NYSocBoy's Beefcake and Bonding

When I was little, my search for a "good place" often led me to the My Village books. Tim Gidal (1909-1996) was a a pioneer in the field of photojournalism and a respected academic at the New School for Social Research. In the interest of fostering international understanding, he and his wife Sonia published My Village in India (1956), a photo-story about the everyday life of a real ten-year old boy in a rural village.

It became so popular that they started scouting out villages in other countries, eventually traveling to 23:

1956: Austria
1957: Yugoslavia, Ireland
1958: Norway
1959: Israel, Lapps (Norway)
1960: Bedouins (Jordan), Greece
1961: Switzerland
1962: Spain, Italy
1963: Denmark, England
1964: Germany, Morocco
1965: France
1966: Finland, Japan
1968: Korea, Brazil
1969: Ghana
1970: Thailand
They only stopped when the couple divorced.

Each story was written in present tense and covered a few days in the life of a 10-12 year old boy: shepherding in Yugoslavia, fishing in Norway, tending to a vineyard in France. He also went to school, played with his friends, talked to other villagers, went to a festival or took a field trip to a big city, and sometimes solved a minor mystery. On the way you learned something about the history, language, and culture of the country (probably for the first time).

No gay people or same-sex romances were ever mentioned. So why did these books offer a glimpse of a "good place"?

1. The boys were all exceptionally cute, from my preteen vantage point, and in warm climates they often stripped down to swim or fish or frolic. Even in cold climates: the Norwegian boy stripped down for bed, and the Finnish boy was photographed completely nude in a sauna.

2. Their fathers, older brothers, and neighbors all lived off the land: they were farmers, shepherds, fishermen, loggers. That meant endless photographs of muscular adult men.

3. American media of the 1960s was full of preteen boys "discovering" girls. But the Village boys never expressed the slightest interest in girls. Indeed, they didn't seem to know any, other than their sisters.

4. However, they often came in pairs that were extremely expressive by American standards: always hugging, wrapping their arms around each other, lying side by side, even kissing each other on the cheek. To my preteen mind, it was obvious that they were boyfriends.

See also: Looking for Love in the Encyclopedia

Hollywood hunks of the 1950s were often gay or gay-friendly; whole cadres hung out at talent agent Henry Willson's infamous all-male parties in the Hollywood Hills. In a studio attempt to quell gay rumors, Willson gave them "manly" names consisting of a single-syllable (Van, Rock, Tab, Nick, Guy) followed by a recognizable Anglo sirname (Williams, Hudson, Hunter, Adams, Madison).

Born in 1922, former physique model Guy Madison (second from left) stood out from the crowd of Hollywood hunks by displaying his physique whenever possible. He had no qualms about shirtless and swimsuit shots and even full frontal nudity. In fact, he was the inspiration for the term "beefcake," first introduced in 1949.

As an actor, Guy played the strong, silent type in many Westerns of the 1950s, but he is best remembered by the first Boomer generation for The Adventures of Wild Bill Hickok (1951-58). There was a real Wild Bill, a morally ambiguous lawman and gunfighter who died in 1876, but Guy's Wild Bill was a strictly white-hat proponent of law and order.
Andy Devine, who played his hefty, braying sidekick, went on to star in Andy's Gang on 1950s children's tv.

Hickok was immensely popular among the Ovaltine set. There were feature films (spliced from the tv series), a radio program, toys, games, and lots of advertising tie-ins. I haven't seen it, but apparently Wild Bill did a bit of 1950s Western buddy-bonding and wasn't particularly interested in girls.

During the 1960s and 1970s, Guy starred in some Italian sword-and-sandal movies, such as Slave of Rome (1961) and Blood of the Executioner (1963), plus some Westerns and actioners. He played James Bond-style secret agent Rex Miller in the anti-counterculture LSD: Flesh of the Devil (1967). But mostly he appeared as himself, a Western icon fondly remembered by millions of Boomer kids.

Although rumored to be gay, Guy was married and divorced twice. He died in 1996.

When I was a kid, the Baby Boom was in full swing, so we rarely did anything alone. I invited a friend for dinner, or got invited to dinner, at least once a week. I invited a friend to stay over night, or got invited to stay over night, nearly every weekend.

And then there were sleepovers.

At least once a month, starting in third grade and continuing into the first year or two of junior high.

Three or four boys arrive at the host's house after dinner on Friday or Saturday night.

You romp around, playing games (my favorite was Twister), watching tv, eating pizza, and generally roughhousing until bedtime, which is much later than usual.

Then you camp out in the host's bedroom.

You all compete for the honor of sharing the host's bed. Everyone else squeezes into the other bed (most boys had two), or onto blankets laid out on the floor. Some boys bring sleeping bags.

The beefcake is amazing! You bring pajamas, but rarely wear them. You sleep in your underwear. There are cute boys lying shirtless everywhere you look.

And the touching! Nothing sexual happens -- by the time you are old enough to think about such things, sleepovers are rare. But when three boys are lying side by side on the floor, who can help but hug, cuddle, caress? When you share the host's bed, which is a little too small for two people, you have no choice but to sleep pressed together.

In the morning, you dress, have a nice breakfast, and walk home (if it's Saturday) or get picked up in time for church (if it's Sunday).

Bill, Joel, and I always invited each other to our sleepovers. When I hosted, the fourth boy was always my brother, invited by default, and the Fifth Boy was someone new, someone I wanted to get to know better.

And see in his underwear.

The other guys did exactly the same thing. The guest list was always: Jeff, Bill, Joel, your brother or another friend, and the Fifth Boy, a boy you wanted to hook up with.

Sometimes it didn't work out. Once Joel invited David Angel as the Fifth Boy, but David refused to share his bed, allowing me the honor. Both Joel and my boyfriend Bill were understandably upset, but they couldn't say or do anything, since the Fifth Boy was an unspoken tradition.

In the spring of seventh grade, I started "liking" Dan, during my failed attempt to rescue him from bullies who were trying to shove him into the girl's locker room, He accepted an invitation to my house, but refused to come to my sleepover the next weekend: "Sleepovers are for grade school babies."

So, for the Fifth Boy, I invited Peter, the only Asian kid at Washington Junior High, a tall, tight-muscled baseball player from my chemistry class. He shared my bed, which was nice, but in the first flush of infatuation, I kept wishing that he was Dan.

Two weeks later, Peter invited me to his sleepover, obviously as Boy #2 or #3, since we had already hooked up.

Peter's Mom opened the door and escorted me to the basement rec room, where he was playing pingpong -- with Dan!

"Hey, I thought you said sleepovers were for grade school babies!" I exclaimed, hurt and jealous.

"Oh...well, Peter told me how much fun he had at yours, so I changed my mind."

"You're good friends?" I asked, afraid of the answer. "Come over to his house a lot?"

"Not really. He sits beside me in Civics Class, but I've never been to his house before. He just invited me out of nowhere."

It was worse than I thought! Dan was the Fifth Boy!

The rest of the night was a battle royale over Dan. I sat next to him on the couch when we watched tv; Peter squeezed between us. I brought him a soda; Peter brought him a piece of cake. I bragged about how many push-ups I could do; Peter brought out his baseball trophies.

Finally it was bedtime, the moment of truth. There were blankets and pillows scattered on the floor in Peter's bedroom. And one twin bed.

We all stripped to our underwear.

"Dan, you're with me!" Peter said, grinning as if to say "I've won!"

Think! I told myself. Keep Dan out of that bed! "Um...are you sure? It's pretty small, and you're pretty big. There might not be enough room for Dan."

"Plenty of room!" Peter insisted. "My cousin sleeps over with me all the time, and he's bigger than me!" He climbed into bed and pulled down the covers.

"Anyway, I hate sleeping on the ground," Dan said. ignoring my red-faced jealousy to climb into bed beside him.

"But...we listened to Donny Osmond!" I whispered. "Um...we can talk about him...."

There was nothing to do but take my place beside the other two boys, and try not to listen Peter and Dan whispering and giggling under the covers.

Later in the night, I was still awake when Dan climbed out of bed, went to the bathroom, then returned and pulled up the blankets next to me.

"Did you lose your way?" I whispered sarcastically.

"Peter kicks in his sleep," he said.

I slept with Peter two weeks ago, so I knew that Dan was lying -- he just wanted two hookups. But I didn't care.

See also: A Boy Named Angel

Ever since I turned 40, some fourteen years ago, I have a simple strategy for getting dates or hookups with twinks (guys under age 30):

1. Go to wherever they are.

2. Wait 30 seconds for one to approach and say "Take me home, please!"

3. If he's not attractive enough, politely refuse, and wait 30 seconds for the next.

But I've gotten lots of comments from other guys in the 40+ range:

"I can't get a date! Nobody will give a guy over 40 a chance!"

"It's awful! Nobody wants me!"

"Guys over 40 are shunned!"

After extensive thought about why their experiences are so different from my own, I think I've figured out the problem. Here are 10 easy steps to hooking up with or dating twinks (first step: never call them that):

1. Ask yourself, "Why a young guy?"

What do younger guys have to offer that guys your age do not?

Handsome faces, muscular chests, substantial beneath-the-belt gifts? Some younger guys have these qualities, some don't. And drop by any gym at 10:00 am to find retirement-aged gym rats with 18" biceps.

A high energy level? Sexual inexperience? A sense of wonder and excitement at the world? Again, some younger guys have these qualities, some do not, and some older guys do.

The answer is: you don't want a twink, necessarily. You're looking for certain qualities in a guy, regardless of age.

If you go out looking specifically for someone under 30, you're bound to fail.

2. Ask yourself, "Why me?"

What do you have to offer a 25-year old that guys his own age do not? A hairy chest, sexual expertise, wisdom, maturity, an intimate knowledge of gay history and culture? Play on your strengths.

Don't discount having money -- you don't need to be a sugar daddy, but theater tickets followed by dinner at the Gilded Truffle will open many bedrooms.

Just having a place to go can be enticing to guys living in dorm rooms or with their parents.

3. Get thee to a gym.

Younger guys tend to stereotype the older generation based on the heterosexual model, where men play sports in college, then spend the rest of their lives sitting on the couch eating potato chips and drinking beer. They think old and fat are identical. Give them a glimpse of hard, lean muscle and watch them get all hot and flustered.

4. Act your age.

You want to have something to talk about, so keep up with the basics of contemporary youth culture (be careful -- it changes fast). But don't try to adopt their clothing or slang. He can talk about Taylor Swift and Beyonce with any of his friends; he wants you in spite of the fact that you had a crush on David Cassidy in 1971. Or because of it.

5. Go to non-sexual venues.

Gay bars are where younger guys go to hang out with each other. You will be an unwelcome interloper -- one of those lonely oldsters sitting on a barstool by himself staring wistfully at the Cute Young Things like Charlie Brown wishing the Little Red Haired Girl would talk to him.

The only exceptions are bear and leather bars, where guys of all ages congregate.

You need a low-pressure, non-sexual environment to put you and the younger guy at ease. Try gay social groups, political groups, Gay Pride Festivals, Gay Film Festivals, gay positive churches, Karaoke Night at the Gay Community Center, Open-Mike Night at a gay coffeehouse.

If there aren't any gay-specific venues near you, try college and community theater or ballet -- that 15-minute intermission is perfect for mingling. Or after the performance, congratulating the players.

Or the gym, There are always gay guys in search of a spotter.

Or an individual sports competition, such as wrestling, martial arts, or track and field.

6. Go with friends.

Guys who are alone look -- well, lonely. When you are with friends, you seem more vibrant, energetic, someone worth meeting.

7. Do not cruise him.

"Cruising" is my generation's word for attempting to initiate a sexual liaison, by flirting, talking dirty, or just by making eye contact and then approaching.

Dont' do it -- you will be labeled a Creepy Old Guy.

Besides, when you initiate contact, you put yourself in a subordinate position: he has all of the power, to accept or reject you, to acknowledge your existence or give you Attitude. You must retain control. Wait for him -- he'll be there!

8. If in doubt, ask for an id.

Once I was asked out by a guy who I thought was in college. When I got home, I looked him up online -- he was a sophomore in high school! Of course, no date happened! If you don't know for sure that he's over 18, ask for an id. He won't mind -- he gets asked all the time.

9. Prepare to be a top.

Many younger guys will approach you because they want someone to take charge, dominate them in the bedroom. A hint of bondage always turns them on. Or at least being a top for backside activity. You can tweak the roles and positions later, but for the first time, you'll have to break out the condoms, or there probably will be no second time.

10. Prepare for romance.

With the numerous apps available for quick hook-ups, younger guys may be acquiring all of the "one-hour stands" they want without your contribution. They are looking for something else with older guys. Maybe a power-control scene (see #9), maybe a permanent, monogamous relationship -- which nowadays pften means marriage and children, even for gay men.

You may end up at the altar of a gay-friendly church nearby, with all of his relatives smiling at their new son-in-law.

One of my first crushes was on Davy Jones, singer for the pre-fab boy band The Monkees. In fact, the first album I ever bought (or rather, asked Mom and Dad for) was The Monkees (1966), because it showed Davy Jones seated in the foreground, dirty from working outdoors, with Peter Tork's arm around him. I figured they were boyfriends.

Some of the tracks were gender-explicit, with lots of “girls” and “babes," but many were not, including the famous “Last Train to Clarksville", written by the famous duo Boyce and Hart: the singer, talking on the telephone, asks a loved one for a final rendezvous in a train station before he goes away forever.

Quite a change from the girl-crazy Beatles and Herman's Hermits.

More of the Monkees (1967) again had an evocative cover, with the boys in blue shirts and tight jeans gazing down suggestively at the camera. But every track was about desperate longing for some girl or another, with a single exception. In “Laugh,” which didn’t chart as a single, Davy Jones suggests that those boys who are interested in boys should transform their "secret" into humor:

Laugh, when you're keepin' a secret
And it seems to be known by the rest of the world.
Laugh, when you go to a party
And you can't tell the boys from the girls.

The tv series (1966-68, then on Saturday morning 1968-70) seemed to concur. The nonsensical plots, filled with blackout gags, self-referential humor, and spoofs of every movie cliché from superheroes to Westerns, were surprisingly gay-friendly. And shirtless shots were quite common.

Although Micky Dolenz was ostensibly the leader of the group, Davy Jones, only 5’3”, with dark eyes and a sensual pout, quickly became the standout star. He was prominently displayed on every album cover, and almost every episode required him to wear a swimsuit or revealing prizefighter’s trunks, or get his clothes ripped off by fans, or otherwise display his slight but firm physique.

Unfortunately, he also got the most girl-chasing plotlines. Of 58 episodes, Davy went ape over a girl in six, Peter Tork in two, Micky in only one, and Mike Nesmith not at all.

Micky is the one that I figured liked boys, not girls. My evidence: the voice-over introduction to “Monkees on the Wheel” (December 1967) notes that Las Vegas is the

Pleasure capital of the world, where each man seeks the things he loves most. [Shot of Peter following a girl.]
The things he loves most. [Shot of Mike following a girl.]
The things he loves most.[Shot of Davy following a girl.]

And then the story begins. Why is Micky omitted? Because the joke has run its course, or because girls are not the things he loves most?

Also, in “Monkees Mind their Manors” (February 1968), the group travels to England. At the airport, the boys realize that the customs agent is being portrayed by Jack Williams, the show’s prop master, but Williams protests that he is actually a famous singer. Then he sings the Dean Martin standby “Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime”, and Micky, overcome with passion, leaps into his arms.

Many minor characters were gay-vague, such as the flamboyant Sir Twiggly Toppin Middle Bottom (Bernard Fox) and beach movie star Frankie Catalina (Bobby Sherman), who hates the beach and is “allergic to girls” (i.e., gay).

And the Monkees themselves obviously preferred buddy-bonding over girl-chasing. I couldn't wait to see their constant caressing of faces, hands, and chests, their cuddling together, their panicked hugging in moments of danger. Regardless of what the actors thought they were conveying, for gay kids they produced a powerful evocation of same-sex love.

See also my review of Head, the Monkees' swan song.

When I was a kid in the 1960s, we were all about astronauts and outer space. Cowboys were strictly for squares. We had a few cowboy toys, presented by clueless adults, but we didn't dare bring them out with other kids around, and we would watch a tv Western only if it had science fiction elements, like Wild Wild West. So, except for a few parodies, we knew nothing about the Lone Ranger and Tonto, the most blatant gay couple of the first generation of Boomers.

First appearing on the radio in 1933, the Lone Ranger was a Texas Ranger (a sort of Wild West police officer) who was ambushed along with his squadron and left for dead. He was nursed back to health by an Indian named Tonto (apparently his creator, Fran Striker, didn't speak Spanish), and the two of them rode off to right wrongs.

The radio series was immensely popular, and led to an endless series of toys, games, cereal give-aways, comic books, Big-Little Books, movie serials, and feature films.

Boomer kids often heard their parents discussing fond memories of huddling over a radio listening to an announcer intone "Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear!", after which the Lone Ranger would say "Heigh-ho, Silver! Away!"

Did none of them figure out that these were two men living together, never displaying the least interest in women, and one of them said "Heigh-ho"?

The radio series lasted through 1956, but first generation of Boomer kids was most familiar with the tv series (1949-57), starring Clayton Moore and Jay Silverheels. I've never seen it, but apparently there's no heterosexual interest, and Tonto needs rescuing quite a lot.

Clayton Moore (top photo) was a former circus acrobat who broke into Hollywood in 1937 and starred in many Westerns, detective dramas, and even science fiction before and during The Lone Ranger. Afterwards he didn't do much acting; he didn't want to. He had already become the idol of kids everywhere. Apparently he was not aware of the gay subtext.

Jay Silverheels (born Harold J. Smith) was a Canadian Mohawk Indian, who got his start in movies as a stuntman. He, too, had a long career before The Lone Ranger, playing mostly characters named Black Buffalo, Yellow Hawk, and Spotted Bear. Afterwards he continued to work, playing Indians in Laramie, Branded, Daniel Boone, Gentle Ben, and The Brady Bunch, and a non-Indian on Love American Style. Apparently he was not aware of the gay subtext, either.

But lots of gay kids were aware. In The Best Little Boy in the World, a classic gay Boomer autobiography, John Reid states that he first figured "it" out through his fantasies of the Lone Ranger and Tonto riding into the sunset together.

The 2013 re-invention starring Johnny Depp and Armie Hammer effectively heterosexualized both charactersn.

In the spring of 1998, when I was dating Joe the Regular Guy, we took the train up the Hudson Valley to Rhinebeck to visit his ex boyfriend Travis, the first guy he ever dated, back when he was a young, naive undergrad at Bard College.

Travis actually worked as a carpenter -- he made good money building custom furniture for rich people. He was in his 40s, muscular, with a beard and a hairy chest, wearing overalls with no shirt.

He had two dogs, who greeted Joe enthusiastically, two cats, and a rabbit. Plus two pick up trucks, a wood shop, a refrigerator full of beer, and a living room with copies of Field and Stream on the coffee table. Just like my mother's relatives in Indiana, except he was gay.

I started having fantasies of those long, dark nights at the farmhouse outside Garrett, sitting on my Uncle Paul's lap or trying spying on Uncle Ed's "gun."

Although Joe and I hadn't discussed it on the way up, I naturally expected to "share."

Rhinebeck is full of chic bistros with names like The Tasting Room and Puccini's, for the Gucci crowd that drives up from the City on weekends, but Travis took us out for pizza. Then we watched a movie, Joe and I and the dogs on the couch, Travis and a cat occupying a chair, even though he could barely see the tv from that position.

No discussion of sharing, so I decided to bring it up myself.

"It's great that you're still such good friends with your ex," I began, ignoring the fact that in gay communities, most of your friends are ex-boyfriends. "I'm not really close to Blake, who I dated before Joe."

Joe grabbed my knee vigorously. Later I discovered that he was prodding me to change the subject, but I thought he was just being affectionate.

"You dated Joe's roommate?" Travis asked, eyes widening.

"Sure. In fact, we hit it off one night when Blake and I...."

Joe nudged me.

"What? I was just going to mention the night we..."

"...all had dinner together! Hey, Jeff, let's go out into the backyard and look at the stars! They're very bright out here in the woods!"

He dragged me into the back yard -- the dogs eagerly followed, thinking they were going for a walk. "Don't talk about sharing!" he whispered savagely. "Travis is very conservative -- he's only been with three guys in his life. He'd go crazy if he found out we shared."

"Ok, ok, I won't bring it up."

In the middle of the night I got up to go to the bathroom, and passed Travis's bedroom. The door was wide open. Travis lay in bed. He had kicked off the covers -- I could see a bare backside illuminated in pale light from the nightstand. The dogs, curled up on the floor, looked up expectantly.

If he didn't want to invite us in, why did he sleep naked, with the door wide open?

I went in, patted the dogs each on the head, and moved on.

On Saturday we hiked to the top of Indian Head, and then explored the village of Woodstock, where the hippies never left. In the evening, Travis invited a couple he knew, Todd and Henry, both hairy, bearded bears, over for grilled steaks and vegetables. They brought a pie.

"So, how did you boys meet? Henry asked with a leer.

"Um...in the City," Joe said. "Jeff knew my roommate Blake."

"There are so many temptations in the City!" Todd said. "Bath houses, bear parties, hot guys cruising you all the time. How do you manage to stay faithful? It's hard enough for us, out here in the boondocks!"

"Um...it takes work..." Travis began. But I was tired of feeling guilty over sharing. "That's the nice thing about gay relationships -- they don't have to obey that heterosexual 'wife as property' rule. Nobody's going to get pregnant, so who cares if you bring in a third guy from time to time? I...."

They were all staring at me, except for Joe, who had suddenly become very interested in feeding a piece of steak to a begging dog.

"Sharing?" Travis asked.

"Um...of course, it's not for everyone..."

"Oh, please, we're not hicks!" Henry said. "We have Travis over all the time!"

I was confused. "But...I was going to bring it up last night, but Joe said you weren't into it."

"He isn't!" Joe exclaimed. "Or...every time we talk, he goes on and on about how you should be faithful to one guy, how he's only been with three guys in his life."

"I wasn't...um, exactly honest about my love life," Travis said. "I didn't want you to think I was a slut. Quiet, shy farmboy from Ulster County, altar boy at the Catholic Church, doesn't even know that gay people exist, has to ask me how they go about having sex."

"That was eight years ago! I'm...people change. They grow up."

"Ok, ok," Henry said. "I see what happened here. Everybody was afraid to come out. But I can solve this little disagreement with two simple words: Bear Party. Right here, right now. Who's up for it?"

See also: Landing My Boyfriend's Roommate.

It's 8 hours by train from Antwerp to Prague, capital of the Czech Republic, but worth it.

Prague is one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. Try the view from Charles Bridge at night, looking toward the Mala Strana, with the castle lit up.

It has a thriving gay community.

A major porn industry, which has gotten some criticism for exploiting barely-legal models.

And more statues of naked men than any other city in the world. Here are the top ten public penises:

1.-2. This man and his twin are urinating on a map of the Czech Republic outside the Kafka Museum. As the water flows, their penises move up and down as if they are becoming aroused. Quite a spectacle (By the way, Franz Kafka had rather a substantial gay connection).

3. This naked boy stands at the entrance of the Supreme Burgrave's House (now a Toy Museum). You're supposed to rub his penis for luck.

4. The Memorial to the Victims of Communism, seven statues of men in decay, symbolizes the many political prisoners who were forced into exile or killed. But they're definitely naked.

5.-6. The gardens at Wallenstein Palace has a row of Romanesque statues, like this Perseus with his penis broken off.

More after the jump.

7. An accidental encounter with a row of naked soldiers.

8. Just look up as you're walking around the old city.

9. This one comes with a naked female companion, if you're into that.

10. Ok, you have to go inside for this one, by Barbora Mastrlova, in the Artbanka Museum of Young Art

There are lots more penises in the Museum of the Penis in Reykjavik, Iceland, or in Bhutan, a country dedicated to penis art, and, closer to home for Americans, the public penises of Washington DC. Or, if you would prefer them real, try the Naked Man Festivals of Japan, or anywhere in the Basque Country of Spain.

In the spring of 1971, Bobby Sherman was probably the #1 teen idol in the country,or maybe #2 to David Cassidy of The Partridge Family. He had a dozen hit singles, including "Easy Come Easy Go" and "Julie Do Ya Love Me." His shirtless photos were plastered all over the teen magazines, actually more often than David Cassidy's. And he had displayed acting talent as the "allergic to girls" beach movie star Frankie Catalina on an episode of The Monkees, plus two seasons as Jeremy Bolt on Here Come the Brides (1968-70).

The minds of ABC executives started churning. Why not give him his own tv series? He could play "himself," and sing a different number every week. Surefire hit, right?

They based the premise on the singer/songwriter team Boyce and Hart. Bobby would play Bobby Conway, a struggling singer, and Wes Stern would provide the comic relief and tight jeans as his lyricist/best friend Lionel Poindexter.

23-year old Wes Stern was a cute, likeable guy, a veteran of the Groundlings comedy troupe, who specialized in self-effacing heterosexual roles. He passed on the role of Benjamin Braddock in The Graduate to star in The First Time (1969), about three guys trying to lose their virginity.

In Up in the Cellar (1970), he played a college student who gets even with the president by seducing his wife (Joan Collins), daughter, and mistress.

He tried to seduce Mary Richards on an episode of Mary Tyler Moore, and kissed any number of women on episodes of Love, American Style.

But Getting Together would minimize heterosexual hijinks to concentrate on the deep friendship (read: romance) between Bobby and Lionel. They would become an alternative family, charged with raising Bobby's preteen sister Jenny. And they would work in an antique shop while waiting for their big break.

They couldn't be more gay-coded if they plastered their bedroom with pictures of Steve Reeves. Hey, Wes, don't be bashful, just kiss him.

Tie-in novels and comic books were ordered, gushing teen magazine articles were written, and after a trial run on an episode of The Partridge Family, Getting Together premiered. But not on ABC's Friday night block of kid-friendly programs -- on September 18, 1971, a Saturday. Opposite the second season premiere of the blockbuster All in the Family.

I watched -- my parents didn't allow me to see All in the Family -- but no one else did, and Getting Together failed to make a dent in the juggernaut of Archie, Edith, and the Meathead. 14 episodes aired through January 1972, and then the duo disbanded.

Giving teen idols their own tv series, even when they have acting talent, is risky business, as David Cassidy discovered a few years later.

When I was a junior in college, I took courses in "The Modern British Novel", "The American Renaissance," and "Modern American Literature," plus German, French, and Spanish Literature. And I forever afterwards restricted my literature consumption to the pre-modern (I should have known from my freshman-year class in Fiction Writing). The professor of the Amer Lit class chose the texts that most jubilantly proclaimed the absence of gay people from the world.

1. John Updike, "A&P." A teenage boy is working in small-town supermarket: “In walks these three girls in nothing but bathing suits.” He goes on to describe their bodies in detail. Why do men never walk in with their shirts off?

2. Alan Dugan, "Tribute to Kafka for Someone Taken." He is at a party, when the police arrive. “I take one last drink,” he writes, “A last puff on a cigarette, a last kiss at a girl. . . .” Why is there never a last kiss at a boy?

3. Carl Sandburg, "Stars, Songs, Faces": "Gather the faces of women" through our lives, and then, as we prepare to die, “Loosen your hands, let go and say goodbye.” Why are men's faces not worth gathering, or letting go?

Was there no glimpse of same-sex desire or love in these authors?

Not much. Carl Sandburg evokes "the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of youth, half-naked, sweating," but his world is overwhelmingly that of “slender supple girls with shapely legs."

Men are described only in their connection to women: the Shovel-Man, who dreamed of by “a dark-eyed woman in the old country,” or Jack, who “married a tough woman and they had eight children,” or a Polish boy, “out with his best girl” on a Saturday night. Men only and always long for women.

John Updike writes endlessly about men noticing women, kissing women, and marrying women. “We are all Solomons lusting for Sheba’s salvation,” says the narrator of “Lifeguard.”

There is a drag queen in "A Bar in Charlotte Amelie," but he is a lonely, pathetic creature, and he never expresses any same-sex interest.

In Updike's magnum opus about alienated suburban heterosexuals, Rabbit Run (1960). Rabbit (played by James Caan in the movie version) wonders why his friend Tothero likes to watch him undress. Could he be queer? He wonders in horror. No -- it's a nostalgic pleasure, a memory of all the times he used to watch boys undress in the locker room when he was young.

Um...so that means Tothero isn't gay?

Alan Dugan was “the poet of masturbation,” endlessly describing his straight desires and exploits, with no mention of men except for barroom cronies. His “Night Song for a Boy” is not about a boy, but about his depression over his failure to get enough women.

In old age, Dugan has a homoerotic dream about a dead friend, but in perhaps the most homophobic line in any poem since Catullus, he is horrified at the thought that his dream self might be “an impotent homosexual necrophiliac,” and longs for the “right” sort of dreams, dreams about women, again.

Every selection on the syllabus of that long-ago class came from an author who obsessed over heterosexual passion and erased nearly every trace of same-sex love from the world. Their descriptions of men are bare and lifeless, as if too trivial to mention amid the endless paragraphs devoted to girls’ legs.

There were gay writers in mid-20th century America to choose from: Truman Capote, John Cheever, Robert Duncan, Thom Gunn, Allen Ginsburg, Amiri Baraka, Tennessee Williams, Gore Vidal. But I never heard of any of them in Modern American Literature class.

See also: Carl Sandburg's Two Gay References

Gay kids in the 1960s had to get their beefcake wherever they could, even at breakfast. Whenever Mom asked "What cereal do you want?", you had to decide between the cereal that tasted good or the one with the muscular guy on the box? (In this case, Bruce Jenner, now Caitlin Jenner after coming out as transgender in 2015.)

Did you ask Mom to bring home the cereal that stays crunchy even in milk, or the one with the picture of a Scotsman flexing an enormous bicep?

Although I did like both Cheerios Cereal and the Cheerios Kid, and Sugar Bear, who wore a blue turtleneck sweater and talked like Elvis Presley, was kind of cute.

Quaker Oats even played into the conundrum with the competing ceeals Quisp and Quake. Introduced in 1965, Quisp was an alien who looked like a Martian out of Rocky and Bullwinkle (because both were created by Jay Ward). He sold corn "saucers." Quake was a muscular miner with a purple cape who sold corn "boulders." They both offered toys and premiums, and appeared in tv commercials competing over their products.

There was really no contest. Quisp Cereal was sweet, sort of like Captain Crunch; Quake Cereal was awful. Besides, who would pick a miner over a cool alien, muscles or not? In 1969, Quake was transformed into a slim Australian cowboy, but it didn't help. When Quaker Oats held an "election" to see who would be discontinued, Quake got his walking papers. Quisp was available through the 1970s .

See also: Mikey Likes It

When I was a kid in the 1960s, the Celtic world was everywhere. Mr. Bass in The Wonderful Flight to the Mushroom Planet was from Aberstywyth, Wales, Rich and Sean exchanged a look that meant something in rural Ireland, and if you liked Kipling's Jungle Book, librarians nudged you toward Puck of Pook's Hill. There was a Celtic Festival every year where you could see guys in kilts and play homoerotic "feat of strength" games.

Taran Noah Smith, who played Jonathan Taylor Thomas's younger brother on Home Improvement, was named after Taran, the assistant pig keeper who becomes High King in Lloyd Alexander's Chronicles of Prydain. And a dozen other fantasy novels drew from Celtic myth.

But was there any gay symbolism? Any suggestions that the Celtic world might be a "good place"?

In Hero Tales from Many Lands (Alice Hazletine, 1964), I read of a boy who had lost his memory. Wandering aimlessly through the thick woods of Wales, he encounters a bard, blond with a blue robe, stunning beautiful, singing a song that brought both joy and pain.

They travel together, until finally the wanderer gives his life for the bard. Then he remembers: he is Manawyddan, God of the Ocean, and the bard is his fellow god Pryderi in disguise. His quest required him to sacrifice himself for a friend (and the amnesia was necessary, lest he remember that he was immortal).

The source was The Book of the Three Dragons, by Kenneth Morris (1930), which recounts many adventures of the Manawyddan and Pryderi. Both marry women, but their love for each other is strong enough to save the world.

By the way, when the magician Gwydion and his brother Gilvaethy stole Pryderi's pigs, the High God Math turned them into various animal pairs (boars, deer, wolves). At the end of each year, they brought him an animal sacrifice, and he turned it into a beautiful boy. A same-sex couple having children!

Finn MacCool in Irish myth was a rough, muscular boy who accidentally tasted the Salmon of Knowledge, and became super-intelligent. He liked women -- the famous Pursuit of Diarmuid has him chasing the woman he likes and her male lover all over Ireland -- but he also led a band of warriors, the Fenians, who were devoted to him and to each other. During the 19th and 20th centuries, several Irish nationalist groups called themselves the Fenians.

And Cuchulain, who single-handedly defeated the army of Ulster at age 17, depicted here as a muscular Conan-style barbarian: he was so beautiful that everyone who saw him desired him. The sagas mention both male and female lovers. For instance, Ferdia:

Fast Friend, forest companions,
we made one bed and slept one sleep
In foreign lands after the fray.
Scathach's pupils, two together.

But the most evocative of all the Celtic gods and demigods was Puck the trickster. He appears in Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream to procure a catamite for King Oberon and to mock and befuddle heterosexual loves. Nearly every teen idol has played him at one time or another: Danny Pintauro, Will Rothhaar, Eli Marienthal, even Mickey Rooney (left).

See also: Celtic Festivals

Seinfeldwas not well known for its beefcake. There was a parade of spongeworthy guest stars, such as Anthony Starke in "The Jimmy" (1995), but they were rarely displayed shirtless or in swimsuits. But in "The Busboy" (June 26, 1991), fans saw "all that and more."

The most gigantic beneath-the-belt bulge in history.

George accidentally gets a busboy named Antonio fired, and goes to his apartment to apologize. Antonio is angry, taciturn -- and a Greek god. Viewers wanted to know, who is this Michelangelo's David come to life? This Apollo masquerading as a mortal? And why did the producers squeeze him into jeans so tight that his superheroic endowment was so completely and obviously visible?

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Were they trying to make him look more threatening? If so, it didn't work.

He was 29-year old David Labiosa, who had been appearing on tv and in movies for a decade. His credits included The White Shadow, Hill Street Blues, T. J. Hooker, and the movies Private Sessions, A Sinful Life, and Uncaged.

He had never had such a revealing role before. Or such a gender-transgressive role. Hispanic actors generally are cast as super-macho gang members, thugs, and streetwise detectives, but Labiosa's Antonio resists gender expectations by having a pet cat named Pequita, and by effusively hugging George at the end of the episode.

Maybe that was the point: the stereotyped super-macho Hispanic guy turns out to be sensitive and sweet, i.e., gay.

David has been acting steadily after Seinfeld, also, with recurring roles in Walker, Texas Ranger and 24. and leads in a number of films. His war hero Juan Medina in An American Story (1992) won him an Emmy nomination. He's also active in many social causes, including gang intervention.

Hopefully he won't be remembered solely for the gigantic bulge on Seinfeld.

One night at Mugi a very large Asian drag queen in a flowered chemise and blond hair approached me.

Before I had a chance to give Attitude, she grabbed my hand. "I am Auntie Bopha. From Kampuchea. You say Cambodia."

I had never met anyone from Cambodia before. They speak an Austroasiatic language, similar to Thai, with a distinctive writing system. It wouldn't hurt to have a conversation. "Hi, I'm Jeff."

"You got job?"

What kind of cruise line was that? "Um..yes, I work for Muscle and Fitness, and I'm in grad school at USC, working toward my doctorate in..."

"Oh, muscle, good. And doctor, good, good! Cure AIDS, maybe?"

"No, I won't be that kind of..."

"Get AIDS test?"

"Yes, I'm HIV negative, but..."

"Like get drunk?"

"No, this is just soda, but...."

Her hand clamped onto my crotch. "Oh, big basket! Good, good, good!"

"What the heck are you doing?" I angrily pried her hand off and started to walk away.

She grabbed my arm. "Wait -- Auntie Bopha has a boy for you!" She pointed to the other side of the bar, where a slim Asian twink in a flowered shirt was staring at the floor. Black hair, golden skin, a beautiful angelic face.

"New to America, two months only. Not much English yet. Name Chehay, means 'sexy,' yes? You like?"

"Well, he is cute."

"Good, good, good! You talk to him, ask for date." She hustled me across the room, where I shook Chehay's slim, soft hand. We had a brief, stumbling conversation before Auntie Bopha interrupted. "Ok, ok, Chehay like, Mr. Muscle Doctor Big Basket like, now date! Good, good!"

We made a date for the next Friday night. Auntie Bopha wouldn't let us grope or kiss.

I slipped my phone number into Chehay's hand, but somehow Auntie Bopha got it and called with demands: "Ok, for date, you must wear nice shoes and tie -- look nice! Take Chehay someplace nice -- no McDonald's! And bring flowers. Otherwise insult. And two Dove Bars!"

Chehay lived in a small apartment in Little Pnomh Penh, on Anaheim Street on the east side of Long Beach, about an hour's drive from West Hollywood.

Bopha answered the door -- not in drag anymore, just in a flowered shirt and too-tight purple shorts. My heart sank -- was he coming along on our date? But no -- he just put the flowers in water and parked himself in front of the tv with the Dove Bars.

After an intolerably long wait, Chehay appeared, smiling shyly, in a tan shirt with a red tie. He smelled of a sweet, rather sickly cologne. We hugged -- I wanted to kiss, but Bopha cleared his throat ominously.

We had dinner at a Cambodian restaurant a few blocks from Chehay's house, followed by cruising at Ripples. I found that we could communicate in French better than English.

I made him blush by saying mon saucisse veut vous connaître.

Most guys told their coming out story on the first date, but Chehay told me about how when he was ten years old, his entire family was killed by the Pol Pot; he escaped by climbing through an upstairs window onto the roof, and lived on the streets for awhile until a friend took him in. Then, in December 1978, when Vietnam invaded Cambodia, they walked 100 miles through the jungle into Thailand, ending up in a refugee camp in Mai Rut. He was only thirteen years old!

I stared. When I was in my freshman year in college, complaining about the heterosexism in my English class, this small, soft, passive person, with soft hands and a shy smile, was walking through 100 miles of jungle!

Chehay lived in the refugee camp for three years, then was sent to France as part of a refugee relocation program, where he completed secondary school. Then Bopha -- who was really a distant relative -- paid for his flight to America and got him a job. In Cambodia marriages were usually arranged, so Auntie Bopha became a go-between.

What could I say after all that? I just held his hand under the table and drank my tea.

When we were cruising at Ripples, we finally had an opportunity to kiss and grope. Chehay was surprisingly soft and fragile. I thought he would break if I hugged him too hard.

And what could we talk about? "Um, do you want to go see The Lost Boys, with Corey Haim?" Everything seemed so trivial!

When we returned to his apartment, Bopha was still there. And he had company -- two elderly women -- real women, not drag queens -- who hugged Chehay, then me, and peppered us with questions in English, French, and Khmer. "Had nice time, yes? Kroupeti mneak ku lok? Est-ce que tu embrasser?"

Finally they adjourned to the couch to drink tea.

"What was that all about?" I asked.

"No worries!" Bopha said. "I tell Chehay's other aunties you make good husband, Mr. Muscle Doctor Big Basket, but they want to see. They say good, good, good! Bedroom time!"

Embarrassed, Chehay looked down at his feet.

"Bedroom time?"

Bopha put our hands together. "Ok, Mr. Big Basket, you wait long enough. You ready, Chehay ready, Jeff Stryker Italian Stallion, yes?"

"Wait -- you're not going to stay here while we..."

"Oh, no, hour only. Then we go home. You stay all night. Good, good!"

Suddenly we were alone in the bedroom. Chehay smiled shyly.

" Est d'habitude de attendre à l'extérieur?" I asked. Do elderly aunties usually wait outside?

"No," he answered in French. "But two guys is not usual either. They have changed the customs for gays."

I could hear them talking and giggling in the living room. No doubt they could hear us as well.

Twenty minutes later, I was saying "I swear, this has never happened to me before."

I figured it was a combination of the horrors of Chehay's past, the ladies and drag queen waiting outside, the pressure of becoming an instant "husband," and the uncomfortably gender-polarized masculine-feminine thing. Nothing happened, no matter what I tried.

In the morning I snuck out before Chehay had a chance to tell Auntie Bopha that Mr. Muscle Doctor Big Basket was a bust.

See also: A Celebrity Steals My Date

In a 1992 episode of Tiny Toon Adventures,Buster and Babs help some outdated black-and-white cartoon characters from the 1930s, who become so popular that Tiny Toons is cancelled to make room for their new show.

Precognitive or not, Tiny Toons was cancelled that spring to make room for Animaniacs (1993-1998).

The frame story: three black-and-white characters, Yacko, Wacko, and Dot, were too zany for 1930s audiences, so they were locked in the water tower at Warner Brothers Studios.

Fifty years later, they escaped to unleash their zaniness on the world.

Wait -- children were locked in a water-tower prison?

The discomfort continued with the show itself.

First, Tiny Toons had ample gay subtexts, but Wacko and Yacko were preteen horndogs, aggressively heterosexual, sexually aware, and probably sexually active. When a woman with big breasts comes on state, they all but have orgasms on the spot. They leap into the arms of the big-breasted nurse so often that their leering "Hello, nurse!" became a catchphrase.

Dot disapproves of the activity, but when a handsome man approaches, she throws herself at him in a fit of heterosexual mania.

Their cartoons were horrible, but the subsidiary features were even worse.

1. Slappy Squirrel, an aging, raunchy cartoon character from the 1930s, and her grandson.
2. The Goodfeathers, gangster pigeons
3. Rita and Runt, a showtune-singing cat and stupid dog.
4. Some others that I don't remember.

The only feature with redeeming value was Pinky and the Brain, about two lab rats who plotted to take over the world. They at least had a gay subtext. But in 1993 they were spun off into their own show, leaving Animaniacs to promote childhood heteronormativity for another five years.

See also: Pinky and the Brain

When I was growing up, the Nazarene church disapproved of reading almost anything except the Bible and some religious books.

Beliefs that Matter Most, by the Nazarene W. T. Purkiser? Ok.

The Late Great Planet Earth, by the evangelical Hal Lindsey? Ok, but be careful. Some false teachings might creep in.

The Gospel According to Peanuts, by the Presbyterian Robert L. Short? Maybe, if it doesn't try to brainwash you into believing in secular humanism and evil-lution. Better let your Sunday school teacher review it first, to be sure.

Mere Christianity, by the Anglican C.S. Lewis? Are you crazy? Anglicans are like Catholics!

But the Campus Crusade for Christ crowd at Rocky High was all agog over C.S. Lewis.

Besides, I knew that he and J.R.R. Tolkien, author of The Lord of the Rings, were friends, all members of a literary club called the Inklings. I imagined intense afternoon buddy-bonding over discussions of Beowulf.

So with some trepidation, I started reading his books.

The Chronicles of Narnia was great, if a little too preachy.

Out of the Silent Planet was ok. No hetero-romance, but not a lot of gay subtexts, and the weird alien planet that Ransom goes to sounds very allegorical.

Perelandra was awful. Adam and Eve on Venus.

That Hideous Strength: I didn't get farther than the first few pages, when the protagonist's young wife Jane is in the hospital and requests a copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets, and mulls over an arcane passage in Love's Alchemie for her doctoral dissertation. Yawn.

The Screwtape Letters: Letters from the senior demon Screwtape to his inexperienced nephew, Wormwood, explaining how to tempt his human subject. Ok, if a little preachy.

The Great Divorce: I always liked the word "divorce," from when I thought it was a loophole in the "find the right girl" litany of the adults. But there's actually no divorce. A guy is trapped in a weird gray city with ghosts.

Till We Have Faces: it said "a retelling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche." I knew that was all about hetero-romance, so I avoided it.

Overall a disappointment. But it was still fun to say "I've been reading The Screwtape Letters"in Nazarene Young People's Society or Afterglow, and watch everyone's jaws drop, as if I said I had been reading the Satanic Bible, or the letters of Pope Paul.

See also: The Chronicles of Narnia

Pulp magazine covers often featured a woman drawn in the style collectors called GGA or Good Girl Art, tied to something and about to be murdered or violated by a drooling villain, while the hero rushes to the rescue. But in superhero comics of the 1940s, the teenage sidekick was either tied next to the GGA woman, or else tied up all alone, and while GBA is not an official comic book term, his muscles were displayed quite as prominently as her breasts, providing hours of fun and excitement for gay kids of the pre-Boomer generation.

The Human Torch’s sidekick Toro, nearly-naked, muscles straining, chest heaving, is tied spread-eagle in the path of a tank , tied to the barrel of a cannon, or being lowered into a buzz-saw machine.

3 of the first 10 covers of Detective Comics after the introduction of Robin, and nine of the first thirty, feature a surprisingly fit Boy Wonder tied up and about to stabbed, shot, drowned, or otherwise violated, while Batman rushes to the rescue.

As World War II progressed, many other superhero comics followed suit. The magazine racks of every drugstore were overflowing with images of superheroes rushing to the rescue of bound-and-threatened GBA sidekicks.

Captain America rescues Bucky in eight of the first ten covers of his comic book, and fully half of the first thirty. Bucky is often (but not always) drawn as a muscular teenager, and his green-skinned, fairy-tale ogre captors have devised much more creative methods of execution than Robin’s. He is strapped to an operating table next to a monster, while a leering Nazi doctor prepares an injection; mummified and threatened with an Iron Maiden.

He is hanging from his wrists and threatened by hot coals; in a cemetery, about to be buried alive; thrown overboard with a 500-pound weight around his neck; strapped to a table while a bed of spikes lowers onto him.

Roy the Super Boy, his massive chest jutting out of his red-and-white striped shirt, is tied to a rocket about to be launched into space, or about to be doused with nitroglycerin and ignited, while his superhero, the Wizard, rushes to the rescue.

Dusty the Boy Detective, in a skin-tight blue costume, is about to be stabbed, or tied to a runaway jeep.

The Black Terror's sidekick Tim is tied up, muscles straining in GBA form, about to be run over by a jeep, castrated by a buzzsaw, executed by a Nazi firing squad, or used for archery practice by a weird cult.

Comic books and pulps were not alone in featuring attractive people tied to things and about to be violated in sexually symbolic ways. Men were rescuing women everywhere, in order to create suspense and clarify the emotional investment of rescuer and rescued, who finally realize how much they care for each other. The woman generally reacts to the narrow escape by melting into the man’s arms for a fade-out kiss.

But superhero comics presented boy instead of girl bondage threats, identifying the teen sidekick as an alternative to the spunky girl-reporter as an object of desire. The comic book superhero and sidekick walked into the sunset together through the War and for several years afterwards, but by the 1950s, Robin, Buddy, and Bucky had surrendered to girl-craziness or retired.

I loved the Gothic soap opera Dark Shadows (1966-71), though in retrospect I didn't see it very much. It came on just as the school day was ending, so if my friends and I ran fast, we could catch the last 10-15 minutes. But even after 40 years, I still have fond memories of the gay-subtext romance between Barnabas and Willie, the conflicted, often-shirtless werewolf Chris Jennings, and David Collins, the young heir to the family fortune and ghostly doings.

Although he was a kid, and then a teenager (aged 10-15), he didn't do any of the things I did: he never watched tv, went to school, or got birthday or Christmas presents, and his parents, Elizabeth and Uncle Roger, never pushed him into playing sports or liking girls.

He sometimes had a female companion for adventures, but he never longed for them; they were playmates, nothing more. Instead, David found his strongest emotional bonds with older men, first Chris Jennings, then Quinten (who had a Dorian Gray portrait in the attic), and then unwitting antichrist Jeb Hawkes. I didn't know it then, but I saw some strong gay symbolism in David.

David Henesy, who played David Collins, was as popular as the other teen idols of the 1960s, like Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy, and photographed for teen magazines nearly as often. Oddly, he consented to only one shirtless shot, but still, I thought he was dreamy, and fantasized about meeting him one day.

In fact, by the time I moved to West Hollywood, he had retired from acting, and moved to Panama, where today he runs a chain of upscale restaurants.

There have been remakes in 1991, 20015, and 2012, but they eliminated the gay symbolism by casting David with little kids: Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Alexander Gould (top photo), and Gulliver McGrath.

Or maybe it's too late for the magic to return.

See also: Alexander Gould in Weeds.

Ever since I wimped out on Raphael, the Gay Psychic Angel, who was perfect in every way except that his arms didn't work, I have felt guilty. I should have called -- I would have called -- except I kept imagining becoming his boyfriend, and being responsible for helping him eat and dress and use the bathroom -- how shallow!

So I decided that if I ever had such an opportunity again, I would go for it without hesitation.

The opportunity came in, of all places, at the Dork Den, a comic book store in southern Minnesota.

I always feel out of place amid the fanboys and fantasy gamers, self-conscious about my age more than anything, so I rush in, get what I need, and rush out again. But on that Saturday afternoon in May 2015, there were two guys standing in front of the New Arrival rack.

One was a hefty, bearded bear in his 40s. He was picking up titles and showing them to his friend, who was small, slim, in his 20s.

And had cerebral palsy.

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

Quick, name a cartoon character who came from outer space, was adopted by a human family, and has superpowers?

Right, Bamm-Bamm Rubble.

In an October 3rd, 1963 episode of The Flintstones, about "a modern prehistoric family," Betty and Barney Rubble are upset because they can't have children -- apparently Barney's sperm count is a little low. They wish on a falling star, and the next morning a baby appears on their doorstep, asleep in a turtle shell, holding a club.

He can only say "Bamm-Bamm," so that becomes his name. He turns out to have superhuman strength, easily carrying furniture and tossing his adopted father around.

As a kid in the 1960s, I was intrigued by Bamm-Bamm's mysterious origin. Could he be an alien -- a falling star could mean a UFO! His white hair certainly looked alien. And the superhuman strength surely meant super muscles!

I didn't see The Flintstones often, so I didn't notice that the writers failed to make much use of Bamm-Bamm's potential. His supernatural origins were rarely mentioned, and his super-strength became little more than a comic nuisance.

No gay symbolism: in fact, he began expressing toddler heterosexual interest, mooning over toddler-next-door Pebbles, romancing her in baby-talk. Eventually they were closing episodes by singing the treacly Sunday-school song "Open Up Your Heart (and Let the Sun Shine In)."

In 1971, a highly publicized spin-off appeared, The Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm Show (1971-72, and rerun long after). With the characters as teenagers! I watched the first episode instead of the beefcake-heavy live-action Barrier Reef, to see if Bamm-Bamm had transformed into Superboy.

Nope. No mysterous origin. No superstrength. Bamm-Bamm wasn't even built -- he had skinny arms and legs and a shapeless lump of a body. He and Pebbles went to high school and belonged to a rock band, like everyone on Saturday morning in the 1970s.

I didn't bother with the three tv movies in the 1990s that aged Bamm-Bamm into adulthood. Apparently he and Pebbles marry and move to Hollyrock, where he becomes a screen writer. They have two children, Roxy and Chip.

A heterosexist conclusion to a story loaded with gay promise.

At least the Bamm-Bamm costume allows for some interesting cosplay.

See also: The Flintstones and Saturday Morning Muscle.

The Gay Villages of Sonia and Tim Gidal

Guy Madison: the Strong Silent Type

The Hookup at the Sleepover

How To Date Younger Guys (When You're Over 40)

Davy Jones and the Monkees

The Lone Ranger and Tonto: The First Gay Couple

Spring 1998: The Muscle Bear Who Was Not Into Sharing

The Top 10 Public Penises of Prague

Bobby Sherman Gets With Wes Stern

Fall 1980: Gather the Faces of Men: Modern American Lit

Breakfast of Champions

The Gay Connection of Celtic Gods

David Labiosa: the Biggest Bulge on Seinfeld

Mr. Muscle Doctor Big Basket and the Cambodian Angel

Animaniacs: Heterosexist to the Max

Shocking the Nazarenes with C. S. Lewis

Superhero Sidekicks in Bondage

Dark Shadows: David Collins, the Gay Heir to the Throne

May 2015: A Guy with Daddy Issues Tears My Clothes Off

Bamm-Bamm's Muscles: Gay Promise on "The Flintstones"