Nephew Sausage Sighting #5: "Do I Measure Up?"

After my parents moved to Indianapolis in 1995, I stayed with my brother on my visits to Rock Island, so I've had ample opportunity to get sausage sightings of his sons (I only count those after they turn 18, of course).  But a sausage sighting of my sister's son, Joseph, was much more difficult to accomplish.  Here's why:

Indianapolis, June 1996

Every summer my parents celebrate Dad's birthday with a barbecue for their family and friends, held the Saturday afternoon closest to June 6th.  My sister and I always try to plan our summer visits to coincide with them.  This year it should be easy for her, since Mom and Dad have moved to a small town south of Indianapolis, less than 10 miles from Tammy's house.

But she doesn't come to the birthday barbecue.

"Oh, they're busy," Mom says.  "[Her husband] Terry is working a lot of hours at the car dealership."

I call to suggest that we get together for lunch during my visit.  I get the answering machine.

I try again.  She doesn't return my call.  After I fly back to San Francisco, I try a third time.  No answer.

I ask Mom what the problem is.

"You'll have to work it out between you," she says.  "Don't drag me into it."

No birthday card in November.

I stay in San Francisco for Christmas.  I send Tammy a present, but she doesn't send me one.  I call on Christmas Day, but after a "Hi!  How are you?", she makes an excuse and hangs up.

No more contact.  Tammy and Terry and their son cease to exist.

As far as I can tell, they figured "it" out, and they recoiled in homophobic horror.

My family practices a "don't ask, don't tell" policy.  They never actually use the "g" word, or refer to my boyfriends as boyfriends ("This is Lane, Boomer's...um...friend").   Still, after meeting Viju, Fred, and Lane, and hearing about Alan, Raul, Peter, David, Corbin the Gym Rat, Kevin the Vampire, and Michael J. Fox, you'd think Tammy would get a clue.

Apparently not.

Oddly, my brother, the fundamentalist Nazarene,  always invites me to stay at his house, and has no qualms about putting me in the bedroom next to his teenage nephews.  Not a problem.  It's Tammy, the liberal Methodist, who freaked out, who didn't want me around her kid.

Silence.  I hear about Tammy and her family from my mother's weekly telephone calls, but I have no contact.  

Indianapolis, June 2002

Then, after six years of ostracism, Tammy shows up at the 2002 Birthday Barbecue, bearing gifts, asking if I have met "a special guy," chatting and joking as if nothing has happened.

Approaching 40, she has become plump, almost zaftig.

Her husband Terry is bald and buffed, almost ready to become a leather daddy.

And Joseph, age 12, is slim, fey, and theatrical.  He has done some modeling for magazines, starred in a local tv commercial, and now he is starring in a community theater production of The Little Prince.

"Oh, you have to come!" Tammy exclaims.  "It would mean so much to him!"

I hate The Little Prince, and I doubt that the fey, theatrical blond cares very much about a guy he hasn't seen since he was five years old, but I go.

The next day, Tammy invites me out for pizza.  "You have to tell Joseph all about your life in New York!  Didn't you meet a lot of Broadway stars?  And Andrew Lloyd Weber?"

Edinburgh, Indiana, September 2005

I'm living in Dayton, which is only two hours from Indianapolis, so I can visit whenever I want.  Like when my nephew Joseph is singing at a regional glee club competition in Edinburgh, Indiana.

Joseph (never Joe) is fifteen years old, a kinky-haired blond, very fey, swishy and limp-wristed, with that nasal "gay accent" voice.  He wears bright pastel shirts and tight bulging jeans and plastic bracelets.

In spite of his parents' assurance that he is "girl-crazy," he never mentions a girl, but he has a series of male pals.

Definitely gay.

And his parents are always pushing us together, sending us out for pizzas, asking me to pick him up from school, inviting me to all of his recitals, plays, and concerts.

I suspect that they're looking for me to be a role model, showing him that it's ok to be gay.

Without anyone ever saying the "g" word.



Indianapolis, December 2008

Joseph is eighteen years old, still a fey, swishy blonde.  He's a freshman at Indiana University, planning to major in East Asian Languages and theater.

A few days before Christmas, he calls. "Can you come up to the house this afternoon?  I want to ask you something."

While your Mom and Dad are at work?  What for?

"Well, why can't you ask over the phone?"

"No, it has to be in person.  It's private -- I'm a little nervous about it."

I'm nervous, too.  I don't understand what Joseph is planning. Is he just going to come out?  Or does he expect an uncle-nephew sexual escapade?


When I arrive at Tammy's house, Joseph offers me a handshake -- his hand is damp! -- then sits me down on the couch. next to the Christmas tree.  We're sitting very close together.  I put the cat on my lap and start petting her to get my mind off my crotch.

"I'm kind of nervous," he says.  "It's...well, you know, I've never done it...you know, sex...before."

Uh-oh.  He is planning on sex!  

"You're an expert on this sort of thing, so...um...I need your honest opinion."

Before I can respond, he drops his pants, displaying an average sized cut penis and rather small balls.

I stare, very uncomfortable.  I certainly don't intend to go down on Joseph.  His parents trust me around him!  But...are they pushing us together?  Do they expect something to happen?

"What...um...are you showing me your cock for?"

"I might have a chance to have sex next week, on New Year's Eve, and I was wondering, am I big enough?" Joseph says.  "I mean, you've seen a lot of cocks.  Do I measure up?"

Um...I could judge better if I could see it aroused.

No, I don't say that!

"Don't worry, dude, you're totally hot.  Any guy would be glad to go out with you."

"Or any girl?"

"Huh?"

"My date's with a girl.  We've been going out for a couple of months now, and she said on New Year's Eve she wants to go all the way."

Joseph is straight?  Or maybe bi?

Oh well, at least, I got a sausage sighting.

See also: Is My Nephew Gay?; and The Best Friend of Terry the Homophobe

Meeting Six Guys at Freshman Orientation

Plains, June 2016

I never do anything erotic in my office.  It's down a narrow corridor, with six other offices right there, and thin walls so everyone can hear everything.

But earlier this week I made an exception. I figured it was safe enough, during a tornado.

It was Freshman Orientation:hundreds of newly-admitted students and their families were getting tours of the campus, going to advising meetings, checking out the gym, and talking to me, starstruck over meeting a Real College Professor..

Here are the six guys I met.  You have to decide which one I hooked up with

1. The Tan Dad

8:30 am:  As I am walking across campus from the parking lot, I see a family standing around a map, looking confused: teenage girl, mom, and the dad: in his mid 30s, deeply tanned and heavily muscled.

I stop, introduce myself, and give them directions to the library.  Turns out that Tan Dad and company have come all the way from California: daughter had some kind of sports scholarship.

"I lived in West Hollywood for ten years," I tell them.  "It's been quite a culture shock."

2. The Tenting Texter

8:45: There is a boy sitting in the lounge area of my department, texting on his cell phone.  Rather thin, androgynous, tenting in his short pants.  He sees me and quickly covers up.

"The secretary is out today.  Can I help you?"

He's planning to major in one of the sciences or social sciences, but he doesn't know which.  I give him some brochures.

"Our program is all about diversity," I tell him.  "Injustice based on race, religion, social class...and sexual orientation."

The sexual orientation always makes them nervous if they're straight.  The Tenting Texter grins at me: "Well, I'm all about diversity."

3. The Bear Dad

10:00: a group of faculty sit on stage in the big auditorium, talking to the parents of the newly admitted freshmen and answering questions. Mostly husband-wife pairs, sometimes with a kid tagging along.  But the Bear Dad is sitting alone; either the wife couldn't make it, or he's single.

He's in his 40s, tanned, slightly graying, muscular, his pecs swelling against his white dress shirt.  Unbuttoned three buttons, revealing a nice hairy chest.

He asks about online courses.

"I teach online all the time," I tell him.  "It's anonymous, you don't get to know the students, and they don't get to know you.  I much prefer on-site courses, or a hybrid."

.




4.  The Surfer

10:45.  Now it's time to meet in small groups with the students, and answer any of their questions.

My group consists of five girls and four guys, one a blond beach boy in a white muscle shirt with a surfing logo.

"Um...sorry, we don't have a surfing team here," I say.  He laughs.

Then he asks about "what ticks off professors."  I want to say something like "coming to class with your shirt on," but of course I play it cool.

5. The Big Brother

12:00: The faculty all get a free lunch in the cafeteria, so we can eat freshmen and their families and answer questions.  I wave at the Tan Dad and Surfer from before, but they're already sitting with someone.  I choose two guys, both in their teens or twenties.  One is probably Hispanic, with dark skin and black hair.  The other is a ruddy blond Anglo.

"Which of you is the father?" I ask.

The Hispanic guy laughs.  "We've been getting that all day.  I'm the Big Brother."

"My mom and stepdad couldn't be here," the Anglo says, "So he gets the job of keeping me out of trouble."

"Or getting you into trouble," Big Brother adds.  "So, what's the craziest thing that ever happened in one of your classes?"

6. The Volleyball Player

2:00.  It's raining outside, so I head for the campus gym and jog around the indoor track.  Downstairs there's a volleyball game going on.  Mostly girls, but two boys, one white, one Asian, who don't seem to mind playing a "girl's sport."

As I circle the track, he looks up.  Our eyes meet.  Twice.

Then he's gone.

Then suddenly he's jogging alongside me.

"Hi, are you a professor?" he asks.  "I have a couple of questions."

Turns out he's a transfer student from a college out east, here to play volleyball and major in Native American Studies, with a minor in Gender Studies.

The Tornado

3:00: I return to my office.  Occasionally freshmen or their families or both drop by to ask more questions or get some brochures.  They're wet -- it's raining hard.

4:00 I'm having a very nice, nearly cruisy conversation with one of #1-6, above, when a loud buzzer goes off and a voice says "Tornado Warning.  A tornado has been sighted near our city.  Take shelter immediately."

The guy looks around in alarm.  "Where is the shelter?" he asks.

"Well, there's a shelter in the basement of this building, but my office is in a corridor inside another corridor, so you can't get much safer.  You might as well sit it out here.  I have snacks and sodas, and I can get you on the wi-fi."

We sit on the couch.  He texts his family to tell them where he is, and then starts watching a movie.  I put my arm around him to see better.  Soon we're kissing and fondling.

The tornado warning is extended three times -- we can't leave until about 5:30.  By that time he's gone down on me once, and I've gone down on his impressively thick Bratwurst+ twice.

Ok, ready to guess who it was?

1. The Tan Dad
2. The Tenting Texter
3. The Bear Dad
4. The Surfer
5. The Big Brothr
6. The Volleyball Player

Answer after the break

A Week of Beefcake and Bulges the Plains

Plains, May 2017

On college campuses, the best season for beefcake watching is spring, when the heavy coats come off, and even when it's only 45 degrees out, undergrads break out the bulgeworthy short pants and muscle shirts.

Winter is good, too -- it's too cold to play sports outside, so they pack the gym.

But summer is a problem.  Most of the students are gone, and those who remain go off-site for their recreation.  You have to be diligent to find beefcake and bulges.  Here are my main findings of the last week:

Saturday: Car Wash for Life

I was out jogging, and I passed two teenagers advertising a car wash.  Shirts off, muscular physiques.

Sunday: The Bulging Boy with his Parents

My date and I were on the patio of an Ethiopian restaurant, when a family sat next to us: middle aged husband and wife, and son of college age, wearing athletic gear -- t-shirt, blue gym trunks, tennis shoes.

From my vantage point, I got a view directly to his crotch, which was tenting, regardless of how much he squeezed it, changed positions, or crossed his legs.

How embarrassing is it to get aroused while eating out with your parents?

I see tents quite often in class, but it's only a glance as I'm walking by.  This one was an uninterrupted view for 10 minutes.

Monday; The New Bodybuilder at the Gym

(Top photo).
You rarely see serious bodybuilders at the YMCA.  This guy must have been on vacation: tall, long blond hair, hairless marble-statue physique although he wasn't lifting a lot.  I tried to get a sausage sighting in the locker room afterwards, but there was an open door blocking my view.




Tuesday: The Librarian

I was back in the library, hoping for an instant replay of the Glory Hole from last Friday.  Nothing happened, but there was a new reference librarian, not the usual Creepy Old Guy usually there: mid-30s, buffed, bearded, chest hair sticking out over his button-down shirt.

His face wasn't anything to write home about, but he definitely stood out on a campus full of twinks.  Worth keeping in mind for later cruising.









Wednesday: Ahmed

The cute undergrad from Dubai that I met at the International Student Office.  Wouldn't kiss, but he let m go down on him.

Thursday: The Workman

This was the night of my date with Ahmed, but also, as I was driving past the Islamic Center, I saw a guy working on the roof.  Black, buffed, shirtless, holding a hammer.















Friday: Grindr at the Ice Cream Parlor

My friend and I were out jogging, and we decided to stop for ice cream (I know, stupid).  He was taking his time with his sundae, so I pulled out my cell phone and clicked on Grindr.

There was someone 30 feet away!

I looked around.  A middle aged heterosexual couple, a large family all eating ice cream together, and a bohemian boy.  He was thin, bearded, wearing tan shorts and shoes but no socks.  Sitting at a table with a girl, checking his cell phone.

I had my "friend" profile up, not my "hot" profile, so I quickly sent him a photo of my chest.  He glanced over without cruising.

A moment later, a photo of his penis appeared.  Or somebody's penis, an enormous Kielbasa, semi-aroused.

I'm free Sunday night.

See also: A Day of Beefcake and Bulges on the Plains; Tracking Down the Glory Hole Boy