NYSocBoy's Beefcake and Bonding

Of all the authors that teachers foisted upon me as a kid to embrace Rock Island's Scandinavian heritage, the absolute worst was Hans Christian Andersen. I hated fairy tales anyway -- who needs fairy godmothers, when there are rocket ships blasting off to Jupiter? -- and these were grim, morbid, horrible:

"The Little Mermaid": A mermaid sacrifices her life to save a handsome prince.

"The Brave Tin Soldier." Yeah, he's brave, until he gets too near a fire, and melts to death.

"The Snow Queen." A cold person keeps kidnapping children and freezing them to death.

"The Little Match-Seller." A girl selling matches freezes to death.

"The Garden of Paradise." A prince dies.

One or two of his cautionary tales were ok -- "The Emperor's New Clothes" and "The Ugly Duckling." But really, who wouldn't rather be watching Fractured Fairy Tales on Rocky and Bullwinkle?

Later I discovered that Andersen was gay or bisexual in real life. In fact, his psychiatrist invented the term homosexual from the Greek homo (the same) and the Latin sexualis in order to diagnose his condition.

Gay but depressed. No wonder his characters keep dying.

I've never seen any of the film versions of Andersen's fairy tales, but I understand that Disney let The Little Mermaid, Ariel, live, in the 1989 animated version.

And displayed Prince Eric shirtless, although probably not as suggestively as this fan art from Lucien-Christophe on Deviant Art.com.

If you want to see beefcake in the Hans Christian Andersen oeuvre, you need to seek out the occasional stage version of "The Emperor's New Clothes" (above), or The Little Mermaid stage musical.

Eric doesn't display much, but King Triton, Ariel's father, is bare-chested.

Although sometimes the actor wears a ridiculous beard.

There's no Jesus in Jesus' Kid Brother, by Brian and Mark Karmelich, but there is significant beefcake, and some gay subtexts.

Growing up in the Christ family (apparently they weren't aware that Christ is not a surname), Larry naturally feels some sibling rivalry with his celebrity half-brother. But Dad Joseph tells him that, even though he can't be the Savior of the World, he can have an admirable life: "find a good job, and fall in love."

So Larry and his buddy Barabbas go out to look for a job. En route, Larry meets Mary Pilate, daughter of Pontius, leader of the despised Romans. They fall in love and go on the lam, pursued by Stu the Centurion, who is in charge of crucifixions, and his cross-makers, Kriss and Kross.

The last thing we need is another hetero-romance, but there are gay subtexts throughout, in the interaction between Larry and Barabbas, and especially in Stu, who appears to want Larry for himself.

The premiere, at the Hudson Theater in 2003, featured David Brouwer (Larry), Christopher Dean Briant (Barabbas), and Benjamin Sprunger (Stu the Centurion, top photo).

The Long Beach run featured Joseph Sark (Larry), Christopher Dean Briant (Barabbas), and David Eldon (Stu the Centurion, left).

People keep asking, and I keep asking myself, how could my parents and relatives and friends have had no clue? How could I have had no clue, until the summer after my high school graduation?

I mean, it seems pretty obvious, after the Book of Cute boys, the bodybuilder on the beach, marrying the boy next door, crying because the President's not cute, my date with a boy, Bill and I becoming a Mama and a Papa, wanting to see muscles at A Little Bit O'Heaven, asking for a naked man for Christmas, planning to escape to Arabia with Dan, having a crush on Giovanni, dancing with a Swedish leatherboy, deciding to go to college to be with Verne...and on and on.

How many clues do you need?

But it was a different world, where gay people were never, ever mentioned. Many heterosexuals were not aware that gay people existed, and those who did thought only of drag queens. If you didn't wear dresses and sashay and call people "Mary," then you were heterosexual, and the things you did were, by definition, things that heterosexuals did.

I didn't wear dresses, sashay, or call people "Mary." Therefore:

My interest in guys was merely buddy-bonding, or so trivial as to go unnoticed.
My lack of interest in girls was merely shyness.
Or I was just being a smart aleck, trying to stir things up by pretending to not be interested.

And by the way, those drag queens were only about dresses and makeup. They had no erotic or romantic interest in men. Same-sex desire absolutely did not exist.

So even though I was quite aware of my interest in men, even though I was intimate with two guys during high school, I never connected that interest to "gay."

Even when they figured it out, my parents and relatives still thought of me as heterosexual most of the time. They had to make a mental shift, add some information, to conclude "Right, Jeff will be bringing a guy to the party," or "No, Jeff won't want to be fixed up with the boss's daughter." Sometimes it didn't work.

Get this:

Summer 1989: Back from my semester in Turkey, I go home to Rock Island to visit my parents and brother and sister. At JR's, Rock Island's gay bar, I run into a woman I knew in high school. Of course, I didn't know then that she was a lesbian! We make plans to have dinner tomorrow night.

I go home, and tell my mother about my dinner plans. Later, I overhear her telling my father: "Jeff is wild about a girl he met today."

Wild about a girl? Really?

I've just started dating Lee, so they've heard me praising him in about 6 of our weekly phone conversations. Before that, they heard about Alan, Raoul, my celebrity boyfriend, Jimmy the Bodybuilder on Crutches, my date with Richard Dreyfuss, the Bulgarian bodybuilder who was jealous of Michael J. Fox. They've met Fred, Brian, the Priest with the Pushy Mom, and Viju.

Did she just forget?

It gets worse:

Summer 2002: Mom and Dad have retired and moved to Franklin, Indiana. I fly up from Florida to visit them. It's a nice, bright, sunny day, and my father suggests that I go jogging in the park, where I can "look at all the pretty girls."

WTF?

I should say something like: Dad, I'm 41 years old. I haven't been on a date with a girl, or even mentioned a girl, for over twenty years. But I've said a lot about Jaan, Yuri, Blake the Opera Buff, my date with Andrew Lloyd Webber, the Hottest Guy in the World, Matt the Security Guard, Jim the Baseball Player. I'm living in Florida with 2 guys. Doesn't that give you a clue?

But instead I just repeat, weakly, "Look at all the pretty girls..."

"Well, sure. You're a guy, aren't you?"

I begin to understand. He made an instant, instinctive connection: Jeff is a guy, and all guys like to look at pretty girls.

He could have thought for a moment, and reasoned: no, wait, Jeff would rather look at guys. But he didn't think, heteronormativity was just too strong, and 41 years of evidence vanished in the face of an "obvious" truth.

See also: Why My Parents Kept So Many Shirtless Pictures; and My Father Explains the Facts of Life.

When I lived in Florida, people kept trying me to go on cruises on the Caribbean.

But...that would involve getting on a big boat. We've invented airplanes now, that get you there faster.

"But they have beaches. You can lie in the sun."

"Um...we have beaches in Florida."

"Cuba has some of the greatest architectural masterpieces in the world."

"Can't go, American citizens aren't allowed."

"What about history? Columbus, pirates, Haitian voodoo, Ricky Ricardo...."

"Yeah, about that. Antiquated sodomy laws left over from the British Empire, some of the worst homophobia in the world..."

So I won't be going to the Caribbean anytime soon. But in case you do, here are some public penises to look out for.

1. Havana, Cuba apparently has some interesting neoclassical statues, like a semi-nude Neptune on El Malecon, the central avenue.

2. Jamaica is known for its reggae music, its Rastafarians, and its intense homophobia (usually ignored in the travel ads). And in Emancipation Park, one of the most nude of the nude statues of ex-slaves. A symbol of freedom.

3. This statue of Paul Bogle, the Baptist minister who led the 1865 Jamaican rebellion against the British, is a little more sedate, with a sword covering his penis.

4. Haiti is one of the poorest countries in the Western Hemisphere. Most of the population speaks Haitian Creole, practice the Afro-Caribbean religion of voodoo, and blamed the 2010 earthquake on gay people. But at least same-sex relations are legal.

In downtown Port-au-Prince, this memorial to the Unknown Slave shows a muscleman blowing a conch shell.

5. Moving east to the Dominican Republic, the capital city of Santo Domingo features a surprising aquamarine statue of Enriquillo, the Taino Indian who rebelled against the Spanish from 1519 to 1533.

More after the break.

6. Next on our way east lies the island of Puerto Rico, an American possession where same-sex relations are legal. In San Juan, the Plaza de Armas, an old square, has a number of statues, mostly female, but this fountain includes some muscular male nudes.

7. A little to the east lies two sets of Virgin Islands. In Charlotte Amalie (British Virgin Islands) you can see another Unknown Slave blowing his conch shell.

8. There's another in Frederiksted. on St. Croix (American Virgin Islands).

9, Not much of beefcake interest in Anguilla, St. Kitts and Nevis, Montserrat, Guadelupe, Martinique, or St. Lucia, but Grenada has a creepy underwater sculpture park (65 naturalistic statues, their eyes closed as if they have drowned). Some are getting encrusted with algae and sea creatures, making them creepier still.

It was installed by British artist Jason de Caires Taylor in 2012. I don't know why.

10. We can't get enough of slaves breaking out of their shackles. This nude example is in Barbados, a former British colony in the Antilles where same-sex relations can get you life in prison (although no one has been sentenced for many years).

11. We've hit the coast of South America with Trinidad and Tobago, which has a large Hindu population, and a giant statue of Lord Hanuman.

12. Working westward, we finally reach Curacao, a former Dutch colony that gained independence in 2010. Dutch is still the most common language, along with the creole Papiamento. The Tula Monument commemorates a slave who led a rebellion against the Dutch in 1795.

See also: The Finnish Forest of Dreams and Nightmares

During the 1960s and 1970s, gay men carved niches for themselves, separate neighborhoods where they could be free from homophobic harassment, separate social institutions to replace those they were excluded from in the "straight" world. And one of the institutions they devised was Leather, aka S&M.

The look: muscles, hairy chests, and clothing based on the motorcycle gangs of the 1950s: chaps, vests, boots, jackets. Black, sleek, rigid, gleaming. No fluffy sweaters, no chinos, no designer shoes, no perfumes, nothing but raw masculinity

The acts: erotic "scenes" involving dominance and submission, power and pain.

Leathermen were excoriated by the heterosexual press, which kept squealing: "Look! Look! We told you that gays were all perverts!"

In Cruising (1980), the subculture was savagely derided as a bunch of masochists and murderers.

Even the mainstream gay movement was leery, thinking that they would scare the heterosexuals and forestall the quest for tolerance.

But they survived. During the 1980s, even people not into the culture started experimenting, since S&M activities don't transmit HIV.

It became commonplace for men hitting their mid-30s to shift their allegiance from twink bars to leather bars like the Spike, the Eagle, the Gold Coast, the Faultline, Bill's Filling Station.

There were motorcycle clubs, leather clubs, S&M clubs, bear clubs, fetish fairs like Dore Alley, contests like International Mr. Leather, magazines like Drummer, Mandate, and Bound and Gagged.

All illustrated by a cadre of gay artists: Tom of Finland, Etienne, the Hun, Cavello...and their undisputed leader, Sean.

Sean, aka John Klamik (1935-2005), who was a fixture in West Hollywood from the 1950s, painting murals for leather bars, publishing cartoons in leather and mainstream gay magazines, illustrating the novels of leather greats such as Larry Townsend, and publishing his own graphic novels.

He and his partner, Jim Newberry, were also well-known in West Hollywood politics, instrumental in planning each of the Gay Pride Marches and Festivals from the 1970s through the 1990s.

Sean drew his inspiration from the impossibly buffed, impossibly endowed Tom of Finland men, but he put them into much more graphic situations.

So graphic that it's hard to find one to illustrate.

And his themes and situations veer far from the jubilant eroticism of Tom's men. There are acts of torture, punishment, and revenge.

For instance, the famous Biff Bound (1982), which I found at the adult bookstore in Bloomington, Indiana, is a pantomime comic book about a super-muscular, super-endowed blond who hitch-hikes in search of willing partners. But instead, he is grabbed, tied up, and sexually assaulted by three toughs, who then steal his clothes and his suitcase.

He is rescued by a group of gay leathermen, who give him a new leather outfit, then help him capture the toughs. They tie them up, have sex with them, force them to have sex with each other, and finally retrieve Biff's suitcase.

Heavy stuff. Is it promoting sexual assault?

Certainly not, Sean said in an interview. "It's a fantasy."

It was about empowerment. Gay men in the mainstream press of the day were portrayed as perpetual victims, of homophobic assaults, of discrimination, of AIDS, of their own "uncontrollable urges." But they didn't have to be. They could be strong, powerful, in charge of the situation. They could save the day. They could triumph.

See also: Tom of Finland; and Finding Larry's Fetish.

You may not recognize the name Robert Goulet, but he was an icon to the gay generation who survived the pre-Stonewall Dark Ages (1950-1969).

During those years, he was a fixture on Broadway, starring in such gay favorites as South Pacific(1956), Dream Girl (1959), Meet Me in St. Louis (1960), and Camelot (1962), befriending such gay favorites as Judy Garland, Barbra Streisand, and Cher.

As a singer, he charted frequently during the 1960s, with the easy-listening pop tunes that the older generation liked as a remedy to the Beatles and the Rolling Stones: "My Love, Forgive ME" (1964), "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever" (1965), "Once I Had a Heart" (1966).

He starred in eight movies, often with gay subtexts:

1. Gay Pur-ee (1962). Animated cat Mewsette (Judy Garland) leaves her quiet country life for the wicked city of Paris, and her male friends Jaune-Tom (Robert Goulet) Robespierre (Red Buttons) try to rescue her. There's also a sophisticated male cat shipped to America as a "mail order bride."

2. Honeymoon Hotel (1964) had an interesting gay connection: he and Robert Morse (the one in the dress) check into the "honeymoon hotel" along with all of the other couples. Heterosexual hijinks follow, but there are a sizeable number of double-takes at the "honeymoon couple," as well as the rule "you've got to have a girl in your room" to eliminate any rumors.

Here's a semi-nude photo of the boyfriend.

3. I'd Rather Be Rich (1964). Young heiress Sandra Dee (of Tammy) has to decide between her fiance (Andy Williams) and the man she's hired to impersonate him (Robert Goulet).

Goulet appeared on tv nearly 100 times, in specials devoted to his music, in his own series, Blue Light (1966-67), about an American journalist going undercover to spy on the Nazis during World War II, and in many guest roles: a hunky science teacher on The Patty Duke Show, a con artist faith healer on The Big Valley. a murderous doctor on The Name of the Game.

The 1950s was the era of the face, not the physique, but Goulet was not shy about displaying his tight, hard muscles for the camera.

Of course, Goulet continued to perform for thirty years after Stonewall, but he aimed his work at that same body of fans who had loved him in the 1950s, appealing to Boomers only in an occasional spoof, or when a melodious voice was needed: he provided the voice for Wheezy the Penguin in Toy Story 2 (1999), and for sensitive third grader Mikey on the Disney Channel's Recess (1998-2001).

In 2005, two years before his death, Goulet took over the role of Georges, owner of the nightclub and Albin's partner in the Broadway revivial of La Cage aux Folles. It was like a final shout-out to the gay fans who had followed him for half a century.

The Cartoon Network's Clarence (2014-) was on my list of potential gay-subtext programs to watch, but I wasn't hopeful. The premise seemed sort of boring: boy with some friends. Where were the fairy godparents, wizard academies, or superheroes?

Clarence is a chubby, optimistic kid with two friends, Jeff (his rule-spouting superego) and Sumo (his get-er-done id). He lives with his single mom and her live-in boyfriend, and has the usual assortment of bullies, crushes, and martinet teachers.

I watched one episode, and turned it off: Clarence, about age 10, was going on a date with a girl! Why does indoctrination into heteronormativity have to begin so darn early? At least my parents, teachers, and friends waited until I was in junior high to begin the "What girl do you like?" interrogation.

According to the Clarence wiki, several of Clarence's friends also date girls or have crushes on girls. Doesn't sound promising.

In July 2014, Skyler Page, who created the series and voiced Clarence, was fired after allegations of sexual assault by coworker Emily Partridge. Other coworkers have since mentioned that Page often made sexist statements and behaved inappropriately. Spencer Rothbell (left), one of the writers, became the new voice of Clarence.

Maybe the second season will be a little more inclusive.

The gay characters: Clarence's teacher is waiting for a blind date. A cute guy shows up. She thinks, "Great, this is the one!" But the cute guy is actually meeting another guy. They hug and kiss cheeks. Her face falls as she sees that her real blind date is ugly.

Un-named walk-on characters, one second on screen, presented as a problem for a heterosexual character, in a situation where no child is present.

But in the boardrooms of the Cartoon Network, where "Children must never know that gay people exist!", it's a giant leap forward.

Of course, fans are bound to scream"They can't be gay! Friends kiss each other on the cheek! Or brothers! They could be brothers!"

Anything they can think of to avoid acknowledging that there are gay people in the world.

See also: Cory Haim's Bubble Bath; and Adventure Time

Many Halloween parties, parades, and festivals require costumes. But what can you do if you don't have the money for a fancy store-bought costume, and can't sew?

It's easy to improvise with clothing you already have around the house, or a few props from the hardware store.

Don't worry if the end result looks a little amateurish -- if you're not wearing a shirt, no one will be paying much attention to your costume anyway.

1. What could be easier than boxer underwear, with a twin-sized unfitted sheet tied around your neck for a cape? It's good for being Conan the Barbarian, an ancient Greek philosopher, or a Roman centurion (make a helmet out of a paper bag reinforced with tape).

2. Draw a big letter Z on the cape to become Zorro (sword optional).

3. For Disney's Aladdin, you need white pants, tied with a rope instead of a belt, house slippers, and a leather vest. Toy monkey can be taped to your shoulder.

4. To be a cowboy, you'll need jeans, a belt with a large buckle, boots (snow boots are fine), and a cowboy hat.

5. Add a plaid shirt, and substitute a baseball cap, and you're a farmboy (don't try it in the Midwest).

6. You can easily stencil a Superman logo onto a plain blue t-shirt, but you might have to do something with your hair.

7. Another easy superhero is Aquaman, who wears red shorts and green boots.

8. Tarzan's loincloth can be improvised with an old pair of brown pants ragged-cut in front and back. Be sure to wear regular underwear, too.

9. Most people doing the Rocky Horror think of Rocky, who wears only gold lame shorts.

10. But if you don't have a Rocky physique, you can do an easy Brad with white briefs (extremely well packed) and horn-rimmed glasses.

11. A white handkerchief, a black bow tie, black dress slacks, and you're a Chippendale Dancer. For added effect, wear a white shirt pre-cut and sewn up so it can easily be ripped off.

12. It's never too early to get into the spirit of Christmas, and you can evoke Santa Claus without wearing the whole ensemble. Black boots, red shorts, and a Santa Claus hat are more than enough.

I've met many white guys who say things like "I'm not at all racist, I'm just not into Black men sexually." Or Asians, or Hispanics, or Native Americans...

When I look surprised, they continue: "It's a taste, not a statement of social status. If you're not into fat guys or guys with small endowments, or guys with beards, it doesn't mean you don't want to hang out with them, or be their friends, or that you think they're inferior socially -- just the bedroom is off limits. They don't turn you on."

Ok, is liking your men thin, or big beneath the belt, or clean shaven the same thing as liking them white?

Not at all.

Let's say you are not attracted to dark skin. You like your men pale.

It's never a set-in-stone rule. Everyone is open to exceptions with the right guy. I am not at all into blonds or redheads -- except when I am.

I like them big, muscular, bodybuilders, or husky or fat. But I've been with skinny.

Even if, for some crazy reason, you have a set-in-stone rule -- only pale guys can ever get through your bedroom door -- is every Black, Asian, and Hispanic guy automatically disqualified?

Of course not. Many People of Color have relatively light skin, and many Caucasians are quite dark, either naturally, or through tanning beds. Spot the Caucasian in the photos below:

Actually, there aren't any significant physical traits shared by every member of any racial groups. That's a myth. No matter what configuration of skin, hair, and eye color you find attractive, there will be some white, Black, Asian, and Hispanic guys with it. Why block them out?

So what, exactly, are you not attracted to?

1. An Image in Your Head. Let's say you're "not attracted" to Asian guys. The image in your head is probably of a very specific Asian guy: short, thin, smooth-skinned, beardless, under-endowed, sort of feminine. You're forgetting about the many Asian men who are tall, muscular, chunky, kind of hairy, and aggressively masculine. Why cut yourself off from an entire population based on a stereotype?

2. Social Status. Sociology tells us that we are attracted to markers of social position, wealth, prestige, and power. Institutional racism means that "whiteness" is valued, and markers of racial difference devalued. Juries are more likely to convict black defendants than white defendants charged with exactly the same crime. Students give black professors lower course evaluations than white professors. And in the bedroom, you want to ally yourself with someone of a "high" social status.

People of Color often report that white guys who date them expect to be dominant, "in charge" of the relationship, as fitting their "higher" social status.

3. Culture. Racial minorities have developed distinctive subcultures, with their own distinctive foods, costumes, vocabulary, music, and social norms. Group members differ in their participation, but the culture is always out there. Maybe you're worried about trying to fit into a culture that you don't know well.

4. Family. Many of my relatives practice "subconscious" racism, the little things that signify social exclusion, such as subconsciously rolling up the car windows when we enter a black neighborhood. My father is a little more consciously racist. When I date Black, Asian, and Hispanic guys, I always think very carefully about how to bring up the subject. Maybe you're thinking "I'm not into that group" because you fear your family's disapproval.

So you're not attracted to negative stereotypes, markers of low social status, a different culture, and your family's disapproval. Gee, it sounds almost like what you had to go through to acknowledge your attraction to men in the first place,

October 2002, around Halloween: I was teaching Sociology of Religion at Florida Atlantic University, and I invited representatives from various religious groups to speak to the class: Pentecostal, Eastern Orthodox, Buddhist, Muslim, Neo-Pagan. For the New Age, I contacted the Center for Spiritual Living in Fort Lauderdale, and they sent me Raphael.

At least, I assumed that's why he and a friend appeared at my house one evening, and said "Hi, I'm Raphael, and this is Jordan. You called for us?"

I stood in the doorway, speechless, stunned. Raphael was a Cute Young Thing, in his twenties, a few inches shorter than me, with a nondescript physique but a face I can only describe as angelic: bright, shining, ever-smiling, mesmerizing. I can't find any pictures of men that even approach his brilliance. Jordan was a Cute Young Thing, too, but I can't remember what he looked like.

Finally I managed to stammer, "Hi...hi, nice to meet you." I held out my hand. Only Jordan shook it.

I invited them into the house and offered them sodas. Raphael asked for his with a straw.

Then I noticed that his arms were hanging down limply from his shoulders. They were paralyzed!

Jordan chose an easy chair and buried himself in a Tom Clancy novel. Raphael began talking, I assumed about the tenets of his religion. It was standard New Age stuff -- matter is an illusion; all of life is spirit; we have lived many times before. But I was fascinated.

"Was I gay in all of my past lives?" I asked, surprised that I had come out so easily.

"Probably not. We're all gay, straight, male, female. But we're surrounded by the same people in every life, Want me to check?"

"Sure."

"Press my hand against your Svadhishthana Chakra -- your abdomen."

I lifted up my shirt, took his hand -- surprisingly, it was warm, not cold -- and pressed it flat against my abs. "This guy just wants to feel me up," I thought.

"No, that would be the Muladhara Chakra," Raphael said with a bright laugh. "Your crotch."

Had he just read my mind?

"I see you as an old man," he continued. "Very old, wearing overalls. You are fascinated by a new invention." He paused. "Um...called a magic lantern. I never heard of that -- do you know what it is?"

"Early films in the 1890s were called Magic Lantern Shows," I said, shocked. But then my inner skeptic kicked in. There were posters from old movies on the wall -- obviously he surmised that I was a movie buff in this life.

I didn't care. Raphael was the hottest guy I had ever seen! I couldn't take my eyes off him. I had to get him alone, away from the stern, Tom Clancy-reading Jordan. "Can you read my future, too?"

"Yes, but for that, I need to touch an object of yours, something that you've handled often."

"Sure...um...let's go into the bedroom, and I'll find something."

We went into the bedroom, and I pressed Raphael's hand around the Kensington Runestone that I got in Alexandria, Minnesota when I was a kid. "I see that you travel quite a bit," Raphael said. "I've never been outside the country."

"Someday I'll take you to Paris," I said. Then I felt my face burning. I had said too much.

"You're going to Paris yourself in a few months, I see."

"Yeah, every year if I can."

"You'll get an opportunity there. A job offer, maybe. But don't take it."

"Are you kidding? I'd give anything to live in Europe!"

"No, you won't be happy there. We need you here in America."

"We?" It was time to make my move! I carefully removed the Kensington Runestone from his hand, then wrapped my arm around him and kissed him.

It was a warm, innocent kiss, like they show on first dates on tv. But it didn't stay innocent. I became more aggressive, pressing our bodies together, pressing my hand against his crotch, unbuttoning his shirt...

His body stiffened, and he pulled his face away. "Wait, wait," he murmured. "It's too soon."

"Oh...sorry," I said, heavily embarrassed. "I thought..."

"It's ok." I helped him button his shirt back up. "We'll see each other again. Let me give you my phone number. Do you have a piece of paper?"

I put a scrap of paper on the desk, and watched while he took a pen in his mouth and deftly wrote down the number.

Then he kissed me again, briefly, and yelled out to Jordan that it was time to go.

Alone in the house, staring at the phone number, I started thinking.

1. I was interested in the paranormal, but did I really want to date a professional psychic?

2. Raphael's arms didn't work. He must do things with his mouth and his feet, with Jordan as supplemental assistance. I tried to imagine how he dressed, ate, brushed his teeth, went to the bathroom. And as the boyfriend, the supplemental assistance would be my job.

I didn't call the next day. Or the next. Or the next. The phone number stayed on my desk, staring up at me.

On Sunday, I planned to go to the services at the Center for Spiritual Living and surprise Raphael. But I lost my nerve.

The phone number stayed on my desk for a long time. Then one day it was gone. Maybe it evaporated.

It's been 12 years, and I'm still kicking myself for letting the Psychic get away.

Well, maybe in my next life.

By the way:

1. Raphael was right: a few months later, in Europe, I met a guy at the Horseman's Club who invited me to stay. Except it was a small town in the Netherlands, not Paris.

2. I didn't realize it until later, but Yuri was in his room the whole time, and he didn't hear a thing.

3. In the Catholic Church, the archangel Raphael is the patron of the handicapped. His feast day is October 24th. Just before Halloween.

See also: The Gay Monk and the Homophobic Demon.

Paul Michael Glaser was half of the quintessential gay couple of the 1975-1979 tv series, Starsky and Hutch (with David Soul): two cop partners who loved each other, a lot.

Although they didn't play up the gay subtext, they were ok with it, merely issuing an occasional wink-wink protest like "Anyone who watches the show can see that Starsky and Hutch like women."

After Starsky and Hutch, Paul starred in a few tv movies, but then his attentions were drawn elsewhere. In 1985 he and his wife Elizabeth discovered that she had contracted HIV through an emergency blood transfusion, and unwittingly transmitted the virus to their children, Ariel (born 1981) and Jake (born 1984).

During the 1980s, when AIDS was being advertised as a "Gay Disease," people assumed that Paul was gay, and had infected his wife and children. They experienced the same fear and homophobic harassment that gay people with AIDS were experiencing.

But they didn't let homophobia affect their relationship with the gay community. They were always staunch supporters of gay rights.

After Ariel died in 1988, Elizabeth began the Pediatric AIDS Foundation. She became a national advocate for AIDS awareness and research, speaking at the Democratic National Convention in 1992. She died in 1994, and Paul took on the management of the organization.

Jake has grown up living with HIV. He is now an AIDS advocate and actor.

What can you do with a movie that encouraged a generation of LGBT people, "Don't dream it -- be it"?

That encouraged the audience to participate by talking back, throwing things, and playing along with the characters?

That audiences played along to, week after week, year after year, until they had every image, every word, every gesture memorized?

That spawned a dozen catchphrases and a warehouse full of tie-in books, magazines, cards, and toys?

What's left to do with the Rocky Horror Picture Show?

Revive the original play, which ran in London from 1973 to 1980.

It's considerably different from the movie -- new songs, different dialogue, Magenta and Columbia have different characters, and most interestingly, Rocky talks. A whole new take on the Rocky Horror universe (you can read the script here).

Revivals began in 1990 in Britain. In the U.S., a Broadway revival played from 2000 to 2002, with every beefcake hunk imaginable cast as the underwear-clad Brad, the gold-lame muscleman Rocky, and sweet transvestite Frank-n-Furter: James Royce Edwards, Luke Perry, Micah Thompson, Jonathan Sharp,

There are new costumes, new cast dynamics, new subtexts -- being gay or transvestite is not nearly as shocking today-- and a raucous evocation of the long ago disco- and sex-obsessed era of the 1970s.

It's now playing everywhere, in high schools, colleges, community theaters, little theaters. Halloween season is most popular, but it can be seen at any time. According to the official show blog, here's where it's coming up in 2014:

The Grandview Playhouse, MA, April-May
The Bangor Opera House, ME, June
The Ivory Theater, MO, October
Downtown Theatre, CA, October
World Trade Center Theatre, OR, October
Oh Canada Eh?, Niagara Falls, October

So even if you've some terrible thrills many, many times, it's always exciting to go down to the lab and see what's on the slab. Let's do the Time Warp again.

One of the lesser-known tourists attractions in Turkey is in Göreme, about five hours south of Ankara, an old Roman town in a dusty volcanic valley.

From most places in town, you can see the giant penises...um, I mean "fairy chimneys" created by rock erosion.

But for a better view, walk about a mile north of town to the Göreme Historical National Park (Göreme Tarihi Milli Parkı), to see hundreds of shafts, some so precisely like penises that you'll swear they were carved for that reason.

The Turkish government pretends that no one has ever noticed the connection, but savvy travelers refer to the park as the Valley of Love.

Christian monks began carving out cells in the penises...um, chimneys...beginning in the fourth century AD. By the 12th century, there were churches, too, decorated with beautiful frescoes that still survive (bring a flashlight -- there isn't much light).

No nudity in the frescoes; it was enough, apparently, to live inside a giant penis.

Although Göreme has a population of only 2,500, it is well set up for tourists, with lots of hotels carved into the caves.

Try the Fat Boys Bar -- not exactly gay, but cute waiters, hamburgers, and alcohol.

See also: A Bodybuilding Contest in Turkey; and The Penis Cemetery of Iran.

Life in West Hollywood in the 1980s and 1990s was cyclical. There were no seasons -- it was warm and sunny every day -- but you were always planning on the next event.

The social calendar began in June, with Gay Pride. Then:
Outfest (July)
Sunset Junction (August)
AIDS Walk (September)
Hollywood Film Festival, Halloween Parade (October)
Hollywood Christmas Parade, Thanksgiving (November)
The L.A. Gay Men's Chorus Christmas Concert (December)
The Tournament of Roses (January)
Valentine's Day (February)
Cinco De Mayo (May)

When I first moved to West Hollywood, Halloween was an informal affair. All of the bars offered costume contests, and patrons would walk from the Gold Coast to the Cafe Etoille to Mickey's to the Revolver in costume, adulating in the attention from passersby. In 1987 it became an official parade modeled on Mardi Gras in New Orleans: the West Hollywood Halloween "Carnaval."

Every year it became bigger, noisier, more crowded, and oddly, more homophobic, as heterosexual tourists came into town to stare, point, and make jokes. Eventually everyone in West Hollywood avoided Santa Monica Boulevard that night, making do with private parties or the bars of Silverlake, on the other side of town, and letting newcomers take over.

And they did. Today the West Hollywood Carnaval draws 500,000 people, more than any other event in Los Angeles except for the New Year's Parade.

If you can manage the crowds and the gawkers, there's beefcake to be had. Costumes tend toward the whimsical and drag, but once and a while there's a muscleman or two.

I've watched a lot of tv, mostly sci-fi and sitcoms. The set was on all the time when I was a kid. In adulthood, it's like comfort food, warm, predictable, mildly amusing. But is it really necessary to have so many plot conventions that strain credulity? Plus are sexist, heterosexist, or downright homophobic? Almost makes you want to pick up a book instead.

1. No one ever says a complete sentence; everyone takes turns. "This looks like the work of...""Two killers." "So we should..." ",,,get backup."

2. Whenever someone says "It's possible that...", as in "It's possible that the signals are coming from Mars" or "It's possible that the killer worked for the FBI," they mean "It's an absolute certainty."

3. Whenever someone says, "The chances against this working are a million to one," they mean, "It will absolutely work."

4. You cannot discuss the plan on the way to the site, even if it takes two hours to get there. You must always wait until you have arrived.

5. All discussions of plans must begin with the phrase: "And that's the plan. First we...."

6. Whenever someone asks "What's for dinner?", the answer must always be "Your favorite."

7. The only people who can eat dinner are heterosexual nuclear families: The Man in a lumberjack shirt, a son and a daughter under age 10, and The Woman, usually blond. The Man always says "Great meal, honey."

8. The only people who can eat in restaurants are four young adults, divided into male-female couples. One is always shown shoving a forkful of food into someone else's mouth. Sometimes this happens in groups, too.

9. Whenever anyone turns on the tv, they must hear a news story pertaining to their situation.

10. If they are shown watching tv alone, it should be an old black and white movie, usually a Western with the Calvary charging.

11. Except for kids and serial killers, who must always watch public domain cartoons from the 1930s.

12. The only people who can watch tv in groups are heterosexual nuclear families, and they are always sharing a gigantic bowl of popcorn.

13. If someone wants to talk to you, they can't call, they must drive across town to get there.

14. And the drive is extremely short.

15. And the door is unlocked, so they just walk in.

16. Whenever you enter a scary place, someone must say "This place gives me the creeps." But no one in real life ever says this.

17. People always complain that they don't have enough money to pay bills, but have thousands to spend on expensive props.

18. Poor people live in huge, well-appointed houses. Middle-class people live in mansions. There is no such thing as an apartment, except in New York.

19. Men may not be shown engaging in any housecleaning activity. Ever. They can be asked to cook, to "help their wives out," but they must flub the job and take the kids to McDonald's.

20. The main characters must be white, but the captain, chief, or judge who appears in just one episode should be black, to demonstrate that racism no longer exists.

21. Everyone belongs to a huge number of clubs and organizations, but only for one episode apiece. Then the club is never mentioned again.

22. Funerals always occur in the rain.

23. All college classes, even advanced seminars, must be taught in giant lecture halls, with never an empty seat.

24. College professors must all be elderly, wear bow ties, and have gigantic offices and personal secretaries.

25. All high school teachers must be bitter and depressed, or sadistic jerks who, in real life, would be fired in 30 seconds.

26. You can struggle with failing grades throughout high school and still get into a top college. Even the Ivy League.

27. Action-adventure series must always begin with a flashback in which the central character's heterosexual romantic partner is killed.

28. Movie trailers must always contain a heterosexual kiss, even if there aren't any in the actual movie.

29. When a male character dresses in drag, he always does a horrible job, with chest hair and moustache, and he must have a startlingly deep voice.

30. Preteens must always be portrayed as heterosexual and boy- or girl-crazy, no matter what their age.

31. All teenage boys must be portrayed as crazy about sports, rock music, and girls.

32. Single adult heterosexuals must make jokes about how horny they are every five seconds.

33. Married heterosexual men hate their wives, especially having sex with them, and will do anything to avoid it.

34. A transwoman should always like women before transitioning and men after, to ensure viewers that everyone on Earth is heterosexual, regardless of gender identity.

35. Gay men must always be portrayed as swishy queens obsessed with fashion, skin-care products, and show tunes.

36. They rarely have gay friends, but they are crazy about hanging out with heterosexual women.

37. There are no lesbians, just "girls gone wild" who can easily "switch back" to heterosexual again.

38. Men with feminine traits are always evil.

39. Space explorers always get their shirts ripped off.

See also: 10 Gay Movies I Hated

I hate sports! Especially playing them: I could never understand the allure of waiting for a hard round projectile to come zooming out of the sky and hit you in the head.

But also watching them: why watch a bunch of guys who don't even have their shirts off chase a little projectile around?

But everyone thinks I love sports, just because I have XY chromosomes. Strangers stop me on the street and ask "How's the game going?" or "Did we win?" Guys try to impress me in bars by bragging that they met Jose Canseco.

In academe you go on a lot of job interviews all over the country, and at every one, someone asks about how "my team" did last night.

I went to a few basketball games as a kid, but I've never seen a single football game, not even on tv. Before I started dating Jeremy, a baseball fan, I had seen only one half of a baseball game in my life, on August 12, 2003, when I was living in Florida. And that was only because Yuri was dating one of the Florida Marlins.

Not this one, who apparently struts his stuff naked for charity.

The Florida Marlins were pro-gay. They bought ads in gay magazines, and the Fort Lauderdale Gay Men's Chorus sang before the game on AIDS Awareness Day.

But that didn't stop Jim the Baseball Player (not his real name) from being closeted.

Yuri met him online sometime in May 2003. He always went down to Miami for their dates, so even after three months, I had never met Jim.

But I saw pictures. Extraordinarily cute, and, according to Yuri, surprisingly gifted beneath the belt.

"You've got to bring Jim up to Wilton Manors," I told Yuri. "It's customary to introduce the boyfriend to the roommates." I didn't mention my ulterior motive -- it was also customary to invite one's roommates to "share."

"He doesn't want to come," Yuri said. "It's a gay neighborhood, and he's afraid that someone will see him and find out that he is gay."

Typical closet case -- worried that armies of heterosexuals are scrutinizing your every move for tell-tale signs of gayness.

I had already given up hope when, one night early in August 2003, I woke up late and had to go to the bathroom. I had to walk through the kitchen to get there.

There was a naked man peering into the open refrigerator.

I was so awestruck by his physique that it took me a moment to look up at his face: it was Yuri's boyfriend, Jim the Baseball Player!

"Mind if I make myself a sandwich?" he asked.

"Um...um...go ahead. You must be Jim. My name's Jeff."

"Oh, sure, Nice to meet you. Yuri talks about you all the time."

"You, too. I didn't think he'd ever manage to drag you up to Wilton Manors."

"It's a gay neighborhood -- you can't be too careful. But we drove up to Boca Raton, and it was so late...I'll be out early tomorrow, before anyone sees me."

He wasn't looking at my face, either. I looked down...my bathrobe was hanging open.

"So..um...go ahead and make a sandwich. I have to ask Yuri about something..."

"He's asleep..." I heard as I rushed through the living room and down the hallway to Yuri's room. It was dark. I heard Yuri breathing softly.

I leapt onto the bed and shook him. "Yuri, are you awake?"

"Mmmm...kochu spat." (I want to sleep.)

"Yuri, you've got to invite me to share your boyfriend!"

His eyes fluttered open. "Oh, hi, Jeff. What's going on?"

"Jim is spending the night! Invite me to share!" I repeated.

"Oh, yeah. I wanted to invite you, but you were asleep when we came home."

"Well, what about now?"

"Now?" He glanced over at his clock radio. "Jeff, it's 3:00 in the morning. I'm not even into it now. The next time he comes to Wilton Manors, for sure. Now let me sleep, ok?"

"Ok, ok, sorry." I stumbled out into the hallway, used the bathroom, and then returned to the kitchen. Jim the Naked Baseball Player was sitting at the table, eating his sandwich and drinking a can of soda.

"G'night," I murmured, trying not to stare at his magnificent physique and obvious gifts beneath the belt.

Jim was gone by the time I woke up.

But apparently I made an impression. A few days later, Yuri brought home tickets to the August 12th game. "Jim said be sure to bring you, and after the game we will go back to his apartment." He grinned. "To spend the night."

By the way, the Marlins beat the Los Angeles Dodgers 5-4.

I'm told -- I fell asleep.

See also: Not Liking Sports

When I was a kid, they advertised "The Ultimate Adventure": the Trans-Siberian Railway. Even going to Russia was adventurous, and the 5,772 mile network of railroads connecting Moscow to Vladivostok -- that's over twice the distance from New York to Los Angeles -- took 8 days.

Today we can fly, which allows you to jump all over the vast conglomerate of republics, territories, and oblasts in search of beefcake.

Other than Siberian swimming star Vlad Morozov, of course.

I'm skipping over Moscow and St. Petersburg, which have enough beefcake art for their own posts.

1. A 1 1/2 hour flight south of Moscow, Volgograd straddles the Volga River, the homeland of the original Rus tribe that became the Russians. This statue on Mamaev Hill features a buffed, shirtless warrior defending the Motherland during the Battle of Stalingrad.

2. Now you have to rent a car and drive about 10 hours south of Volgograd, to where the Transcaucasian Highway passes through the Alagirsky Gorge in North Ossetia, beneath this 28-ton statue of a shirtless St. George on a horse.

By the way, white people are called Caucasians because they were once thought to originate in the Caucasian Mountains.

3. Continue south another 5 hours to Maykop, the capital of the Republic of Adygea. Only 13% of the population is Muslim, but the Mosque Park contains these two specimens.

4. Another five hours to Nalchik, capital of the Republic of Kabardino-Balkarina, another Caucasian state, and another buffed warrior.

5. Fly back to Volgograd, and then to Kazan, capital of the Republic of Tatarstan (about 8 hours, but that's better than 25 hours by car). The Tatars are a Turkic-speaking people, one of the largest ethnic groups in Russia.

Outside of the Kazan Kremlin is this statue of a shirtless, defiant Musa Calil, a Tatar poet and resistance fighter executed by the Nazis.

More after the break

6. You might also stop for this statue of a naked Shurale, a demonic creature who lures unsuspecting humans into the forest, where he tickles them to death.

7. A five hour flight across the Urals is Yekaterinburg, and the Ural State University, with this student who has taken off his coat so we can see his muscular chest through his undershirt.

8. Only an hour and a half by air, Omsk, capital of the Omsk Oblast in southwest Siberia. It is a city of statues, some whimsical, some stern. This one is another muscular warrior.

9. Just an hour by air to Novosibirsk, where you can get a change of pace from all the shirtless warriors: a shirtless memorial to the actor and singer Vladimir Vysotsky (1938-1980). There are others in Moscow and Montenegro.

10. Another hour by air to Krasnoyarsk, in the heart of Siberia, where there's a naked athlete atop a pillar at the Soccer Stadium.

11. And this Neptune-like naked man, actually a symbol of the Yenisei River, which flows from Lake Baikal into the Artic Ocean.

12. It's still 5000 km, or a 7 hour plane flight to Vladivostok, on the Sea of Japan near the borders of China and North Korea. Surprisingly one of the most beautiful cities in Russia, where this chesty Stalin overseas the main square.

See also: The Russian Beefcake Museum; and the Penis Museum of Moscow.

You have to be careful with mainstream Hollywood movies. Reviews don't always warn you that they're homophobic. That's why I usually stick to juveniles and sci-fi, set in worlds where gay people do not exist at all -- so no homophobia.

But I have a sure fire way to tell that a movie is homophobic: is Justin Long in it?

Ironically, the IMDB calls him "likeable," and he makes pro-gay statements. But every movie I've seen him in has been overwhelming homophobic.

Jeepers Creepers (2001): the soon-to-be murdered teenager is driving with his sister. They see a Gay Pride bumper sticker, and she quips "That one's for you," teasing him with implications of gayness.

Ok, maybe that one wasn't his fault.

But then the homophobic movies came fast and furious.

Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story (2004): a group of misfits play the sadistic grade-school game in order to save or win something, while making endless "Aren't gay people gross?" jokes.

Waiting (2005): a group of waiters do disgusting things to customers' food while making endless "Aren't gay people gross?" jokes.

Accepted (2006): a high school slacker can't get into college, so he starts his own, while making endless "Aren't gay people gross?" jokes.

The Break-Up (2006): Horrific gay stereotype character (played by Justin, naturally).

Zack and Miri Make a Porno (2008): Justin plays a gay porn actor with a ludicrously homophobic list of starring roles. He gives Zack and Miri the idea of making money through hetero porn.

For a Good Time, Call (2012); Two women start a phone sex line. They have a gay-stereotyped best friend (Justin, naturally).

Surprisingly, after all the hatred and disgust spewing from his characters, Justin says that he has "respect" for gay people.

Excuse me?

When I was living in Florida in 2004, Gerry was a fixture at Barney's gym. He arrived around 6:00 am, and spent the next five hours lifting weights, on the treadmill, and hanging out in the sauna and whirlpool. Sometimes he returned again in the afternoon.

Before you get excited: he was quite elderly, small, slight, and wrinkled, with arthritis and back pain that limited his mobility. His visits were strictly therapeutic. And to look at the cute guys.

He had been out for only a few years. When you are living in Georgia, working as a third grade teacher, and married to a Baptist minister's daughter, you don't come out. You would be fired and divorced instantly, and the court would deny you visitation rights to your children.

So he waited until he retired and the kids were grown up, served his wife with divorce papers, and moved into a condo in Wilton Manors.

Newly out, free to date for the first time since the Eisenhower Administration, he wanted to try everybody and everything. And older was attractive in Florida. But you had to be robust, active, and dominant, a leather Daddy or a priapric satyr (look it up). Like 63-year old Troy, who stole my boyfriend two years ago. Gerry was short, small, and frail.

And you had to be out there -- at organizations, on the gay beach, in the clubs. Gerry didn't have the mobility or the stamina.

He occasionally met someone online by doctoring his photo and saying he was 55. But they always made an excuse right away, or engaged in some desultory "pity" acts.

I shared his bed once, when he made a "hookup" date with a guy in Miami. Neither of them had cars, so I drove Gerry down for the hookup, with the proviso that I got to watch or participate. Unfortunately, the guy seemed to be mostly into me. I had to keep physically pushing him toward Gerry.

Gerry was despondent. He wanted a boyfriend, but he couldn't even find a decent hookup.

So Barney and I decided to play matchmaker. We invited Gerry to brunch at the Courtyard Cafe, the Wilton Manors equivalent of the West Hollywood's French Quarter.

We each brought a "date" to introduce to Gerry. Barney brought a retired football coach who worked out at the gym. I brought a professor of Asian Studies who I met at the Club.

Both were robust, active, and dominant.

Both ignored Gerry.

But the waiter didn't.

He was in his twenties, taller than me, rather slim, rather flamboyant, with a long face and a shock of brown hair. His nametag read "Rick: Georgia."

Waiters at the Courtyard Cafe always flirted for tips, but Rick seemed particularly flirty, and he immediately zeroed in on Gerry.

When Gerry ordered the Eggs Benedict, Rick exclaimed, "You must be a Georgia boy, too! I can tell from your accent! What you doing hanging out with all these Yankees?"

He asked Gerry's name, and said "Why, darlin'! My drag name is Geraldine Delicious! We're twins!"

Then he pointed out the side dishes by wrapping his arm around Gerry's shoulders.

When he brought our food, he wrapped his arm around Gerry again and said "Careful, darling, the plate's hot."

Then he brought us some sweet rolls for the table. "On the house," he said, touching Gerry's shoulder again. "Can't have too many sweet things in your mouth, can you?"

Gerry was grinning broadly. He had never been the subject of so much attention before, not even when he was married. "Hey, do you think he's really interested, or just a flirt?"

I decided to find out. I said I had to go to the bathroom, and grabbed Rick on the way to the kitchen. He smiled at me. "Ready for the check?"

"The check and your phone number," I said, as if flirting.

"Sure thing, Daddy. But only if you share it with that cute Georgia boy!"

"Gerry is your type?"

"You have no idea! I've always been into older guys, and to meet one from back home, and a cutie-pie to boot! I could just melt!" He pulled the check from his pad and scribbled down his number. "Excuse me, Daddy, I have to deliver the check right to the table, if you know what I mean?"

Three weeks later, Rick moved in with Gerry.

The relationship was a rocky one: within a period of six months, they broke up, got back together, broke up, became roommates, got back together again, and broke up again.

Gerry had the time of his life.

There are lots of reasons why a gay man might want to masquerade as straight. Maybe you're tired of answering stupid questions like "Are you the boy or the girl in your relationship?"

Maybe you're worried about being beat up.

Maybe you're on a job interview, and you don't want to be rejected out of hand.

Maybe you're worried that the resounding victory of ultra-homophobes in the latest U.S. election will send gay rights plummeting back to pre-Stonewall repression.

Or maybe you just want to see what straight guys look like in their underwear.

Amateurs always make the mistake of thinking it's about saying "That woman has superlative breasts" every now and then. Wrong! Straight guys assume that gay men like breasts just as much as they do.

You need to feign an interest in the things they think always signify heterosexuality: cars, guns, loud noises, beer, grunting, movies about muscular guys who take their shirts off a lot, and especially, The Game. In the fall, that means Football.

If you go to or watch all of the available football games played from August to January, you will devote 12 hours a day, every day, to The Game. No one can do all of that, so straight guys usually confine themselves to one game per day, and read the newspaper or watch ESPN to find out the other scores, so they can discuss them incessantly with their friends.

1. Professional football is played by members of the NFL (National Football League), which is divided into two conference of 16 teams each. Each team will play 24 games during the season, plus a playoff to decide who is best in each conference.

That's a lot of games, but don't despair. You just need to memorize who won in the last few games played by teams from cities in your state (or, to be on the safe side, adjoining states). Unfortunately, the two conferences aren't divided by geography, so you'll just have to scan to find them.

For instance, when I lived in Dayton, masquerading as heterosexual only required me to know about the Cincinnati Bengals, the Cleveland Browns, and maybe, to be on the safe side, the Indianapolis Colts. Now I live in Minnesota, so all I have to know about are the Minnesota Vikings, and to be on the safe side, the Green Bay Packers and the Chicago Bears.

Memorize the names of the some of main players -- called quarterbacks -- so you can ask "How did ___ do last night?" For the Minnesota Vikings, that's Teddy Bridgewater and Christian Pounder.

The Superbowl, in January or February, is the big event of the year, with the best teams of the two conferences squaring off. You should know who won for the last five years: Seattle Seahawks, Baltimore Ravens, New York Giants, Green Bay Packers, New Orleans Saints.

2. You should also know something about college football. Colleges are divided into four Divisions by the National College Athletic Association (NCAA). You only have to know about Division 1, the 128 biggest colleges, which is divided into 11 Conferences. Unfortunately, they're not divided by geography, either, so figure out the ones that are closest to you (in Minnesota, the Golden Gophers).

You also might want to know about the Big Ten, which actually has 15 members: Illinois, Iowa, Indiana, Michigan State, Minnesota, and so on.

Be careful around Christmastime: that's when the various conferences decide which team is better at "bowl" tournaments, and there are dozens of them, most with silly commercial names: The Hyundai Sun Bowl, the AutoZone Liberty Bowl, the Chick-fil-a Peach Bowl, etc.

Straight guys will be following all of them, but the only you really need to know about is the Rose Bowl (January 1st), in which the Big Ten and the Pacific-12 conferences pair off.

3. To really masquerade as a tried-and-true straight guy, try showing off your knowledge of high school football! They are divided up into divisions and ranks, too.

Rock Island High School, my alma mater, is nationally ranked at 7120 and state ranked at 217. It's in the Western Big Six.

Do you have a headache yet?

Think of it this way: all of the statistics, rankings, divisions, and conferences boil down to a group of extremely muscular men piling up on each other, grabbing each other's butts, adjusting their crotches, and then getting naked in the locker room.

Almost makes it all worthwhile.

See also: Hating Sports

Beefcake in "The Little Mermaid"

Jesus' Kid Brother and the Bare-Chested Centurion

Dad STILL Thinks I Like to Look at Girls

Top 12 Public Penises of the Caribbean

Sean and the World of Gay Leathermen

Robert Goulet: 1950s Gay Icon

Clarence: Gay Characters on Kids' TV, Sort Of

12 Shirtless Halloween Costumes

Is it Racist to Have a Type?

Fall 2002: The Gay Psychic Angel

Paul Michael Glaser: From Starsky to AIDS Activist

Rocky Horror Show Live: New Brads, Janets, and Rockies in Gold Lame Shorts

The Penis Valley of Turkey

The West Hollywood Halloween Carnival

The 39 Dumbest Things You See on TV

Fall 2003: Sharing Jim the Baseball Player

The Ultimate 12 Public Penises of Russia

Justin Long: The Biggest Homophobe in Hollywood?

Spring 2004: The Georgia Boy and the Cute Young Thing

How to Pretend You're Straight #1: Football