May 27, 2017

Nephew Sausage Sighting #1: Ethan

We typically get our first sausage sightings from relatives, uncles, brothers or cousins, and they remain a reliable source through our lives, especially when the new generation of nephews and second cousins (your cousins' kids) starts to mature.

You don't have to have any erotic interest to enjoy seeing a nice penis, and there's always some curiosity: did they inherit your brother or brother-in-law's size?

My brother has three sons: Ethan (born June 1982), Frank (born October 1983), and Joel (born April 1986), plus a stepson.  I've gotten sausage sightings of all of them (after they grew up, of course).  First up: Ethan.



Manville, Illinois, June 2000

I am in grad school in New York, but visiting my parents in Indianapolis for a week before flying out to South Africa for a conference.  I offer to drive to Rock Island, to visit my brother, but Kenny says that he and his sons will be at a "father-son retreat" that weekend.

Held at Manville, the Nazarene camp in eastern Illinois.

Having spent innumerable summers fighting the flies, mosquitoes, heat, deplorable food, and nonstop screeching sermons at Manville, I scoff.  "If you want to torture your kids, why don't you just tie them to an ant hill?"

"It's not like when we were little," Ken says.  "They have tennis courts, hiking trails, and a gym now, and we stay in a 'family cabin' with its own bathroom and kitchen."

"No more walking down that terrible snake-strewn path to the toilets, huh?  But it still sounds awful."

"Why don't you come out on Friday, and see for yourself?  The cabin sleeps six, so there will be plenty of room for you."

I am definitely curious --  I haven't been to Manville since high school, over 20 years ago.  Besides, spending the night with Kenny and his sons will be fun, like the sleepovers we used to have as kids.  So on Friday I drive my rental car the three hours out from Indianapolis.

The full post, with nude photos and the description of the sausage sighting, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

Tracking Down the Glory Hole Boy

Plains, May 2017

Last Friday I had a glory-hole encounter with someone in the college library.  I didn't see his face or much of his physique, just a little of his legs and shoes.  But it must have been one of the three guys in the quiet study area that afternoon:

1. Hispanic, reading a pharmacology textbook: slim, big hands, round face, prominent eyebrows.

2. Middle Eastern, working on a laptop: very young looking, black hair, glasses, thin face,  red t-shirt.

3. Floor Guy: on the floor in the stacks, reading a book: Anglo, tall and thin, black hair, serious tan, wearing a purple university shirt.

I don't understand anonymous encounters.  I want to know who I was with.  So Monday and Tuesday I wandered around the campus, looking for them.

It's not as crazy as it sounds.  Between the end of the spring semester and the start of summer school, the campus is deserted.  The only students around are those who live in town, and those who got special permission to stay in the dorms during the break, mostly international students who can't go home.

There are a few likely places where they would hang out: the library of course, the gym, and the Student Union.

Plus Allied Health Sciences (the pharmacology textbook), the office of the French club (Floor Guy was reading a French book), and the Engineering Building (most Middle Eastern students are engineering majors).

No luck on Monday or Tuesday.

On Wednesday I was walking through the Student Union, and suddenly I felt a strong urge: "Go upstairs to the International Student Office!"

The rest of the story, with nude photos and explicit sexual content, is on Tales of West Hollywood.


Summertime Car Washes

One of the joys of summer is the car wash fundraiser.  Check your local event calendar, and you'll find one or two per week: a club, class, team, or church group is raising money by washing cars.

The attraction, of course, is that they're washing with their shirts off, allowing you to gawk at their spectacular physiques.

They know it.  They plan on it.  It's the one time in the Straight World where everyone acknowledges the existence of same sex desire.



Well, not really.  Everyone is supposed to pretend that it's all about the cars.

A lot of the car wash fundraisers feature women instead of men, so you have to be careful.  Is it a male team or club?  Is it being advertised by men?  Especially men who wrap the signs around their waists, implying that they are naked.

You also have to worry about the age of the guys.  They are typically in high school or college, but occasionally younger groups host car washes.  No point in gawking at a group of 12 year olds.




If you're lucky, they'll be even older than college age.










I stay away from car washes with both male and female participants.  They invariably try to steer male drivers toward the females, and female drivers toward the male.  If you insist on the "male" group, they act as if they have never heard of anything so outrageous.













And what's up with the car washers who leave their shirts on?  I understand that when you're out in the sun for hours, you can get burnt, but that's what sunscreen is for.













You're not allowed to just stand and watch the workers. That would make the real reason for the car wash fundraisers too obvious.














But nobody says you can't bring your car in to be washed several times.

See also: The Nude Car Wash; A Week of Beefcake and Bulges on the Plains

Pro Wrestling's Gay Villains

My brother was a big fan of pro wrestling.  He bought lots of magazines with pictures of beefy men in tight shorts pummelling each other.  He watched the WWWF (which stood for World Wide Wrestling Federation)  on Saturday afternoons, and rooted for his favorite wrestlers. And if ever you were to suggest that it was a performance, a fake, he would slam you to the floor and put you into a triple headlock-double Nelson-whatever  on the living room floor.

WWWF wrestlers came in two categories: "The Babyface," handsome, charismatic, extremely muscular, with an obvious bulge in his spandex: Bruno Sammartino, Chief Jay Stronghold, Ricky the Dragon Steamboat (left), Tony Parisi.  He played fair and square and usually won the match.


And "The Heel," not particularly attractive (although just as muscular), who cheated and used illegal moves, but usually lost anyway.

Sometimes he was a foreigner who riled the crowd with anti-American insults: Nikolai Volkoff, Stan Stasiak, The Iron Sheik, Kevin Von Erich (left).

But often he was a narcissistic fop who riled the audience with his flashy clothes, flamboyant gestures, and air of "degenerancy"







Jesse the Body Ventura wore a pink suit with a yellow boa

Adrian Adonis, who wore makeup, pomaded his hair, and minced and limp-wristed into the ring.

Johnny B. Badd, who wore makeup (including lavender lipstick), a lavender boa, and various gay-pride rainbow colors.

Prettyboy Pat Patterson, who wore lipstick and carried a pink poodle.

These were nearly the only images of "gay" people you could see on tv in the 1970s.


The gay-stereotype heel character was invented by George Wagner, ring name Gorgeous George (1915-1963), a wrestling staple of the 1940s and 1950s.  He had long, expertly coiffed blond hair and wore a lavender robe with sequins. Before each fight, he sprayed the ring with perfume, "Chanel #10."

His valet carried a gigantic mirror so he could check his appearance, keying into the myth of the gay man as narcissist.

 His ability to rile the audience into a homophobic rage made him the most famous wrestler in history, especially when the sport moved into television.

The characters weren't really "supposed" to be gay, or they would never have been allowed near a wrestling ring.  The gay-stereotype "hints" were enough to draw the homophobia of the audience, and elicit triumphant war-whoops whenever they were pummelled.


May 25, 2017

Sub-Mariner: Marvel Beefcake Comic


When I was growing up in the 1960s and 1970s, I liked Harvey, Disney, and sometimes Archie comics, but I usually skipped Marvel.  Who had the time or money to keep track of story lines that extended over a hundred issues and crossed over into a dozen titles?

But I made an exception for Sub-Mariner.  Who could pass up a physique like this?

Namor the Sub-Mariner actually premiered in 1939 in Timely Comics, the predecessor of Marvel, as a villain, a prince of Atlantis seeking revenge on the upper world by trying to sink th island of Manhattan.





Soon he was rehabilitated, and teamed up with another villain turned hero, the Human Torch, to fight in World War II.  They often rescued each other, or flew to the rescue of Torch's teen sidekick Toro.

For some reason, Namor never got a teen sidekick.  Instead, he gets a girlfriend, intrepid police officer Betty Dean.  But his interactions with the Torch provided enough gay subtexts.

After the War, he disappeared.  He returned in Fantastic Four #4 (May 1962), when the new Human Torch finds him living in the Bowery, a homeless derelict.








Namor discovers that his homeland of Atlantis has been destroyed, and returns to being a villain for a few guest spots.  When he got his own title, from 1968 to 1973, he was back to being a hero again.














The 1960s-1970s Namor was not a popular character -- he was cold, even cruel, so he didn't team up well with other superheroes.  Besides, he kept falling in love with women.  What boy wanted to read about hetero-romance?
















But I never really paid much attention to the stories-- they were incomprehensible anyway, full of references to plotlines and characters from a dozen years ago and other titles.  You needed a chart to keep track of it all.  I was mostly in it for the beefcake.















And there was a lot of it.



















May 24, 2017

How Intimate is Your Sex Life?

We have sex for many reasons:

To express erotic desire.

To experience beauty

To boost our self esteem

To be polite

For recreation

To establish and maintain intimacy.

Intimacy: that feeling of intense closeness, of opening not only your body but your soul, is essential for starting and maintaining a romantic relationship, the only way to distinguish friends and roommates from lovers.

These are sexual acts rated on a scale of 1 (least intimate) to 10 (most intimate).

To determine the intimacy of your sex life, score yourself for each of these acts that you engaged in with a partner during the last week, then divide by the number of sessions.

For instance, if you had five sessions last week, twice as as an anal top, three times as an oral bottom, three times as an oral top, and and one interfemoral, your score is 6.0

But, if you had five sessions last week, all involving kissing, plus twice as an anal bottom and three times as an oral bottom, your score is 12.8.

Note:  They are rated on intimacy only, not on other ways to judge a sexual act, such as skill required, degree of erotic stimulation provided, and facility at producing an orgasm.


Anal Top.  2

Anal Bottom.  4

BDSM Bottom.  5

BDSM Top.   5

Frottage. 3

Interfemoral. 7

Kissing.  10

Oral Bottom.  2

Oral Top.  4

The full post, with nude photos and explicit descriptions, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

See also: The Ins and Outs of Oral Sex

Who Killed Cock Robin: The Only Gay Nursery Rhyme

When I was a kid in the 1960s, I liked science fiction, like The Wonderful Flight to the Mushroom Planet and The Spaceship Under the Apple Tree, but I hated fairy tales, and I especially hated nursery rhymes.

Most of them made no sense: who would bake  blackbirds into a pie?  Who keeps a lamb as a pet?  And what the heck is a tuffet?


Those that made sense (sort of) were entirely heterosexist.  Jack and Jill go walking up that hill hand-in-hand.  Jack Sprat and his wife have the disgusting habit of licking dinner plates. Some kid named Georgie likes to kiss girls.

The only one I could stand was "Who Killed Cock Robin?", which like most nursery rhymes, was intended to teach Medieval children about death.  It's not actually a mystery -- a Sparrow confesses to the murder in the first line -- and the rest of the poem involves various birds offering to sew his shroud, dig the grave, build the coffin, and so on.




What I liked about it:

1. I didn't learn the British meaning of the word "cock" (a male bird) until much later, so it was amazing to hear about a bird named after a penis.

2. I could even get away with asking my Dad to "read me the nursery rhyme about the cock."


3. The illustration in my nursery rhyme book showed a muscular male killer, not a sparrow.

4. One of my first "British Invasion" tv programs was the episode "Who Killed Cock Robin?" on Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased), about a pair of swinging detective buddies (Mike Pratt, Kenneth Cope), one a ghost.







5. An episode of Matinee at the Bijou in the 1970s featured a murder mystery entitled Who Killed Cock Robin (1938).  It starred the handsome Charles Farrell, who would go on to play the dad in My Little Margie in the 1950s.  I didn't know it at the time, of course, but Farrell was: a former nude physique model; and rumored to be gay.

6. The nursery rhyme is reputedly about William II, the King of England, who was gay.  He was shot with an arrow by Walter Tyrell, probably his lover, while hunting in the New Forest on August 2, 1100.  In The Golden Bough,  Sir James Frazier argues that his death was no accident, but a sacrifice to the Old Gods in a remnant of an ancient fertility rite.

See also: The Joy of Saying "Cock"

May 23, 2017

Tatar Boys

Tell me you're not fascinated by the history of the Tatars: the heirs of Genghis Khan, the Golden Horde that conquered western Asia in the 13th century and invaded Russia, establishing the Khanate of Kazan, the Khanate of Crimea, and the Khanate of Astrakhan,

They are now scattered across Russia and Central Asia, in the Republic of Tatarstan, in Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan, in the Crimean Peninsula, in Astrakhan, in Siberia.











There are 7 million speakers of Tatar languages, which belong to the Kipchak family. They are related to Turkish, but not mutually intelligible.

English: I have a big sausage.
Turkish: Büyük bir sosisim var
Tatar: Menem zur kazilik.

Penis, by the way, is kutak.

Tatars are mostly Muslim, so it will be circumcized.









Some famous people of Tatar ancestry include actor Charles Bronson, dancer Rudolph Nureyev, and Olympic weightlifter Ruslan Nurudinov.  My friend Yuri claims to be a descendant of Genghis Khan, but his grandfather is Kazakh, not Tatar.















When Russia annexed the Republic of Crimea in 2014, its draconian anti-gay laws went into effect.  Crimean Tatars were already being subjected to discrimination by the Russian and Ukrainian majority, so many gay Tatars fled the country, to Turkey, Britain, and the United States.

There are about 7,000 Tatars in the United States









Yes, tartar sauce is named after them: it comes from the French sauce tartare

But not steak tartare (raw hamburger); that was originally called steack à l'Americaine, served with tartar sauce; thus steak tartar.

I suggest asking your Tatar date out for Chinese instead.


May 22, 2017

My Uncle's Queer: Joel's Transformation from Choir Boy to Punk Rocker

Rock Island, December 1999

I am in grad school in New York, visiting Rock Island and Indianapolis for the holidays, staying with my brother Kenny in his rundown, rambling house downtown.  The house is crowded with Kenny's four kids, his new wife, and her three kids, plus a huge assortment of dogs, cats, hamsters, and parrots.

It's easy to miss Joel, Ken's youngest son, in the crowd: he's thirteen years old, short, slim, a quiet, polite Johnny Nazarene.  But a talented singer: he's toured in Iowa, Minnesota, and Sweden with the Moline Boys' Choir.  We go to their Christmas concert and hear his solo in "Come, O Come Emmanuel."

December 2000

Yuri and I are visiting Rock Island for the holidays. My family practices a "don't ask, don't tell" policy, so they don't know if we're friends or boyfriends or lovers.  Most of them probably don't even know that we are gay.  But Joel figures it out.  Although he claims to be straight, he asked us to teach him and his friend Max "how gay guys have sex."

Yuri and I teach him about gay kissing.





August 2001

I've completed my Ph.D., and I'm visiting Rock Island for a few days just before moving to Florida.  Joel is a cute 15 year old with short black hair, pale skin, and nicely rounded biceps.  Nazarenes aren't allowed to listen to "the devil's music," basically anything with guitars, but he likes Weezer, Nickelback, and other groups that I never heard of, but sound loud.

Oddly, Ken doesn't forbid it.  "It's his life," my brother says.  "If he likes the devil's music, that's on him."

Joel asks why I didn't bring Yuri.  "You guys are, like, hot together, aren't you?"

Ken glares at me, accusing me of outing myself to his son.  "Boomer has a lot of friends, all kinds," he explains.  "Black, white, Jewish, Muslim, gay, straight.  He's so liberal, it hurts."



December 2001

Joel is a surly 15-year old, dressed all in black, who protests the "capitalist spending frenzy" of Christmas.  He spends most of his time in the room he shares with his brothers, listening to metal music.  He emerges to eat a bowl of Lucky Charms instead of Christmas dinner, and to ask "So, Uncle Gizmo, are the beach boys hot down in Florida?  I bet you get tons of action."

In front of the whole family, including relatives I wasn't out to!

"Um...well, I do ok," I stammer.

Later I ask Kenny if Joel is gay.

"Nope, nope, nope!" Kenny exclaims.  "He's totally hot for girls.  He's got a little gay friend, but that doesn't mean a thing."


June 2003

Maybe Kenny is angry about my accidental outing, or maybe he's just busy, but he doesn't invite me to Christmas in Rock Island in 2002. I don't visit again until June 2003.

Joel has just turned 17.  He has long green hair, earrings,  and a pierced lip.  He gives me a hug and calls me "Beach Boy,"

He just got back from Hardcore Fest, where he heard Walls Of Jericho, Suicide Note, Saved By Grace, As We Speak, Provoke, How It Ends, Devastator, Preacher Gone To Texas, Blood In Blood Out, Too Pure To Die, For Death or Glory, Wings Of Scarlet, Uphold, Begin Again, King of Clubz, Pound for Pound, Undo Tomorrow, Haunted Life and Butt Lynt.

"Sounds like a great lineup," I tell him.

And naturally he's the lead vocalist in his own punk band, The Dead Eunuchs.


June 2004

Joel has a bright red mohawk, and his group, The Dead Eunuchs, have been performing all over the Quad Cities.  Tonight they have a gig at the Rusty Nail in Davenport.

"You should come," Joel says.  "We play a great set."

Well -- I'm not much for punk music in noisy heterosexual bars. "I don't think..."

 "You'll like one of our songs.  It's called 'My Uncle is Queer.'"

The full story, with nude photos and explicit sexual language, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

Nancy: Lesbian Panic in a 1950s Comic Book

The cheesecake comic strip Fritzi Ritz premiered in 1922, with gags involving the aspiring model and her series of boyfriends, notably the nerdish Phil Fumble.  And a lot of sex jokes.




In 1933, Fritzie took in her orphaned niece, Nancy, a mischievous and rather melodramatic child.  Soon Nancy became the star -- the titular character in 1938 -- and acquired a series of friends and antagonists, including poor boy Sluggo.  Fritzie became mostly-absent parental figure.

Nancy has remained in print ever since. In contemporary strips, written by Guy Gilchrist, Fritzie is in her 50s and works as a music reviewer.



Nancy appeared in several issues of Dell Four Color and Dell Giants, and got her own title in 1957 (numbered #146 for some reason).

When John Stanley retired from the Little Lulu comic book,, he went to work on Nancy, writing all of the stories in issues #162  through #173, and then the renamed Nancy and Sluggo through #185 (1961).

Stanley specialized in the terrors and anxieties of childhood, and in Nancy's world  he goes unbrindled. The result is disturbing, sometimes painful to read.

Fritzie is at best neglectful, and sometimes downright abusive.

Nancy is jealous, spiteful, vindictive, petty, and vain.

Sluggo lives alone in an abandoned house and often goes hungry, unless Nancy agrees to feed him.

They are not friends, like Lulu and Tubby; they are dating, adding dark humor to their interactions as Stanley hints about just how physical they have become.

Neither has other friends, just antagonists and enemies who ridicule, criticize, manipulate, and harass them.

Sluggo has an adult nemesis who literally intends to kill him.

And the weird physical manipulations that, in Little Lulu, happened in stories, here happen in real interactions with the yoyos, who will transform you permanently unless you trick them into letting you go.

Perhaps the most disturbing element of the yoyos are the adults who fall into their trap, and spend their entire lives transformed, until, in old age, Nancy rescues them.

To top it off, there's Oona Goosepimple, who looks like Wednesday Addams from the Addams Family comics, an orphan (that's three of the regular cast).  She lives in a spooky old house with her usually absent grandmother.  Other relatives usually appear, as threats.

One uncle is a giant, lying asleep in the basement.  If he ever awakens, his movements will bring down the house.  So Grandma keeps him drugged.

Nancy dislikes the "creepy" Oona, and rejects all of her overtures of friendship -- but finds herself drawn unwillingly to the house anyway.

She is invited to a party, but arrives to discover that she is the only guest.

Oona pushes Nancy to eat cookies, play games, and spend the night.

Nancy tries to refuse, but can't help herself.

A weird compulsion to spend the night with a creepy girl, or eat the forbidden fruit.



During the 1950s, gay men and lesbians were portrayed as expert seducers, pulling innocents unwillingly into their "deviance."

Just another of the horrors of Nancy's world.

See also: Little Lulu

May 21, 2017

Tom of Finland

When I was in grad school in Bloomington, Indiana in the early 1980s, I used to buy a gay porn magazine at College Avenue Books:  In Touch for Men, which featured not only pictures of naked men, but articles on gay history and culture, dating tips, movie reviews, and even comics.

I was particularly drawn to a series of non-verbal, single-panel comics featuring macho icons like bikers, cops, lumberjacks, and cowboys, impossibly muscular and impossibly well endowed, interacting with each other.  Aggressive, athletic, and masculine, they were a sharp contrast to the contemporary mass media depictions of gay men as soft, willowy sissies.

They all had the same "look": they had wavy hair, Castro Clone moustaches, long faces, and square jaws.  They were always smiling, enjoying every moment of their lives.



There were occasional romantic or humorous moments, but mostly the comics were about sex.  Not the furtive, guilty sex of the 1960s tea rooms -- this was bold, aggressive, joyful, in public, in full view of passersby, who, more often than not, would ask to join in.

There was no homophobia in this world, but not much gay culture, either. Not many gay rights marches or meetings of the Gay Activists Alliance, not a lot of scenes set on Christopher Street.  Impossibly muscular, impossibly well endowed men interacted in police stations, gas stations, army barracks, tattoo parlors, in the woods.  It was a raw, primal world of same-sex desire.  I had never seen anything like it.


The artist was Tom of Finland, aka Touko Laaksonen (1920-1991), who began publishing drawings in the early Physique Pictorial in the 1950s.  By 1973, he had become so famous that he was able to quit his job in advertising and devoted himself full-time to his art.  He published in In Touch, Mandate, the Meatmen series of gay comic anthologies, and eventually in comic-book length (but wordless) tales of Kake, a gay man on the prowl.

By the time I discovered him, in the 1980s, Tom was falling out of favor.  His work was not political enough, ignored homophobia and AIDS, and portrayed gay men as obsessed with sex.  Besides, it set the bar for male beauty impossibly high, ruining the self-esteem of those who didn't fit his rigid standards of age, size, and body type.  

Ok, but sometimes you just want to look at hot guys.



Today Tom has been rediscovered.  There are retrospectives of his work in museums in Los Angeles, San Francisco, Berlin, and Helsinki.   You can buy Tom of Finland books, dolls, and a cologne.  In September 2014, Finland released a series of postage stamps featuring iconic Tom's men.

See also: Sean and the World of Gay Leathermen; The Mystery of Cavelo; and Gay Comics of the 1980s.

The Glory Hole in the Library Bathroom

The summers I remember as a kid were crowded with activity, which makes the summers of adulthood even more intensely dull.

Last Friday the campus was deserted.  Even the secretary in the main office was gone.  I walked down hallways so deserted that the motion-sensor lights were off.

All of the food services were closed, so I had to walk all the way across the street to get lunch.

The campus gym was closed for remodeling, so I would have to go to the YMCA later.  But I had a more pressing problem: I had to use the bathroom.

When I have to sit down, I don't use the restrooms in my building -- they're heavily used, and so rather gross (a surprising number of college students don't know how to flush), and not at all private.  I use the one in the campus gym -- closed! or the one upstairs in the Business Building -- out of order!

Ok, Performing Arts, second floor.

Ocupado!

The only other secluded, non-gross restroom I could think of was on the third floor of the library, quite a walk, but...I had no choice!

I climbed the stairs to the third floor.  There were three students in the study area, at separate tables: a girl, a cute Hispanic guy, and a young-looking Middle Eastern guy.

I was curious about the cute Hispanic guy  taking notes from a book -- classes were over! So I walked past and took a peek: pharmacology.  He must be working on a late paper.

He looked up as I passed and stared at me suspiciously.  He was slim, with a round face, prominent eyebrows, and sensual lips.  Long, thin arms, square hands.

The Middle Eastern guy was working on his laptop: all I saw was black hair, a thin eyeglassed face, and a red t-shirt.  He looked very young.  I wondered if he was a newly-admitted student on a tour, taking a break in the library?

 I didn't want them to think I was there just to use the bathroom, so I crossed the room and headed for the PQ Section, French literature.  I browsed through Medieval, Renaissance, 19th Century, and turned the corner to a dead end with 20th Century.

I almost tripped over a guy sitting on the floor, reading an old book.

"Oh, excuse me!"

"No problem," he said, looking up briefly.  He was tall and thin, with black hair and a serious tan, wearing a purple university shirt and jeans.

I was already in this corridor, so I had to pretend to be looking for something.  I picked out a book on Gide and walked past the floor guy again, through the quiet study area.  I put the book down on one of the tables and headed to the restroom.

It was a long, narrow room.  You walked past the sinks into a little alcove with thick, heavy walls, for the urinals, and then another alcove with two very large stalls.  I chose the farthest one and sat down.

Then I heard the far door swing open.

The rest of the story is too explicit for Boomer Beefcake and Bonding.  You can read it on Tales of West Hollywood.