First Day of Class Beefcake and Bulges

Plains, August 2016

I love the first day of class.  The campus has been mostly deserted all summer, but today it springs to life with thousands of new students and faculty members, dozens of new opportunities.

8:30 am.  Meeting with my new teaching assistant, a tall, buffed former football player who just began grad school.

I can't wait to start sending him on errands.

9:30 am.  Office hours.  I walk out into the hallway to go to the bathroom, and hit a huge crowd of students waiting for the large lecture hall to clear.

I get five smiles and three cruisy eye-crotch-eye looks.

11:00 am.  My first class.  112 students in the large lecture hall.  I never stand on that stage; I always make a circuit of the aisles while lecturing, to make it easier to call on random students.  Cute, nervous freshmen, nerds in button-down shirts, collegiate jocks fidgeting in their chairs.  Biceps and bulges everywhere.  A shirt lifts up so I can see a flash of abs.  A hand moves absently onto the crotch.















12:30.  Lunch.  I eat lunch in my office to avoid the crowds at the Student Union.  Five students are sitting on the couches in the main office, waiting to talk to faculty members, in front of a plate of brownies left over from a meeting last Thursday.  I walk over and ask "Do you think these brownies are still good after five days?"

A slim hipster says "Let's find out."  He picks one up and tries to feed it to the cute boy sitting next to him on the couch.

"I'm not eating that!" the cute boy exclaims.

"Why not? You've had worse things in your mouth."  He grins at me.

2:00 pm  My advanced class.  The buffed blond guy from my intro class last semester is sitting in the front row.

3:30 pm.  My other advanced class.  There he is again!  He's enrolled in both.

I also see the Hispanic bodybuilder who was in my intro class twice (he failed the first time).

I can't wait to start calling on them.

5:00 pm.  Gym.  It's packed with the "new year's resolution" students, who vow to get in shape every fall semester.  It's like the gym in January.  I have to wait for my turn on the machines.

Two guys who were in my intro class earlier today are using the shoulder press, at 40 pounds.  I lift four times as much.  They stare.

Another cute guy is using the incline press, at 60!  I move it down to 180.  

"How can you lift so much?" he asks.

"I used to work for a bodybuilding magazine," I tell him.

"That must have been exciting.  Did you meet anybody famous?"

We make a coffee date for tomorrow.

6:00 pm.  I go upstairs to walk around the indoor track a few times.  There are at least four shirts vs. skins basketball games going on.  I did a long run yesterday, but nothing says I can't do a nice mile and gawk.

6:30 pm.  The locker room is packed!  Stripping down next to me is a tall, thin guy.  He turns his back to change underwear, but I still get a glimpse of an enormous package.  Then a third guy returns from the shower and needs to get to the locker between us.  We step out of the way as he removes his towel, his gigantic penis in full view, and fumbles with his lock.

7:30 pm.  Back home, I order dinner from the pita place downtown.  The delivery guy gives me a shocked smile and starts stammering.  "Hi!  Um...your total is...I mean, here's your pita..," like I'm a famous movie star.

Maybe he was in my class earlier today.

8:30 pm.  Do I dare go on Grindr?  First week of class, all of the new guys will be on.

Sure enough, there are dozens of new profiles within a mile radius.  I change my profile picture from chest to face, but still, I get a barrage of "Hi, Daddy!" and "Come over and do me!"

This will be a fun semester.

See also: Wagner's Top 10 Turn-Ons; Classroom Bulges

Edward the Art Appraiser Tries to "Make" my Boyfriend

East Village, November 2000

I thought apartments in the Castro were difficult to come by, but when I moved to New York in 1997, Manhattan turned out to be a hundred times worse.

Not just the gay neighborhoods.  Anywhere in Manhattan.

300 square foot studios with cockroaches and no hot water started at $2000 per month.

There was an infinite variety of apartment sharing arrangements: during the week but not on weekends; from 6 am to 6 pm every other day; alternate Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays; the couch in the living room; a walk-in closet in the bedroom.

Some guys lived in an ingenious jigsaw of two-day-a-week or three-nights-a-week rentals in horrible apartments with crazy roommates.



I was interviewed by a dozen or so bizzarre and insane guys in horrible apartments before I landed the dream roommate: Edward, an art appraiser who spent most of his time in Europe: in his 60s, tall, husky, white-haired,  slightly feminine.

 He had a beautiful three-bedroom, two bath apartment on East 13th Street, on the border between the East and West Villages, at the heart of the gay community.

It was rent-controlled, and cheap by New York standards: my share was only $700 per month, less than half of my take-home salary at the time.

Besides, the living room was almost entirely occupied by floor-to-ceiling bookcases, filled with everything from the complete works of Plato to Mommy Dearest.

Of course, Edward had a few crazy rules:

1. All guests must be introduced to the other roommates, even if it was late at night and they had to be woken up.
2. There was to be no nudity in the common areas of the house.  Always wear a bathrobe.
3. No food or beverages could be consumed in the living room.

4. No porn movies could be viewed in the living room.
5. It was rude to have one's own food in the refrigerator. Everything anyone brought home, including doggy-bags from restaurants, was up for grabs.
6. The first roommate up in the morning must make a pot of coffee, even if he didn't intend to drink any.
7. The toilet seat must be left up when not in use.


It was worth it.  I stayed for three years.

Edward was not very active romantically. He rarely dated, never hooked up.  We only "shared" once: his Boyfriend for Pay, Andrew Marvel.

"That custom is for you young, randy hipsters!" Edward would say.  "In my day we were faithful to one person for life!"

You mean the 1970s, the heyday of the St. Mark's Baths?

In the fall of 2000,  I started dating Avi, a 25-year old Israeli studying biology at NYU.  He was newly out -- in fact, I was the first guy he had actually dated.

 He lived in a university dorm, so when it was time to spend the night together, we went to my place, and of course I had to wake up Edward for the introduction.  He grunted an annoyed "pleased to meet you."

But the next morning Edward was all smiles, making breakfast (a rarity) and peppering Avi with questions: "Where did you and Boomer meet? How do you like America?  Are you out to your parents?"

When I returned alone that night, Edward was gushing: "Your new boyfriend is magnificent!  Like one of those beautiful boys in a Wilhelm van Gloeden photo, or Caravaggio's Cupid in Amor Vincent Omnia.  Wherever did you find him?  How long have you been dating?"

"Last night was our third date."

"Then you're officially a couple!  We should celebrate!  Bring Avi around Friday after dinner, and we'll have champagne and cake!"

When Avi and I arrived, Edward was sitting on the couch in his underwear, a violation of Rule #2.

"Radiator malfunction, I'm afraid," he explained. "I called the superintendent. But until he gets around to fixing it, underwear will be de rigueur.   Or commando-style, if you like."

I didn't notice that it was particularly warm in the living room, but I gamely stripped down to my underwear.  Avi just took his shirt off.

"Now you lovebirds just get comfy on the couch, and I'll take care of everything."  He vanished into the kitchen and reappeared with a bottle of champagne, a soda for me, and three glasses.  Then he brought out slices of lemon cake with white frosting, a violation of Rule #3. 

"Today I picked up a quaint little video on Bleecker Street," Edward said.  "It's a bit on the risque side, but we're all adults here.  I'm sure we can handle it."

He slid A Carnival in Venice into the VCR. Porn!  A classic, but still, a violation of Rule #4!  Then he squeezed into the left side of the couch, so we were all clumped together, with Avi in the middle.

What was going on?  It was too early in the relationship for "sharing"!  Besides, you always talked about it first -- you didn't just squeeze in!

But that wasn't what Edward had in mind.  It was becoming increasingly obvious that he wanted to "make" (seduce) Avi, whether or not I participated!

But you had to wait for an offer to "share."

Besides, older never approached younger.  You always waited for the Cute Young Thing to approach you, lest you be labeled a Creepy Old Guy.

In retrospect, I could have deterred Edward.  I could have moved between him and Ari on the couch, or I could have suggested that we move to the love seat "to see the movie better."

But I didn't want to offend Edward, and maybe get kicked out of a dream apartment in the heart of the Village.

So I put my arm around Avi's shoulders and kept my eyes glued to the tv screen, ignoring Edward as he touched Ari's knee, rubbed his hand against his chest, squeezed his nipple, and finally kissed him on the neck.

I didn't think of how Avi would feel, newly out, dating for the first time, cuddling with his boyfriend and being "made" by a Creepy Old Guy at the same time.

Until it was too late.

Suddenly Avi bolted to his feet.  "I...um...I have to get up early tomorrow," he stammered.  He grabbed his shirt and practically ran for the door.

"Wait -- let me take you home!"  I called.

"No thanks, I know the way.  Thanks for the cake."  The door slammed behind him.  

When I emailed Avi the next day, he explained that he would be very busy every night for the rest of his life.

See also: Edward's Boyfriend for Pay

The Great 2007 Hookup Contest, Midwest Muscle vs. West Hollywood Street Smarts

West Hollywood, February 2007

I fly from Dayton to LAX for a job interview at Los Angeles City College.  After an interview with the recruitment committee, my job talk, and dinner at a Mexican restaurant, I am dropped off at my hotel.

I change into my West Hollywood clothes, and my ex Lane picks me up.  We go to the French Quarter for dessert with my old friends Marshall and Will the Bondage Boy, plus Marshall's boyfriend Mark and a Cute Young Thing named Jake, who doesn't seem attached to anyone.

I have two nights in Los Angeles, and I want to go to all my old haunts.  The Different Light Bookstore!  The Bodhi Tree!  The gay synagogue!  The Faultline!  My old gym!

"I have an idea," Lane says.  "Remember the Great Redneck Roundup of 1995?  We can spend the night hooking up -- pick someone up, bring him home, do him, kick him out, back to the bar for the next guy."

"But we were Cute Young Things back then.  I'm 46!"

"So what?  I'm 51!"

"And I really wanted to go to my favorite places again..."

"Why not do both?"  Mark suggests.  "There are five of us.  Each will take you to one of your favorite spots for an hour, and whoever can pick up someone wins."

"Are you ready to pitch your Midwestern farmboy muscles against our West Hollywood street-smarts?" Lane asks.

During the next two nights, we held the Great 2007 Hookup Contest at my five favorite spots in West Hollywood.

1. The Different Light Bookstore, with Mark.

We arrive at 9:00 pm.  Gay literature and history, book signings, poetry readings.  I used to drop in almost every day.  I joked that I was moving their entire inventory to my apartment, book by book.  But in 10 years in West Hollywood, I only picked up one guy here.

Mark goes to the erotica section and starts chatting up a middle-aged bear.  I latch onto a shy-looking twink, maybe new to West Hollywood, browsing in the gay history section.

"I wrote one of those books," I tell him.

He turns to me and smiles.  "Oh, which one?"

Whoops -- I can't find it.  He moves on.  A moment later, Mark appears with the bear.  "And this is Boomer.  He'll be there too."

West Hollywood - 1, Midwest 0

We go back to Mark's apartment.  The bear is very muscular, with a hairy chest and a nice uncut Bratwurst, but I'm more interested in Mark: in his 30s, curly hair, smooth chest, average sized, cut, into kissing and oral.

At 10:30 his boyfriend Marshall arrives to take me to the gym.

2. L.A. Fitness, with Marshall.

It used to be the Holiday Spa. Marshall and I used to work out nearly every night here, amid the gay men, celebrities, and gay celebrities.  Now it is a beautiful facility, but nearly deserted at 11:00 pm.  No celebrities, just a few gym rats who looked heterosexual.

Marshall and I work out, then go to the steamroom. It is deserted except for a young Asian guy.  We open our towels.  He gives us a weird angry look and opens his towel, too.  Fully aroused.

Marshall goes over and offers a hand.  The Asian guy pushes him away.  Then, with a look of supreme resignation, he walks over to me, kneels on the wet stone floor, and goes down on me.  Only for a few minutes, but it counts.

West Hollywood - 1, Midwest -1.

Afterwards Marshall comes back to my hotel to spend the night.

The next day, I have breakfast with the committee, individual meetings with faculty and students, lunch, a teaching demo, a campus tour, more meetings, and dinner.  They drop me off at my hotel at 7:00, and Will the Bondage Boy picks me up.

"This is Valentine's Day," I point out.  "Couples everywhere.  How am I supposed to pick up anyone today?"

He shrugs.  "Lots of lonely single guys hope to show that they're really men by hooking up, right?"

3. The Bodhi Tree, with Jake.

Will picks up Jake, and drops us both off at the Bodhi Tree, a New Age Bookstore on Melrose, where I used to go every week to browse among the paranormal books.  I picked up Richard Dreyfuss there, but only after working on him for several weeks.  How could I just cruise someone?

Apparently Jake can.  After we browse for a bit and I select up a book on alien abductions, he draws me to the Buddhism section, where a thin, intellectual-looking guy with a scraggly beard was browsing.

"Hi, I've seen you here a few times," Jake says.  "This is my friend Boomer, from all the way out in Ohio.  A Midwestern farmboy.  I'm showing him the sights of California."

"Hi, I'm Ezra."  We shake hands.  "Are you interested in Buddhism?"

"I don't know much about it.  Is it pro gay?"

We end up at Jake's apartment, where I go down on his thick cut Bratwurst while Jake is kissing him. Soon I'm going down on Jake, too: Kielbasa, uncut.  They're still kissing at 9:00, when Lane arrives to take me to the synagogue.

Since Jake initiated the hookup, he gets the point: West Hollywood -2, Midwest -1.

4. Beth Chaim Chadashim, with Lane.

The gay synagogue holds Friday night Shabbat services, plus a full range of social events.  Tonight is a Valentine's Day dance.  Lane is not big on dancing -- during our all our years together, as partners and friends, I've only seen him dance once.  So he sits on the side with punch and cookies, while I chat up some cute Jewish guys.

I still haven't sealed a deal at 10:30, when it's time for Will the Bondage Boy to pick me up.  West Hollywood -2, Midwest -1.

5. The Faultline, with Will the Bondage Boy and Lane (who insists on coming with us).

Lane and I spent many Sunday afternoons at the beer-and-soda bust at the Faultline, a bear-leather bar near Santa Monica and Vermont, but we rarely picked anyone up.  It's for socializing, not cruising, and tonight is no exception. Guys flirt and grope, and I see a chubby bear aroused at the urinal in the bathroom, but nothing substantial happens.

At 1:00 am Will and Lane come back to my hotel to spend the night.

West Hollywood -2, Midwest -1. 

West Hollywood wins.

But remember -- during the two-day period, Mark, Jake, Lane, Will, and Marshall were with just two guys apiece.  I was with them plus the hookups, a total of 7 guys.   

Midwest farmboy outwits West Hollywood sophisticates.

By the way, I didn't get the job.

See also: The Great Redneck Roundup of 1995; and The Great Hookup Contest of Philadelphia.