Phil?"
"He is busy at his job, but I took off. I won't let my friend come to Ohio without saying hello." He stops to shake hands with the adults, and answers polite questions about his classes and his job. Then he turns to me. "What do you want to do today, Mr. Boomer? Get a hamburger? Go swimming?"
"That's a good idea," Mom says. "Why don't you take Ken with you, too?"
Great -- my baby brother tagging along on my date!
No sausage sighting -- we change at the house -- but at least I get to see Malcolm's strikingly hard-muscled body in a swimsuit, sit pressed next to him in the car on the way to the pool -- and, when we slide down the waterslide together, I lean back against Malcolm and feel his enormous package against my butt.
In the late afternoon we towel off and return to the house to change clothes, and Malcolm says goodbye. I wrap him into another hug.
We continue to write, but the letters become more and more infrequent, and finally stop altogether.
Rome City, Indiana, Thanksgiving 1974A week after my fourteenth birthday, we are back in Indiana for Thanksgiving at Aunt Nora's house, and Cousin Phil is there. With his girlfriend!
I shake hands with her politely, but when I manage to get Cousin Phil by himself, I ask "Where's Malcolm?"
He stares, confused. "Who? Oh, Malcolm, from a few years ago. I don't know. We aren't really in touch."
"But I thought you were..."
He shrugs. "We were in the same physics class, and when he didn't have a place to go for Thanksgiving, I invited him here. Just to be nice. We weren't really friends."
Or best men, I conclude, my eyes filling with tears.
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