The Edwardian with the Footlong and the Fetishes

San Francisco, October 1996

In the fall of 1996 Corbin, the gym rat from Oakland with the Mortadella+, took the leap and moved across the bay to San Francisco.  He found a third-floor walkup on Valencia, seven blocks from Castro Street and about three blocks from Gold's Gym, so we started working out together.

One day in October, we were leaving the gym after a workout, walking down 16th, when we saw the Edwardian: in his 30s, very handsome, with pomaded hair and a little moustache, dressed in a waistcoat and a boater hat, carrying a walking stick.  He looked for all the world like a dandy from 1910, walking down the Strand on his way to high tea with E. M. Forster and P. G. Wodehouse.

Since the days of Emperor Norton, the self-proclaimed Emperor of America (1818-1880), San Francisco has been a haven for eccentrics.  Colorful costumes, bizarre behavior, kooky beliefs -- not a problem.  Roller skate in your underwear while singing "Like a Virgin" and passing out tracts on the Illuminati and cornstarch -- just another day in Gay Heaven.

The Edwardian was a common sight on Castro or 16th.  If you made eye contact, he said "Good afternoon, sir," and expected you to respond in kind.  If you said "Hello," or, God forbid, "Hi!", he frowned and moved on.

Word on the street was that he had a footlong Kovbasa++++, which he shared with anyone who managed to maintain the illusion that this was Edwardian England for an entire conversation. I never managed it.

But today the Edwardian rushed toward Corbin, shook his hand warmly, and said "My dear sir, it is so delightful to see you!  You and your friend must come by for tea soon!"

"That sounds super radical" Corbin said in Valley Girl speak.  "Gotta book now, but we'll be there fer sure!"

The Edwardian frowned and moved on.

"What was that all about?"  I asked.

"Oh, I was with him a couple of weeks ago.  Believe me, it was quite an experience."

"Is he as hung as they say?"

"Even more.  But he's still not someone you want to hook up with."

"Why?


September 1996

Corbin saw the Edwardian in the gym one day, dressed in ordinary gym clothes, trying to work out with the free weights.  He had a sallow chest, but long, hard biceps and nicely developed triceps.

"Um..good afternoon," Corbin began. "I didn't know that you worked out."

"Indeed!" the Edwardian said.  "How else did you expect me to maintain my level of fitness? Yoga?"

"Oh, of course.  I meant no offense."

He smiled.  "None taken, sir.  You look rather like an expert in the field of physical culture.  I wonder if you might consent to give me some instruction.  I'll pay you, with American currency -- or high tea, if you prefer."

So Corbin showed him the proper form for the bench press, squat, and bicep curl.  Then they showered and dressed -- the Edwardian indeed had a huge, very thick footlong, a garden hose hanging between his legs that even Corbin, who thought Bratwursts were small and Mortadellas average, found impressive.

"What do you do for a living?" Corbin asked.  Probably he was independently wealthy, but one always asked about jobs, hometowns, and coming-out stories in the pre-hookup conversation.

"I'm a help desk technician.  My employer insists that I use the colloquial American argot while interacting with clients, but after work hours I'm free to speak the King's English again."

"You mean the Queen's English?"

The Edwardian sighed.  "My dear boy, of course I know who is actually sitting on the British throne at this moment, but in my heart and soul I am living in that most gracious and gentile of eras, the reign of King Edward, with an occasional nod to the last years of Victoria, or the first of George."

(Victoria reigned from 1837 to 1901, Edward to 1910, and George to 1936).

The Edwardian lived in a small apartment om Mission, on a rather run-down street otherwise occupied by a residential hotel and a pawn shop.  But it was elegantly furnished in Edwardian style: dark wallpaper, old pictures occupying every square inch of wall space, cluttered overstuffed furniture and heavy bureaus.  There was no tv or computer in the house.

There were a lot of books, all old hardbound.  A lot of late Victorian and Edwardian authors: Dickens, George Eliot, Yellow Age Decadents, Oscar Wilde, James Joyce. E. M. Forster, plus Shakespeare, Milton, Keats, the ancient Greeks and Romans.  No history books.

"Would you like to listen to music?"

"Surely you don't have a stereo?"

"No, a Victrola.  But it plays records fine.  I have some Debussy, Ravel, Stravinsky...and Madonna's Immaculate Collection."

"Really?  I thought you maintained -- I thought it was Edwardian only."

The Edwardian laughed.  "Sometimes, my dear fellow, you have to give the young man what he wants to hear, so he'll show you what you want to see."

Suddenly the antique living room was booming with:

Don't go for second best baby, put your love to the test
You got to make  him express how he feels,
And maybe then you'll know your love is real

Tea was a glittering silver tea service.  There were plates of hard, stale "biscuits" and small sandwiches of cucumber and cream cheese on white bread with the crusts cut off.  Not a very filling repast, but, Corbin figured, he could eat later, after he got some bedroom time with the Edwardian.

"It does get lonely, knocking around in this flat all by myself," the Edwardian said wistfully.

It was a cramped three room apartment!

"If only I could find a soulmate, Alec to my Maurice." (He pronounced the E.M. Forster character "morris.").  "Lots of young men want to make my acquaintance -- and the acquaintance of my walking stick, as it were.  But none of them have yet had the delicacy of spirit to appreciate my life here, my haven amid the bustling crowds of the modern world."

"Oh, I'm a big history buff..." Corbin began.  Then he checked himself.  "I mean, I have a great appreciation for modern literature and the fine arts.  Do you like Picasso?"

"Very good," the Edwardian said with a smile.  "You are a quick study.  Come, if you've finished your tea, I want to show you the rest of the house."

Wait -- isn't this a little premature?  Corbin thought.  We haven't kissed or fondled or groped.  We've barely touched!  But maybe that's how Edwardians do it -- leaving all of the physical intimacy for the bedroom.

He followed the Edwardian into a tiny but elegantly furnished bedroom, 3/4ths of it occupied by a giant bed with a 12-foot darkwood headboard.

He moved in for a kiss, but the Edwardian pushed him away.  "It's a bit stuffy in here.  Shall we remove our clothing?"

Feeling himself getting aroused, Corbin slid out of his pants and and shirt.  The Edwardian carefully took off his waistcoat, pants, garters, and socks, and hung them on hangers.  He was becoming aroused, too, his Kovbasa++++ pushing into the air.

Corbin went in for a grope, but the Edwardian pushed him away.  "Might I have a feel of your underclothes?"

He shrugged and handed him his briefs  The Edwardian sniffed them like a bouquet of flowers, then without warning stuffed them into Corbin's mouth.

Corbin spat them out.  "Um...those are dirty..."

"Mmm..hmmm" the Edwardian moaned.

Shrugging, Corbin knelt and started to go down on the Kovbasa++++, but the Edwardian pushed him away. "Really, my dear fellow, you are anxious to begin, aren't you?  We have the whole evening to get to know each other better. Perhaps I could...um..."  He turned Corbin around and began feeling his butt.

"I'm not into anal!" Corbin exclaimed.

"What a gauche term!  Rest assured, I have no sodomy in mind.  Merely a touch."

He knelt and began kissing Corbin's butt.  Corbin felt a tongue against his hole and jumped away.  "Ahh!  I'm not into that, either."

"Well, then, what are you 'into', dear fellow?"

"The usual.  Kissing, sucking..."

"How vulgar!  Well, perhaps I can convince you to try the finer things in life."  A whip appeared out of nowhere.  "Deliver your bum, please."

"Um...no, thanks."

"Water sports?  I have the carpet in the parlor macadamized..."

Enough was enough!  Corbin made an excuse, dressed, and left.

Who knew that the Edwardians were so kinky?

See also: Corbin's Choice; My Friday the 13th Date with Kevin the Vampire; and Finding Your Fetish.

20 Preachers, Priests, and Religious Guys on My Sausage List

I have always been attracted to preachers, priests, monks, seminarians, and religious guys of all types.  There's something about a devotion to the spiritual world that makes your presence in the physical world especially erotic.  Maybe the paradoxical juxtaposition of muscles and Bibles, penises and prayer.

Or maybe it's because God has blessed religious guys with exceptional beneath-the-belt gifts.

I've dated or hooked up with members of most of the major world religions.  Here are the most interesting and memorable:

College

1. Fred, my first real boyfriend.  He was student clergy when we met, during my sophomore year in college.  Then he took a church in Omaha, and I followed him there, with disastrous consequences.  United Church of Christ.


2. During my junior year, Corey was a follower of the Maharashi Mahesh Yogi, and wanted to learn to fly. When I brought up the subject of gay people, he claimed to be opposed to "perversion." But years later I ran into him at the French Quarter in West Hollywood. He was living in San Francisco with his partner. Transcendental Meditation



3.  Peter, the priest with the pushy mom, spent most of our dates talking about why the Greek Orthodox Church wasn't homophobic, in spite of its homophobic policies.  The first time I spent the night, Mom came into his room without knocking. But Peter was #1 on my Sausage List. Greek Orthodox

4. At Indiana University, one night I went to Bullwinkle's, the local gay bar, and hooked up with a Nigerian guy who had a tattooed penis and about a thousand books on magic and witchcraft.  He performed a spell for me.  Traditional African Religion

5. Asher, from the night of six naked men at Indiana University, was the first (but by no means the last) Jewish guy I dated.  Judaism.

6. When Viju, my friend and roommate at Indiana University, invited me to visit him in India,  I hooked up with several Hindu guys, plus Arshad, a Parsi, a follower of the monotheistic religion founded in Persia by Zoroaster (Zarathustra) about 600 BC. There are only about 60,000.  Another gay Parsi was Freddie Mercury of Queen.  Zoroastrianism

Texas

7. My most embarrassing hookup was with Warren, a shy, middle-aged guy who thought I was a hustler. He said he was from the Reformed Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but later I found out that his distinctive underwear was "temple garments," the special underclothes that worn upon your "endowment" in the Utah church.  So....Latter-day Saints.


West Hollywood

8. When I first moved to West Hollywood, I met Alan, a student clergy at the MCC who used to be a porn star, and, earlier in his life, Pentecostal.  He went back and forth from "gay is good" to "God hates gay people" three times. But he was a nice guy, and #4 on my Sausage List. Pentecostalism.

9.  While I was visiting Alan in Japan, I looked around for religious guys.  Nearly everyone in Japan is nominally Buddhist and Shinto, but who still believes in the old rituals?  Turns out that Jin, one of Alan's hookups, was actually training to become a Shinto priest.  Shinto.

10. Finding Buddhists at Mugi, the gay Asian bar in Hollywood, was easy.  My favorite was Tranh, the Vietnamese gym rat and UCLA undergrad who I dated for a few months.  He was vegetarian, meditated every morning, and had a gigantic 3-foot tall statue of the Buddha in his room. Buddhism.

11. Rev. Jasper was a preacher at a Baptist church in Gardena, not out to his congregation ("but we're working on it").  He believed that the Bible prohibited anal sex, but not oral, so we were free to engage in all the oral we wanted.  Two dates were enough.  The American Baptist Convention

12,  Panther, my housemate Derek's ex-lover, the naked man in the bath tub, worked as a church organist, but he was also belonged to the Radical Faeries and a Wiccan coven.  Paganism.

New York

13. It's not easy to find Mongolians anywhere outside of Mongolia, and only about 2% practice the traditional, pre-Buddhist religion, so it was quite a stroke of luck to find Tomor at a gay bar in Paris, of all places.  He told me that Mongolian shamans are all bisexual, since they see beyond male and female to the beauty of the soul.

And he turned out to be gifted beneath the belt, with a Bratwurst+.  Mongolian Folk Religion.

14. My friend Andre, who was straight but celibate, belonged to a "traditional Catholic" spiritual community that disapproved of Pope John Paul and practiced only the Latin Mass, but supported female priests and gay rights.  One day he invited me to the exorcism of a  young recruit named Barry.  The demon turned out to be homophobic, Barry turned out to be gay, and I ended up with a date. Traditional Catholicism

 15. Shen, an undergraduate history major from Hong Kong, told me that he was the world's biggest fan of Confucian philosophy.  Confucianism.

16. The Amish Boy in Red Bikini Briefs.  Ok, it was just a sausage sighting at a rest stop on my way south from New York to Florida, but it's the closest I've ever come to a hookup with an Amish guy.

Florida


17. Arjun.  Have you heard of the Urantia Book?   It was published in the 1920s, or rather channeled, and it tells about our place in the galactic civilization. Lengthy descriptions of the galactic government.  One of the students in my Sociology of Religion class was a devotee, and invited me to get coffee after class in an attempt to convert me. I didn't get converted.   Urantian Fellowship. 

18. Raphael, the Gay Psychic Angel whose arms didn't work, the hottest guy I have ever seen, told me about my past lives.  I wimped out on the date, but at least we kissed.  He was affiliated with the Science of Mind, a new age religion founded by Ernest Holmes in 1926 that teaches that we create our own reality.






Ohio

19.  I have to include the Catholic priest in my bed, even though we didn't really hook up -- Father Christopher and I shared a room at a retreat.  But I did get a sausage sighting.  Roman Catholicism.

20. Farshad, the French Moroccan.  I had been with Muslim guys  before, but Farshad was especially devout.  He helped found the first gay masjid in Europe.  Islam.

See also: When Your Boyfriend's Religious Brainwashing Kicks In and all of my stories about growing up Nazarene.

Eli's Dispatches from Oman, Mostly About Arab, Pakistani, Greek, and Iranian Men

Plains, July 2013

My email to my friend Eli in Amsterdam contained only one word: "WTF????"

He had just told me that he was taking a job in Oman.

That's right, Oman, the sultanate just south of Saudi Arabia, on the Indian Ocean.

I called.  "But...but...but it's the Arabian Peninsula!  I wouldn't set foot in any country where being gay brings the death penalty."

"No, that is Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates.  In Oman the penalty is only three years in prison."

"Only three years in prison?"

"Most of the states in the U.S. had worse penalties.  Besides, it is only if you are discovered."

"But...you live in Amsterdam, where everything is open.  Gay life in Oman must be incredibly closeted.  No bars, no bathhouses, no organizations."

"They have Grindr.   And it is a very good job, and it will last only one year."

"Whatever.  If you want to be scared, closeted, and celibate, go for it."

Eli's Dispatches from Oman (modified slightly for grammar).

September 2013

"You were thinking mud streets and minarets, yes?  Oman is modern!  The Food Court in the Muscat Grand Mall has Charley's Grilled Subs, Curry in a Hurry, Hungry Bunny, KFC, Papa John's, Mr. Pretzels, and Wok and Roll."

"Half the people here are guest workers from India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh.  Last night I met a very cute boy from Bangladesh on Grindr.  He never met a black guy before.  We went to my flat and kissed for awhile, and then I went down on him.  Kovbasa+, at least 25 centimeters, uncut!  Here's a picture (top photo)."



October

"Muscat, the capital, is beautiful!  There are so many interesting sights!  I like the Omani French Museum, the Bait al Zubir, and the Museum of Modern Art.  And there are two beaches!

 "The assumption is that gay people exist only in the West, so straight guys have no qualms about hooking up with each other while waiting to marry.  Today I hooked up with a Pakistani guy on a crowded bus.  He just started fondling me!  Before I knew it, I was aroused, and he was doing me through my pants!  When I finished, he moved away like nothing happened.

November

"Another Grindr hookup, this time with a real Omani Arab named Jamal.  Because I am black, he thought I was from Kenya  He wanted to know if all Kenyans are gay.  I told him 'Most.'

He was about 30 years old, tall, bearded, with a smooth chest, a Bratwurst+ beneath the belt.  I let him top me with my legs in the air. "

"Today I had lunch with Jamal at a place called The Steak Company.  He's married, but often has boyfriends on the side.  His wife doesn't mind -- she often has boyfriends on the side, too."

December

"Jamal and I shared one of his boyfriends, an Indian boy in his 20s with long hair and a little goatee.  He had about a Mortadella+, but he was a total bottom, only interested in going down on me and having Jamal top him.

The Arabs are really attracted to Indians, almost as much as to black guys."

January 2014

 "Today I hooked up with a guy from Zanzibar.  A tall black guy with big muscles and an enormous penis.  I went down on him in a secluded spot on the beach.  Can you believe it?"

 "I know you are into languages.  I've been studying Arabic, but I rarely get a chance to use it -- everyone speaks English all the time.  Did you know that Oman has 7 Semitic languages besides Arabic?  Also they speak Baluchi, which is a language from Iran, and Urdu and Swahili."

February

"You think that Oman is all Muslim, but about 20% of the population is Hindu or Christian.  There's a big Catholic church.  I went with my friend Jacob, who is an American, a blond-haired blue-eyed cowboy.  You think that black guys are popular here, you should see all the action blonds get!"

."I started dating an Arab guy named Mohammed, or Mo.  He is in his 20s, slim, rather feminine, but super-hung, with a thick Kielbasa.  He's only into oral, but I don't mind -- because I'm black, everybody wants me to top them.

Most of Mo's friends are gay.  No one notices, not even when they 'camp' at lunch.  He says his family knows, and doesn't care.  This is the first guy I've hooked up with who spends the night."

March

"Mo and I drove out to Nizwa, about 1 1/2 hours from Muscat, to see the Nizwa Fort. It's really a giant palace that dates from the 17th century, where the walis would govern during the Caliphate.  Nizwa is an old, traditional city with adobe buildings and an open-air souk, but also a Domino's Pizza on the outskirts of town!

There was a boy, about 17, working there, very handsome with big eyes and a slim frame.  We brought him back to our hotel and took turns going down on him.  Then he topped me.  Bratwurst+, but rather thin, so I didn't mind.

April

"I hooked up with another Arab guy on the street.  We met at the Family Bookshop, which has a good selection of English books (you can't find Dutch books in Oman).  He had a remarkably hairy chest and a Kielbasa+.  I went down on him while he kept talking from a porn movie 'Yeah, yeah, go down on that big cock, yeah, yeah.'"



May

"Mo took me to meet his family.   They asked me if we would get married!  Of course, same-sex marriage is illegal in Oman, but legal in the Netherlands, so if Mo comes back with me.  I'm not realy looking for a permanent relationship.  I think it's time to say goodbye to Mo."

June

"All of the guys I've met so far, Arab, Indian, even American, have been super-hung.  So I was disappointed when the Grindr hookup I had last night, an Arab guy with a thin beard and nice pecs, turned out to be only average."

July
"My year in Oman is almost over.  Would it be ok if I come and visit you on the Plains before I return to Amsterdam?  I could use a quiet, peaceful vacation after the nonstop sex of Oman."

See also: The Dutch Caribbean at the Horseman's Club; My Best Day in Amsterdam