(Excerpt from the new gay memoir, "Naked in Paradise". Available on Amazon.)
Who knew that my high school sexual fantasies would some day come true?
Who knew that the same sort of high school bullies that once called me “faggot” would secretly want to be bullied by a “faggot”?
Who knew that so many straight men would respond to my L.A. Weekly ad?
Of course, they don’t want their wives or girlfriends to find out, so they leave me nervous voice mail messages, using phony names, pager numbers, and strict instructions to call only between certain hours. Mostly, I meet them in the middle of their workday, so their spouses don’t get suspicious.
And what attracts so many heterosexual men to my gay classified ad? It turns out to be the “No experience necessary” I put at the very end.
Tony is my first straight date. Thirty, with hard, chiseled muscles, long Fabio hair, and a locked-up, watertight bubble-butt.
Tony’s hot but indecisive. When we make our dates, half the time he cancels out at the very last minute. Then when we do get together, he keeps having second thoughts, and will suddenly shout, “Stop, STOP!”
“Huh?”
“Slow down you’re going too fast.”
I swear all I’m doing is stroking his designer pecs, I’m nowhere near his erect penis. But being straight from Boston and brought up Irish-Catholic, Tony’s paralyzed with papist guilt. So I stop. We sit. We talk. We watch some of my old pre-condom porn. I start to touch him again. He gets hard. He’s breathing heavy. This is it. We’re going to do it now! I unzip his pants—
“Stop!”
“What?”
He jumps to his feet and zips up.
“Are you sure you wanna do this?” I ask.
“Yeah, but nobody’s willing to go at my pace. They always want to rush things. We’ll get there, but we gotta go slowly.”
I don’t usually hang in there when it’s more tease than tickle—but ah, those muscles, that porno-grade bubble-butt.
So I say I’ll call him again. And he grins, I guess grateful that I’m not as impatient as all the other gay shmucks, whose ads he answered.
* * * * *
Vinny is a beefy, curly-haired electrician who’s a dead ringer for Mac Davis. He lives with his girlfriend in the Valley, and together they pick up couples off the Internet for suburban swinging sessions.
“I’m more into it than she is,” he confesses, “but she does it for me.”
Vinny will occasionally service the other straight guy in the foursome, or get oral sex from him—all very edgy for Burbank.
As Vinny nervously sips his second beer, he admits that when he read my L.A. Weekly ad, it stirred up a long-suppressed fantasy to be a sex slave. I reach over, take the beer out of his hand, and make him stand at attention facing the wall. I blindfold him, march him into my bedroom, and push him backwards onto the bed. Then I give him precise instructions on how I want my dick sucked—
“Start with just the tip…you’ll have to earn the rest.”
When Vinny doesn’t do it right, I spank him. He’s all teeth to start with so I spank him a lot. It feels like sweet revenge for all the “faggot” slurs I endured in my teenage years from macho jocks just like him. Anger and sex can be a potent mix.
Smack!
Vinny’s passivity amazes me. Are all straight men who seek gay sex frustrated bottoms?
Smack!
Vinny submits without making a sound, holding in his pain, being a “man”.
My mind wanders. I’m back at California High. An overweight, closeted, Jew boy who can’t catch a ball. All my rage held in. I don’t make a sound either. Not letting anyone, not even my friends, see the blood-spattered killer inside, as I murder myself repeatedly in my struggle to pass for straight.
Vinny suddenly moans loudly as he has an explosive orgasm. He’s very affectionate afterwards in the shower, and says, “Man…I’ve never done anything like that. It was wild. I really liked it.”
As we suds up with my Antiseptic Microbicidal Skin Cleanser, Vinny says he wants to get together again soon—
“But I can only do afternoons,” he explains. “My girlfriend doesn’t get suspicious when I’m out working. I can fit you in between appointments.”
“Sounds good to me.”
* * * * *
Rick is a Chicano from East L.A.—a cocky, swaggering twenty-five year-old who flirts with the ladies, but every six months or so wants to get “pounded” by a guy.
I pound him hard. Really hard. Probably ‘cuz I\'m so enraged over Mikey dumping me. Hey, somebody’s got to pay!
I aim straight for his prostate. It startles him as if mugged from behind. I bounce him on the mattress until he loses control. He capitulates completely. At one point I think he’s going to cry.
Rick says he’s never been fucked like that before—not with such aggression.
In the shower, he’s mellow as a pussycat. At the door, he kisses me goodbye on the lips—something Hispanic straight men never ever do.
But when I call Rick a week later to see if he wants to get together again, he’s cold and aloof. He puts me on hold and never comes back on the line. He’d clearly like to forget it ever happened.
My ex-lover Larry, who only dates Latin dudes, gives me some sage advice:
“He’s treating you like one of his Latina chicks. He may have got fucked by you, but he needs to be the big stud. I’ll tell you how to deal with Hispanic men if you want to see them again… you must treat them like Kings and say, ‘You are a handsome man. You must fuck every girl on the block.’ You gotta treat them like they’re the most beautiful men in the world. That’s how their mamas treated them. And you’re just one of the girls now.”
* * * * *
Tony, the Fabio look-a-like, stands naked in my candlelit bedroom, his back against the wall playing with himself—as I admire his golden body.
“Don’t you wanna turn the lights up,” he asks, “so you can see me better?
I turn up the lights. God, he looks great.
“You must be working out a lot,” I say salivating like a dog at dinnertime.
Tony smiles and nods. I go to touch him. He lets me stroke his pecs and abs until I arrive at his penis, then pushes me away.
“You’re going too fast,” he says.
This is frustrating. Where’s the easy, playful sex I used to have every weekend? Mikey was a great bottom. He’d let me be as crazy as I wanted in bed. And of course, there was the whole wonderful relationship that went around the sex—like a Twinkie surrounding the cream.
At my front door, after another pokeless night, Tony seems worried that I may be losing interest—
“So…do you want to see me again?” he asks.
I look into his eyes and there’s fear. So this perfect creature with the Chippendale body is scared of being rejected. Imagine that.
“I’d love to see you again,” I say.
His whole body relaxes and I hear a sigh of relief. All those muscles protect a very soft center.
I’m a sucker for insecurity in a sexy man. For a moment I imagine Tony falling madly in love with me. Of him leaving his oppressive straight life to become my devoted sex slave.
But it’s too dangerous a fantasy to indulge in for long.
