May 1979: One of My Little Brother's Friends is Gay

Rock Island, May 1979

One day in May 1979, near the end of my freshman year in college, my younger brother Kenny said "You've been a homo for almost a year now."

I glared at him.  He was the only one I told, and we had an unspoken rule to never mention it.  "The word is gay, and longer than that.  I just figured it out last year."

"So, why don't you have...you know...a friend yet?  You're pretty ugly, and you smell pretty bad, but there must be some homo out there willing to give you a break. "

"I'm sure they'd be falling all over each other to get my phone number, if I could actually meet someone.  But I'm too young to get into the bars, there aren't any gay groups in town, and I can't just walk up and ask.  So far I've met just two gay guys in town, and neither of them want to date me."

Kenny grinned triumphantly.  "Well, I've got good news for you.  You've known a fairy all this time without knowing it."

"Huh?"

"One of my friends is that way.  He just told me -- I'm so cool, everybody is ok with telling me their deepest, darkest secrets.  So, want me to set you up on a date?"

"I don't know...a high school boy? That's a little young."  Kenny would be sixteen in June, so his friends were mostly fifteen and sixteen-year olds --- an insurmountable age gap.  Not for hooking up, maybe -- I slept with Mary's sixteen-year old brother last March, during spring break -- but dating?  What would my friends think?

 Oh, right...they would never know.

"Hey, it's not like you have a whole lot of choices.  And..."  He leaned in conspiratorily.  "I'll tell you his darkest secret -- he thinks you're hot.  I know -- it sounded crazy to me, too, but that's what he said.  So..."

"Well, who is it?  What does he look like?" I had met most of Kenny's friends over the years.

"That would be telling," Kenny said with a smirk.

"Well, how do I know if he's my type or not?"

"Oh, you have a type?  Well...I should tell you, he's not very fruity."

"That's ok, I don't like femme guys."

"Yeah, I figured you like to be the girl."

"We're both guys, dummy!  So...what else can you tell me about him?  Is he cute?"

He shrugged.  "How should I know what turns a gay dude on?  But the girls kind of like him, I guess.  But here's the thing   -- he doesn't know you're gay, so you can't know he is, either.  I'll invite five guys over, and you'll have to take it from there, dig?"

"Ok....."  I said doubtfully.

The next Friday night, Kenny invited five guys and two girls over for a pizza party.  We took over the basement rec room, which had a foosball game, a pingpong table, a tv set, and two couches.

Which was gay?  My mind raced.

(All nude models are over 18)

1. Denny the drama club boy (top photo)?  No -- he spent all his time with one of the girls.

2. Todd, Kenny's best friend, a sports nut with sandy blond hair and green eyes.  No -- he was flirting with the other girl.

3. Marshall (second photo), a baseball player with a stunning physique and bulge to match.  No -- he never gave m a second glance.

4. Handy (left), a black guy who was playing foosball with Kenny while I was sitting on the couch, so I spent a half an hour staring at his butt.  No -- I had never met him before, and Kenny said I knew the gay guy.

5. Carl from church (below), a very shy, reserved boy who I had never seen out of a Sunday suit.  No -- Johnny Nazarene, ultra-devout, would be horrified if he found out that he was in the same room with a gay person.  Two gay people.


Maybe none of them were gay, or it was one of the girls, and Kenny was pranking me.

I tried two more tactics:

1. "Anybody want to watch The Dukes of Hazzard?  Bo and Luke Duke?"

John Schneider was well known for his blatant bulge.

No takers.




2. "Whoa, it's hot in here."  I took off my shirt.  If the gay guy thought I was hot, he'd look.

Nobody looked.

I had enough.  Kenny was pranking me!  "I'm going to go out to the back yard to play with the dog and cool off," I announced.  I tromped up the stairs and called for Katie, the golden retriever, who was in the living room with my parents.

It was just past 8:00 pm, twilight, with the sky dimming and a few lightning bugs out.  I led Katie out and tossed a frisbee for her to catch.

Suddenly the side door opened.  It was Denny!

"Can I help?" he asked.  "Sometimes I don't like a lot of noise and crowds."

"Yeah, I'm the same way."  I handed him the frisbee, making sure that our hands touched.  He smiled shyly.

Could Denny be the gay guy?  But...he spent most of the night with a girl!

"So...is Angela your girlfriend?"

"I wish!  Have you seen her?  Way out of my league, man!"

So I played frisbee with Katie the dog and a straight boy.  When it got too dark to see well, we brought Katie back into the house and returned to the party.

Now Marshall was chatting up one of the girls, and Handy the other.

I tried one more tactic:

"Your attention, please.  I have, up in my office, at this moment, a fine collection of rare and exotic Golden Age comic books, which I will open for the perusing of any of you gentlemen...and ladies, too, of course.  But the office is rather cramped, so I can accommodate only one person at a time.  Th line forms this way...."  I motioned toward the staircase.

Not the best pick up line in the world.  The guys mostly ignored me.  But Carl the Nazarene boy stepped up.

"I'd love to see them.  I love comic books."

As we walked up the stairs to the kitchen and then to my attic room, and then to the room I called my office, I wondered if Carl could be the gay guy.  He hadn't spoken to any girls...but he was Nazarene!  No dancing, no movies, no eating out on Sunday.  With a preacher who fomented against homa-sekshuls in every single sermon!

I was a Johnny Nazarene, too, when I was in eleventh grade.

We never got around to looking at the comic books.  We were too busy kissing and groping.

Not a very big penis, but he made up for it with his enthusiasm.

See also: Is Mary's Brother Gay?; The Juvenile Delinquent's Bare Butt; and My Boyfriend Goes to Bed with the Baseball Player.

Choke On It! My Hookup with the Bodybuilder Goes Wrong

Plains, April 2017

I've always found Sunday nights boring, depressing, and generally downers. There's nothing going on, nothing to do but watch Fox animation, and now I don't even have live tv anymore.  So I've gotten into the habit of getting a hookup. Every afternoon I go on Grindr, Scruff, and Hornet for a couple of hours to try to arrange something for the evening.

I'm a twink magnet, so usually it's just a matter of deciding between offers.

But classes ended on Thursday.  A long procession of cars have been coming into the city all weekend, as parents come to retrieve their kids.  Apartments and dorms are packed up and vacant.

Last night there was a toga party next door, and this morning they all scattered, too.

Sunday afternoon I went on Grindr, as usual, and found nothing within a five mile radius but guys in their 30s and 40s, who always ignore me

What the heck.  I started the hookup interviews.


1. Dan.  In his 30s, smooth muscular physique, weird tattoo, nothing too crazy on his profile.

He used to work in a candy factory, but he had to take the worms out of the nuts and use them anyway.  Then he worked at a pizza place, but it was using dog food instead of sausage, so he called the Health Department on them.  Now he was working at a restaurant near the campus, but his coworkers kept peeing in the soup.

Weird conversation, but he had a physique, so ok.  I invited him over at 7:00.

I always invite two, in case one is a no-show.

2. Lonny.  In his 40s, bearded, hairy chest, ran a straight bar in a small town about 30 miles away.  His profile picture showed his wife and baby son.

A lengthy hookup interview, including questions about our penis sizes and favorite sexual positions, and an detailed description of exactly what we would do, moment by moment. "Ok, first you walk into the apartment. We sit down and chat for awhile.  I give you a soda.  Then we make out on the couch.  We go into the bedroom...."

He agreed.  I invited him over at 8:00.

I went to the gym, came home, had dinner, cleaned the apartment, and waited for Dan.  And waited.  And waited.

No show.

Time for Lonny.

No show.

Two no-shows?  This was getting depressing.  Was I a leper?

Next, I did the unthinkable.  I put an ad on Craigslist.

If you've never tried Craigslist, don't.  Hustlers, downlow married men, "sissies" who want to blow you while wearing a dress, guys who are drunk or high,

3. Austin

Slim, smooth, helmet-hair, dorky expression, said he was 18.  I said I would have to card him when he got here.

He agreed.  "I'll be there in five, ten minutes."

Five, ten minutes, fifteen, twenty, thirty minutes came and went.  No Austin.

4. Bob Jones.  That's what the Craigslist email said, but you can put in any name you want into the system, and some guys use pseudonyms.

He gave me only his stats: 36 years old, 6'3, 250, muscular, 8", want a blow job.  

6'3 and 250 pounds?  I'm 6'1 and only 210.  He must be a bodybuilder, I thought.

And Sunday night is depressing anyway, and I was stinging from three no-shows in a row, so I said "Ok" and emailed him the directions with no other interview questions.

Don't try this at home.

15 minutes later, Bob Jones was knocking on the door.  Through the peephole, I saw he was very tall and very buffed.  But he also had long hair and a long beard, two turn-offs, and he was wearing a dirty t-shirt and dirty jeans.

What the heck?  I thought.  At least he showed up, and a penis is a penis.

He walked in the door and, without saying "hello," grabbed me and shoved his tongue down my throat, a very wet, sloppy kiss, his teeth scraping against my tongue.  He had been eating onions!

I came up for air.  "Hi, I'm Boomer.  Would you like to sit down in the living room or..."

He pushed my hand down onto his crotch.  He was already aroused.  "Let's just go into the bedroom, boy."

Boy? I'm old enough to be your Daddy!

We went into the bedroom.  As we were undressing, Bob told me that he used to be a Marine.  He shot a lot of Iraqi soldiers during the war, but now he just shot deer and rabbits.

Crazy thing to say.  But a penis is a penis...

He lay down on the bed, face up.  I started kissing his chest, but he pushed me down to his crotch, where his cock was standing at attention.

Enormous cut Mortadella!  This was going on my Sausage List!

I started with his balls and worked my way up the shaft.  But the moment I got my mouth around his cock head, he pushed my head down onto it -- hard.

With the big ones, you can bob up and down, but you can't stay down.  It cuts off your air supply.

I tried to raise my head.  He held it there.  "Choke on it, boy!" he exclaimed.

Then he let me up.  Gasping for air, I began licking his balls, then worked up to his cock again.

He pushed my head down again.  "Choke on it!  That's what you want, isn't it?"

This time he kept my head down so long, I started to panic.  What was going on?  Was Bob Jones planning to suffocate me with his cock?

Finally he let me up.  I gasped and sputtered.  There were tears in my eyes.  I grabbed the bottom part of the shaft and started masturbating him while sucking the head.

Could I just stop and tell him to leave?  But what if he got angry?  He was bigger than me, more buffed, and an ex-Marine, probably.  I couldn't best him in a fight.

If the guy has no weapon, you're never in any real danger with his cock in your mouth and your hand on his balls.  But I really didn't want to deal with the fallout of clamping down.

It took him forever.  10, 15, 20 minutes.  I grew accustomed to the routine: masturbating him while licking the head, then bobbing up and down, then his hand pushing me down to "choke on it."  I asked "do you like it fast or slow?", "do you want me to work on your nipples?", "do you like it like this?", trying to get him to speed up.  But he always said "You're doing just fine."

My jaw was sore.

I wanted him out of there!  What if he got violent?

Finally, at one of the "Choke on it!", he spurted down my throat.  I barely felt it.

He got up, dressed while talking about his fishing trip, how his boat was rocking in the rain, and how he'd never got married.  Then he pushed his tongue down my throat for another wet, sloppy kiss, and he was gone.

To his credit, he never said anything demeaning or homophobic.

And he did have a Mortadella.

Still, I keep thinking that I was lucky.  The evening could have turned out another way.

See also: My Hookup from Hell.

A Day of Beefcake, Bulges, and Sausage Sightings on the Plains

The Plains

Springtime on the Plains is a paradise of beefcake, brawn, cruising, and sausage sightings, but yesterday was especially busy.  Muscles and bulges everywhere I looked.

1. Student Union.  I arrive on campus and walk through the Student Union on the way to my office.  There are tables full of students in muscle shirts.  One is a bodybuilder, displaying a smooth, hard chest and thick biceps as he bends over a chemistry textbook.

2.  Intro Class. 100 students in stadium seats.  I wander among them as I lecture.  A bird's eye view of tight t-shirts and short pants.

3. Bathroom Break. I always stop at the bathroom between classes, both to go and to check my grooming. A young professor with an uncut Kielbasa+ is just finishing up.

4. Prospective Students on Tour.  A group of fifteen boys in muscle shirts, plus a few girls, being led across the quad.  They gaze, gawk, ask questions. A Hispanic guy with brown skin and long, thick muscles makes eye contact and smiles.

5. Lunch at Chipotle.  The guy making my chicken and black bean burrito has his shirt unbuttoned three buttons.  From my angle, I can look right down it to see the outline of his hard, slightly hairy chest.

6. Afternoon Seminar.  Seven women and three men.  The men sit together in the front row -- safety in numbers, I guess.  One always has his legs spread as far as they will go, like he's cruising in a bar.  I'm not allowed to ask out students in my class, but after final grades are posted...

7. Campus Bookstore.  An older guy, professor or nontraditional student, husky, Middle Eastern, is leafing through one of the bargain books.  Definite bulge.

8. Volleyball.  They're playing volleyball on the grass outside the Fine Arts Building.  Eight guys, all of them shirtless.  I can't stand it!

9. Gym.  It's warm enough to jog outside, but I run around the indoor track anyway, to get a view of the three (three!) shirts vs. skins basketball games being played on the floor below.

10. Locker Room.  The physics professor with the husky, hairy body, the six-pack abs, and the enormous Mortadella on his way to the shower as I come in.  He doesn't bother with a towel.

11. Student Union Snack Bar for my post-gym apple and power bar.  There's a cute, nerdish guy named Dustin at the cash register who always cruises me.  Today he makes sure that our hands "accidentally" touch as

12. Bathroom Again.  This time on the second floor of the Student Union, down the hall from the student organizations.  A row of urinals with no barriers between.  There's already someone standing at a urinal, talking on his cell phone and playing with himself.  Average size, semi-aroused.  He sees me come in, plays with himself for a few more strokes, then zips up.

13. Office Hours.  One of the other professors in my department is talking to a gigantic bodybuilder in a black muscle shirt.  "I'd like you to meet my husband," she says.

14. The Artist.  I walk through the Fine Arts Building on the way to the parking lot.  An art student passes me, carrying an abstract sculpture.  He's short, sandy-haired, smiling, wearing green shorts with...you guessed it.  Yet another enormous bulge.

"Nice," I tell him.  "A real work of art."

15. The House Across the Street.  A few yards from where my car is parked: four guys sitting on the front steps.  One is playing a guitar.  They're all shirtless.

It's been like ten hours in a bath house.  And I still have dinner and trivia night at the gay-friendly coffee house to go.

Who needs West Hollywood?

See also: Searching for Beefcake on the Plains; Random Summer Beefcake on the Plains