NYSocBoy's Beefcake and Bonding

I've been watching American Horror Story since the beginning. The anthology series, using a troop of actors to play different characters in different historical settings, has always had a strong gay presence.

In Season 5, however, I'm wondering where the gay characters are.

There are queer characters. Lots of bisexual hanky-panky. But gay -- characters interested only in their own sex, establishing only same-sex relationships.

There aren't any. The show goes out of its way to tell us that, over and over again.

The setting: The Cortez Hotel, a fading icon of art deco glamor in downtown Los Angeles, where the Countess (Lady Gaga) holds court in a world of ghosts, vampires, and boy toys. The boys are so identical that even I, an expert on male beauty, had difficulty telling them apart.

But one thing is certain: none of them are gay.

1. Donovan (Matt Bomer, who is gay in real life): a heroin addict who was vampirized by the Countess 20 years ago. He became her main squeeze. When she rejects him for newcomer Tristan, he formulates a revenge plan. "Not gay."

2. Tristan Duffy (Finn Wittrock), a male model who flirts with men to get what he wants, but repeatedly announces that he is "not gay."

He falls in love with the pre-op transgender Liz Taylor, but she re-iterates that their relationship is heterosexual: "I'm not gay. You're not gay for being with me. I'm a heterosexual woman. Thank you for seeing my femininity."

3. Rudolph Valentino (also Finn Wittrock), the legendary screen star, vampirized in 1926, and then trapped inside an abandoned wing in the Cortez Hotel for 89 years. Heterosexual, although he experiences a symbolic "seduction" by F.W. Murnaw (the director of Nosferatu).

4.Will Drake (Cheyenne Jackson), the new owner of the Cortez Hotel, who seems to be gay by default: he likes women, but he never can perform adequately when in bed with one (his son must be adopted). But the Countess clears up his sexual inadequacy, and he begins announcing that he is bisexual.

5. James Patrick March (Evan Peters), the extremely effeminate, cultured, aristocratic ghost of the serial killer who originally built the Cortez Hotel as his private playground. Kills men and women indiscriminately, but is only sexually involved with women, and seems rather homophobic.

6. Detective John Lowe (a very craggy Wes Bentley). A "family man" haunted by the disappearance of his son. It turns out that a pedophile didn't take him, the Countess did, to save him from his horrible home life. John is March's protege, a heterosexual serial killer.

In fact, I can only find one actual, real, honest to goodness gay person in the cast:

The ghost of serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer (Seth Gabel).

Plus Gabriel (Max Greenfield), an extremely feminine heroin junkie who checks
into the hotel room to shoot up. He is raped by the Addiction Demon until Sally shows up and sews him into a mattress. We're probably supposed to think of him as gay, his rape a punishment for his "sin."

So much for gay-friendly.

Well, at least it's bi- and trans-friendly.

See also: What Seth Gabel Looks Like Naked.

December 21st, 1984, a Friday night. I am teaching at Lone Star College, in Houston, Texas, the loneliest place on Earth -- I've had no dates all semester, except for some very weird one-night stands. The high points of my semester have been a visit from Bruce and the student who got naked in my class.

Now I'm home for Christmas in Rock Island, the second loneliest place on Earth.

I've just had dinner with my parents, Tammy and her boyfriend, and Ken and his wife and kids. Marriage and children are on everyone's mind. The boyfriend asks, "Do you have a girlfriend in Texas?" My father shushes me before I can think of something witty and sardonic to say.

Then we watch tv: Benson, Webster, Dallas.

There are no gay people here. Anywhere.

"Got stuff to do," I say. "See ya." I get into my car and head out into the black, clear night. It's too cold to go to the levee, so I go to JR's, Rock Island's gay bar.

It's still early, only 9:30, and not crowded. Most gay people are with their relatives now, lying, dissimulating, or keeping silent during conversations about boyfriends and girlfriends and the hotness of tv stars.

Then I see, across the room, my worst nightmare: Dick Sunstrom (not his real name).

Dick in Grade School

Dick was the biggest, meanest, nastiest bully at Denkmann Elementary School. He lived next door to Dewey's Candy Store, where Bill took me on our first date -- I think his grandpa owned it -- and he terrorized kids who tried to get after-school snacks. Just boys he deemed insufficiently masculine: they were punched, kicked, tripped, spat on, and called names: Sissy! Fairy! Wuss! Tiny Tim! And the most devastating: Girl!"

At least once a week, Dick challenged a "sissy" to a fight, and the entire school watched as he pummelled the poor kid to death. I was pummelled to death twice.

His reign of terror continued into junior high and high school, except that he got bigger and bigger, until he towered over us mortals, with huge hands and huge biceps and a beneath-the-belt gift that you couldn't take your eyes off.

He didn't fight much anymore, but he was one of the boys who pushed my future boyfriend Dan into the girls' restroom, and now he had a whole new repertoire of insults: Swish! Fruit! Fag! Homo! The worst remained: Girl!

Now, six years after graduation, Dick is here in JR's, even bigger, more muscular, and meaner-looking. Was he fooled by the country-Western decor? Doesn't he realize that it's a gay bar? I brace myself for the shouts of Sissy! Fruit! Fag! Wuss! Girl!

Dick sees me, clomps over, and claps a huge hand on my shoulder. "Boomer! How the hell are you? I never expected to see you here!"

"Um...I never expected to see you, either. How are you?"

"Great, just great! Merry Christmas! Let me buy you a beer!"

Turns out Dick is gay, a regular at JR's. Really, shouldn't we have known? He was a man's man who never spent a moment around girls. He liked only male-coded activities like hunting, fishing, cars, and guns. And the years of yelling: an obvious defense against the struggle that went on inside every boy who liked boys, when liking boys meant that you were a girl.

I should be angry over the damage Dick has done to a generation of feminine boys who heard his taunts of Sissy! Fairy! Wuss! Fag! Girl! But I'm not. It took him forever to figure it out -- he was 22, in his senior year of college (he majored in accounting, of all things). And in the last 2 1/2 years, he's had one-night stands but no boyfriends, no lovers. He's more damaged than any of them.

Dick's house by the Candy Store

Dick invites me back to his house -- he still lives next to the Candy Store. He shows me his cars, his fishing trophies, his gun collection. Then he takes me into the bedroom and shows me the body that terrorized a generation of feminine boys.

He is enormous beneath the belt.

We exchange phone numbers, and get together whenever I come home for a Christmas or summer visit. Over the years he will meet my lovers, and I will meet his.

It's not so lonely in Rock Island after all.

The uncensored story, with nude photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

During the six years of Junior High and High School, I was in gym class every day -- that's about a thousand days. And I still have no idea what it was for.

It was technically called "physical education, but it wasn't about how your body works, or how to stay in good physical condition. It was about team sports.

But we never received any instruction in team sports: the various positions, how to keep score, strategies and game plans. We were just trotted onto the field and told to divide into teams and play football (fall), basketball (winter) or baseball (spring).

The jocks who were already playing those sports liked the extra practice. No one else did. I have yet to meet a single non-jock who enjoyed gym class. Some found it mind-numbingly dull; but most found it excruciating, a painful trauma that soured them on physical activity forever.

My friends and I soon discovered that getting through gym class alive required strategizing, cooperation, and a lot of luck. Maybe that's what the class was meant to teach us.

1. How to avoid being called a "girl."

Jocks hate anything feminine; the worst possible insult is to "be a girl" or "be like a girl."

Pointing out that many girls are excellent athletes won't work. So just turn it back on them.

Suggest that their movements are similar to those a girl might make. They'll be so busy scrutinizing each other that they'll have no time for you.

2. How to avoid being called a "fairy."

The second worst possible insult is to "be a fairy," which in junior high meant any boy with feminine traits. So be a fairy! Wiggle those hips, sashay out onto that field, and throw the ball with that downward limp-wrist motion. After all that, pointing out that "You throw like a fairy" loses all of its power.

3. How to avoid a woeful ignorance of sports.

Claim expertise in a sport you'll play far in the future. So, during football season, claim "Sure, I play football like a fairy, but wait until basketball season!" Then, during basketball season, "Sure, I play basketball like a girl, but wait until baseball season!"

4. How to avoid being obliterated by a flying projectile

Stand far enough away so that no ball will be aimed at you, except through chance. And if a ball does start careening toward you, run fast in the other direction.

This doesn't work with baseball, when you're supposed to actually hit the ball with your bat.

5. How to avoied being forced to play on a team.

This happened when the coach had two jocks decide who they wanted to play on their team -- your goal is not to be chosen. So your best bet is to pretend you can't tell one team from another. If someone carrying a ball runs toward you, run fast in the other direction. If someone hands you a ball, immediately hand it to the nearest person regardless of whether he's a shirt or a skin.

6. How to avoid being bellowed at by the coach.

Coaches like to pretend that you're a military recruits in boot camp, so they yell, bellow, humiliate, and force you to "Drop and give me twenty!" But they are supposed to be teachers -- they have degrees in education. They learned how to write lesson plans, lead classes, and give exams. So remind the coach of his roots. Ask, "Can you help me learn this move?" and "What books do you recommend on the game?"

But be careful -- he may snap "Don't get smart! You know all about this sport, just like every other boy on Earth."

7.. How to avoid the soul-destroying boredom that is sports.

Just look around. The beefcake will give you enough erotic fantasies to easily fill the hour.

Of course, participants in the big three sports don't dress this way on the playing field, but just wait a little while, and it will be time for the showers. The opportunity to watch hot jocks stripping down in the locker room almost makes gym class worthwhile.

See also: What is Gym Class For?

If I were to compile a list of the gay community's biggest enemies, it would include the usual suspects, the preachers who want gays killed, the politicians who want them classified as subhuman, the producers who litter their movies or tv programs with offensive stereotypes. But near the top of the list, I would place an actor who hasn't said or done any of those things: Tom Cruise.

In 40 movies over a period of 30 years, we find few, if any offensive stereotypes. In innumerable public appearances, we find few, if any complaints that gay people are plotting the destruction of civilization. Yet by suing anyone who suggests that he might be gay -- for huge sums -- Tom Cruise continually broadcasts the message that gay people are unspeakably vile. He is not merely correcting misinformation, he is defending himself against allegations that he is a monster.

Was there ever a time when gay people could find even a moment of hope in any of his vehicles?

Not in the gay-free Mission: Impossible franchise. Not in his alien-fighting family man in War of the Worlds (2005), heterosexual lives in ruins in Magnolia (1999), or "show me the money"Jerry Maguire (1996).

But before that, there are many gay subtexts:

Interview with the Vampire (1994): the vampire Lestat (Tom Cruise) bites Louis (Brad Pitt), and they form an alternate family.

Days of Thunder (1990): race car drivers Cole (Tom Cruise) and Rowdy (Michael Rooker) move from enemies to buddies.

Cocktail (1988): novice bartender Brian buddy-bonds with his mentor, bartending pro Doug (Bryan Brown).

The Color of Money (1986): novice pool hustler Vincent (Tom Cruise) buddy-bonds with his mentor, pool hustler pro Fast Eddie (Paul Newman).

Top Gun (1986): a homoromance between air force pilots Maverick (Tom Cruise) and Goose (Anthony Edwards).

All the Right Moves (1983): up and coming football player Stefen (Tom Cruise) buddy-bonds with his mentor, coach Nickerson (Craig T. Nelson).

What happened after 1994 to end Tom Cruise's buddy-bonding roles and transform him into an enemy? His marriage to Nicole Kidman? His conversion to the Church of Scientology? His friendship with John Travolta (who is also quick to "defend" himself against allegations)?

His first lawsuit for a "gay allegation" came in 1996. Maybe he suddenly realized that gay people existed, that subtexts were possible.

In 1964, the Jackson Brothers, consisting of Jackie (age 13), Tito (11), and Jermaine (10), began performing r&b and soul in their hometown of Gary, Indiana. Five years later, they added younger brothers Marlon and Michael to the group, changed their emphasis to soul-enhanced bubblegum pop, and, with some savvy promotion from Motown Records and Miss Diana Ross, burst onto the teen idol scene.

They had four #1 hits in 1969: "I Want You Back,""ABC,""The Love You Save," and "I'll Be There."

The lyrics were incessantly heterosexist, always about dating and romance, with "girl" every other word, so gay kids weren't impressed.

You went to school to learn, girl, things you never knew before
Girl, since you been away
Goody girl, let down those curls.

But they were impressed by the semi-nude and beefcake shots splashed across the teen magazines, almost unheard of for African-American performers in the era. Jackie had the most impressive physique.

The Jackson Five appeared on such white-centric series as The Andy Williams Show, The Ed Sullivan Show, and The Jim Nabors Hour, not to mention their own razzle-dazzle pop show.

I watched their Saturday-morning cartoon series (1971-73). Michael was the star, involved with pirates, mad scientists, fairy tales, and even a Wizard of Oz parody that presaged his role as the Scarecrow in The Wiz a few years alter.

Their popularity peaked in 1971, but never waned. In 1975, after Michael had struck out on his own, they continued to perform as "The Jacksons." Later Jermaine left the group, and younger brother Randy joined. Sisters Janet and LaToya have careers of their own.

Raised in the extremely homophobic Jehovah's Witnesses sect, The Jackson family varies in their levels of homophobia. Jermaine made the nasty comment "We're not faggots." Marlon said "There's nothing wrong with it. I have gay friends." Janet supports gay marriage.

Hylton Castle in Sunderland, near the Scottish border, is closed now, but for centuries staff and visitors reported seeing a naked teenage boy wandering the hallways.

When they approached him, he moaned "I'm cauld"(cold), and vanished.

Dubbed "The Cauld Lad of Hylton," the ghost had a helpful side. He lit fires that had gone out, and tidied rooms that had been left in disarray.

But he also had a mischievous side. He would slam doors, knock books over, blow candles out, and move objects around.

Besides, what could be scarier than a naked teenager complaining about the cold?

According to legend, the ghost was Robert Skelton, a stableboy in the employ of the young Baron Robert Hyland during the age of Shakespeare. On the morning of July 3rd, 1609, he overslept and didn't have the Baron's horse ready for a trip. The enraged Baron killed him.

Some versions say that he chopped the boy's head off; others, that he stabbed him with a pitchfork, or hit him with a riding crop.

Historical records do mention that a Robert Hylton was tried for the murder of Robert Skelton in the fall of 1609. He claimed that the murder was an accident, and was pardoned by James I.

But the 20-year old Hylton wasn't the Baron yet. His older brother, Henry, was.

In English Fairy Tales (1890), the famous anthology by Joseph Jacobs, the Cauld Lad is turned into a monster.

Most modern illustrations make him human, but much younger than a real stableboy of the era, and not nearly as naked.

This leads us to a question: Ghosts usually appear in the outfit they died in. Why was Robert Skelton naked?

Elizabethans didn't sleep naked, even in the summer time. Unless they had thrown off their clothes in the heat of passion.

So Robert Skelton must have been having sex on the night of July 2nd. Who was is partner?

Some legends give him a forbidden romance with the Baron's daughter, but in 1609 Robert was too young to have a teenage daughter.

Robert Hylton himself, then? But why would Hylton then be surprised at Skelton's oversleeping?

Maybe his brother, 24-year old Baron Henry Hylton? Shortly after the murder, Henry went to live with his cousin Nathaniel Hylton, and stayed for 30 years. He never consummated his arranged marriage. He was characterized as reclusive, eccentric, and "mad."

Picture it: Robert finds his older brother and the stableboy in the midst of a sexual encounter and, outraged at the breach of etiquette, grabs a pitchfork. Robert is able to use his social position to get a pardon. Henry never recovers.

And Robert Skelton wanders the hallways, moaning "I'm cauld..."

See also: The Gay Ghost of Davenport House.

I figured "it" out during the summer after my high school graduation, and immediately started looking for gay people in Rock Island.

Not for sex or dating, necessarily, just to find someone to talk to. I had made a major discovery, uncovered the Big Lie, and I couldn't tell anyone about it.

No one to compare stories of the hints and signals that helped me finally realize that "it is not raining upstairs."

Or complain to about the incessant "what girl do you like?" interrogations of my family and friends.

Or just nudge on the street and say "Isn't that guy hot!"

But how to find gay people in a world with no dating apps, no internet chatrooms, no gay organizations, and everyone pretending that they had no idea that same-sex desire existed.

There was a gay bar in town, but you had to be 21 to get in. I was 17, and looked around 15.

Asking knowledgeable straight people was a problem. They would answer with a suspicious "Why do you want to know? Are you a fag?"

So I made my inquiries as homophobic as possible. "No, of course not! I just want to know if it's safe to walk down the street in this town!"

That research yielded mostly dead ends, hints and rumors, no last names, no details.

I tried to look for clues: guys who were especially feminine, or who made eye contact a little too long, or who touched your hand by "accident."

That was fruitless, too: I spent weeks hanging out with Jack Kerouac, aka Jurgen, only to discover that he was straight, living with a girl!

As far as I could tell, there were no gay people at Augustana, in Rock Island, in the state of Illinois, in the world.

Then, around Christmastime in 1978, I went to the post office in downtown Rock Island to buy some stamps, and behind the counter was a grinning Little Person.

Or maybe just a short guy. The Little People Association of America defines dwarfism as anyone 4'10" and under. He may have been an inch or two taller than that, maybe 5'0", the height of Aron Eisenberg, who played the Ferengi boy Nog on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.

(Don't worry, he was over 25 years old when he bulged for this photo.)

My Little Person -- his name tag said Andy -- was in his 20s, very handsome, with a round face, cleanshaven, shaggy brown hair, and a slim, tightly muscled physique.

For a moment I couldn't think of what to say: I just stared. Then, catching myself: "I'd like a book of stamps."

"Got a lot of Christmas cards to send?"

"Yep. A lot of guys on my list."

The word guys hung in the air. Andy smiled even more broadly. "Well, how about our new Carl Sandburg stamps? He's the one that called Chicago 'the city of big shoulders,' you know."

What straight guy would think of big shoulders? Andy was gay! But how to make contact at the front of a long line of grumpy Christmas shoppers? "I know. I'm an English major at Augie [Augustana College]."

"I went there. Majored in Postal Science." He laughed at his own joke, and touched my hand as he passed over the book of stamps. When I didn't flinch, he said "Maybe I should drop by my alma mater some time, see how things are going over there."

"I'm at the Student Union most afternoons." I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I left.

The next day I hung out at the Student Union all afternoon, but no Little Person.

I scrambled to find a gift to send to my Aunt Nora in Indiana, box it up, and take it to the post office at the same time the next day. Andy was there!

He noticed that I let a couple of other people go ahead of me so I could go to his window, and grinned broadly.

"I wanted to thank you for the Sandburg stamps," I said. "They'll be a big hit with my friends. Too bad they didn't show the stormy, husky, brawling Youth, half-naked and proud."

"That's our Tom of Finland collection, out next month." I had never heard of Tom of Finland, the gay erotic artist, so I didn't get the joke. He paused. "Busy day tonight. I can't wait until I get off at 6:00 pm."

At 6:00 pm I was waiting outside the back entrance to the post office, watching the day shift leave. Andy glanced at me, but didn't speak.

"Hi, Andy! I thought we could..."

WTF? He walked past quickly without looking at me, then slowed and looked back. Mystified, I followed.

I followed him for three blocks, past the Circa 21 Dinner Theater, past the Public Library where I spent many afternoons in high school, past the United Methodist Church. Every now and then he looked back to make sure I was still there.

Finally we came to an old Victorian house that had been chopped up into apartments. He unlocked a side door and went in, leaving it ajar.

I stood outside, wondering what to do. A few moments later, Andy stuck his head out the door, looked at me, and disappeared again.

I followed him inside and up the stairs to a small studio apartment. A daybed, a small coffee table covered with books and papers, two stalk lamps, a bookcase.

Andy carefully closed and locked the door.

The rest of the story, with nude photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

Gay teens in the 1990s liked teenage Noah Fleiss for the beefcake: he appeared in his underwear in nearly every movie, often in the midst of autoerotic activity.

They disliked him for his roles as troubled, wounded, and abused kids in depressing, usually homophobic movies.

Josh and S.A.M. (1993). Concerned about "accusations" that he is gay, Josh (Jacob Tierney) concocts a wild scheme to prove his straightness, including convincing his brother Sam (Noah Fleiss) that he is a cyborg (S.A.M.).

It's not a comedy.

Chasing the Dragon (1996): A woman becomes addicted to heroin, and her son suffers.

Bad Day on the Block (1997): A deranged firefighter terrorizes his family, including his son.

Joe the King (1999): An abused kid commits crime and slips in and out of reality (left)

Things You Can Tell Just By Looking at Her (2000). A woman is shocked to discover that her son is sexually active (top photo)

Double Parked (2000): A mother is concerned when her asthmatic son (Fleiss) becomes friends with the son of her abusive ex-husband.

Storytelling (2001): Brady (Fleiss) worries about the gay rumors concerning his older brother Scooby (Mark Livingston).

Brick (2005): While searching for his missing girlfriend, Brandon encounters the sleazy, gay-vague drug dealer Tugger (Fleiss, left).

Ok, but has he done any gay-positive roles?

Two of them:

The Favor (2001): straight teen Steve (Fleiss) agrees to buy gay porn for his closeted friend Boomer (Jared Hillman).

The Laramie Project (2002): he plays Shannon, one of the friends of homophobic killer Aaron McKinley, who thinks it's all a big joke.

In order to get my mind off Christmas, last night I watched The Crazies (2010), which at least has nothing to do with egg nog, wrapping paper, or Saint Nick.

That's the only good thing I can say about it.

Picture it: a small town in Iowa as only Hollywood can imagine it, where everyone drives tractors and goes to the dime store downtown, where all the women are young blond supermodels and all the men are middle aged, bald, and scuzzy-looking, except for the young, hot sheriff, (Tim Olyphant) who happens to be married to the young blond supermodel town doctor.

Really, really married. I mean, wedding rings gleaming in every single shot, "I love you" every five seconds, announcements to everybody in earshot about how they can't live without each other.

The young blond supermodel wife is barely pregnant, not showing yet, but they have already furnished an elaborate nursery, so eager are they to demonstrate that they have reproduced.

Got it?

Ok, here's what happens: at an idyllic small-town high school baseball team, one of the middle aged, bald, scuzzy looking men pulls out a shotgun. Another middle aged, bald, scuzzy looking man kills his young blond supermodel wife and son. More people turn into homicidal maniacs, but mostly off-camera.

Just as the Sheriff and the Doctor figure out that a virus has infected the town water supply, the military marches in, blocks off the town, and separates the sick and the well. The well are taken to the bus station to be sent to Cedar Rapids, and the sick to isolation. The Doctor is identified as sick, along with most of the young blond supermodel wives, while the Sheriff and most of the bald middle-aged scuzzy-looking guys are identified as well.

But the Sheriff can't live without his wife, remember? After roiling with condemnation at a friend who doesn't love his wife adequately, he breaks into the isolation facility and breaks out the Doctor. They join up with the Deputy (Joe Anderson) and the Deputy's girlfriend, and try to escape.

After some trials and tribulations, including a murder attempt in the nursery, the Girlfriend dies, the Deputy sacrifices himself to save the married couple, and the Sheriff and the Deputy rush out of town just as the military drops an atom bomb on it.

You're probably wondering about the gay content.

None. Zilch. Zero. Everybody is heterosexual -- this is Hollywood Iowa, after all -- but, apparently, only two are heterosexual enough to escape together.

No beefcake either. These shirtless shots are from elsewhere.

Boy, do I hate this movie.

It's a remake of a 1973 George Romero stinker, with the location changed from Pennsylvania to Iowa, and a new cast of young blond supermodels and bald middle-aged scuzzy-looking men added.

And an endless paeon to heterosexual marriage.

The other night, I was complaining about my infinite attractiveness to twinks to my friend Gabe. a recent graduate of the University, now a barista at the gay-friendly coffee house.

"Aren't you exaggerating a bit?" he said. "I mean, I think you're hot, but most guys my age aren't into anyone over 30, I don't care how much you can bench press."

He paused. "Now, me, on the other hand, I can attract anyone, any age, 18 to 85. I just have to bat my eyes and flash my come-hither smile."

"Sure, you can attract androgynous, artsy guys," I said, "But what about a man's man? A guy who drinks beer and goes deer huntin', and wants you to help him skin his kill?"

Gabe, a staunch vegan, whitened. "Well...I might not want to date him, but I could certainly get him into bed. Any guy, twink, bear, chubby, Daddy, not a problem."

"Well, I might not want to date a Cute Young Thing who still lives with his parents and has a 10:00 curfew," I countered, "But I could get him into my bed in a second."

"How about we make a little bet? We each select someone on a dating app, and the other has to convince him to meet in one hour or less. The loser has to buy the winner dinner."

"What if we both land our guys?"

"Then we have a four-way."

So Saturday night, prime dating and hookup time, we met at my apartment and went to work.

The rest of the story, with uncensored photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

When I was a kid, the Nazarene church taught us to:

1. Pity "heathens," the Buddhists, Hindus, and Muslims who hadn't heard the Gospel.

2. Be suspicious of "liberal so-called Christians," the Methodists, Presbyterians, and Baptists.

3. Run in terror from Roman Catholics. They drank, went to movies, and worshipped idols. Their Pope was the anti-Christ. They were probably demon-possessed. We weren't supposed to make friends with them, set foot in one of their churches, or even walk on the sidewalk outside one of their houses, lest we be corrupted.

I left the Nazarene church around my freshman year of college, but my parents, brother, and sister are still active.

Ken is actually more devout than when we were kids. He's ok with gay people, but he doesn't go to movies or the theater, doesn't shop or work on Sunday, and doesn't go to restaurants or stores with alcohol on sale.

He married in 1981, and had four kids. Then his wife died, and he married a woman who had three kids of her own, plus an elderly mother. Ten people, four dogs, two cats, and a parrot all living together in a big, rambling house downtown.

Most of Ken's kids turned out less devoutly Nazarene than their parents.

The oldest spent time in prison for aggravated assault.

The second sang in a punk rock band.

The fourth got pregnant while still in high school.

But somehow the third, Katie, turned into a ultra-devout "Suzie Nazarene."

In high school, she was president of the NYPS and a delegate to the International Institute.

She enrolled at Olivet, the Nazarene college on the prairie, where girls generally majored in becoming a preacher's wife.

I wasn't out to her. Fundamentalists insist on a "Don't ask, don't tell" policy. When I brought Lane or Yuri over for Christmas or a summer holiday, we stayed closeted.

We weren't close. I didn't visit Rock Island much after my parents moved to Indiana in 1995, just brief Christmas visits, and after 2000, I didn't visit at all. I sent her a birthday card with a check in it every year.

In the spring of 2008, when I was living in Dayton, I got a wedding announcement in the mail. I almost threw it out. I usually boycott heterosexual weddings."

Then I saw that it was being held at St. Patrick's Catholic Church in Kankakee, Illinois.

Katie was marrying a Roman Catholic boy named Steve!

I had to see this! How would my Nazarene relatives react? Would they grit their teeth and go into a Catholic church? Would they wait outside? Would they disown Katie and refuse to talk to her again?

I emailed Katie.

"That's one of the things that brought us together," she said. "Arguing about religion. We can get into some heated debates, let me tell you! But we also have a lot in common. Nazarenes and Catholics both have really strict rules."

"How did you meet?"

"He was the barista in the coffee shop I used to go to. Af first I tried to save his soul, but then we started talking about the differences between Nazarene and Catholic beliefs. Of course, he was cute in his uniform, too. "

A Nazarene and a Catholic -- two of the more homophobic denominations. I wondered how welcome I would be at their wedding.

Time to out myself.

Two nights before the wedding, all of Katie's relatives had dinner at a restaurant in downtown Kankakee, so they could meet Steve.

Steve was in his 30s, tall, husky, bearded -- with a huge bulge in his jeans!

I made a point of hugging him "hello," and sitting next to him to tell stories of West Hollywood, Florida, and New York. Without using the g-word, of course.

"How is Yuri?" Katie asked. "You haven't brought him around the house since I was a kid."

Now was my chance! "Oh, he's fine. He's been with Michael for several years now."

Don't ask, don't tell! My sister glared at me. "Boomer has always been liberal, with lots of different kinds of friends."

"Yes...um...it fits in very nicely with my research on gay communities."

Now my mother was glaring at me. "Oh, Boomer is always doing some kind of research. That's why he's never had time to get married and raise a family."

"That, and the fact that I can't get married in the State of Ohio. It's illegal. But I date a lot, and I've had my share of long-term..."

Don't ask, don't tell! "Lots of pretty girls out there in Ohio," my brother said. "Must be hard to stick to any one person."

Enraged, I excused myself and went to the bathroom. Steve followed, and stood next to me at the urinal. I was too nervous to sneak a peek.

"Don't let it bother you," he said. "My parents still insist on calling my brother's partner his 'roommate,' and they've been together for ten years. But he's invited to all of the family functions. That's something, right?"

I reddened. No need to out myself -- Steve already knew. Everyone already knew. They may not use the g-word, but at least I was invited to all of the family functions. And so were Lane and Yuri.

By the way, no one had a problem with Steve being Catholic. I guess having a gay relative makes you tolerant.

The uncensored story, with nude photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

I hate, hate, hate Christmas! It's big, crowded, glaring, noisy, uncomfortable, loaded down with gut-busting cookies and candy and growling, nasty people who call you a Grinch if you're not ecstatic all the time.

I especially hate the long, crowded, delayed, cancelled flight back home to the Midwest, where I'm stuck in my old room, surrounded by the ghosts of Christmas past.

Where it's too cold to go out or I don't have a car, and all of my friends have moved away, so I'm stuck in the house, watching tv and having uncomfortable conversations with people I haven't seen since last year.

I left the gay world for this?

My Worst Christmases during the last 30 years have all involved traveling back to the Midwest.

1. 1985: Back from West Hollywood to hear my future brother-in-law talk about how everyone with AIDS should be shot. In my absence, my boyfriend Alan hooks up with a Norwegian con artist.

2. 1988: My terrible dissertation committee has motivated me to flee the country for Turkey, but my crazy relatives worry about me living in tents and riding camels.

3. 1992: Nothing special, just infinite boredom, and some homophobic editorials in the local newspaper.

4. 1994: Too cold to leave the house. AND I discover that my parents still have that darn photo of me with a girl on their dresser.

5. 1997: Back in New York, I have two boyfriends, Yuri and Jaan. How long will it take them to realize that they could be dating each other?

6. 2005: My friend Dick and his partner have moved to Denver: the last of my Rock Island friends. A very lonely visit.

7. 2006: I'm living in Dayton, just two hours away from Indianapolis, but still, artistic, neurotic Paul, one of my two closeted boyfriends, doesn't want to come home with me. Someone might figure out.

8. 2008: I am dating Chad, the Satyr's boy toy, and dread leaving him home with the Satyr for two weeks.

And My Best Christmases have usually involved staying in the gay world.

1. 1987: Too sick to go to the Midwest. My very hot Muslim doctor makes a housecall that turns into a date. Then two.

2. 1989: Working at the Getty Consternation Institute, not enough time off to fly back to the Midwest. Lane and I go to a Hanukah party, a bear part, Midnight Mass at a gay-friendly Catholic church, and Christmas breakfast at the French Quarter.

3. 1991: More of the same.

4. 1995: My first year in San Francisco. We go to a bear party, a Gay Men's Chorus concert, and It's a Wonderful Life at the Castro Theater. It is a wonderful life when you're living in San Francisco.

5. 1996: More of the same, plus David and I go on a date with Santa Claus.

6. 2002: In Florida, I start dating the Young Republican just before Christmas, and prudently don't leave him behind for two weeks, surrounded by Florida beach boys. It's 78 degrees on Christmas day.

7. 2004: The gift of the Magi: Yuri and I exchange Christmas hookups AND spend a week in France.

8. 2010: Ok, for this one I went back to Indianapolis with Troy, my Upstate boyfriend, and introduced him to all of my "old" haunts.

On the other hand, My Most Erotic Christmases have all been in Rock Island or Indianapolis. I guess everyone is wowed by a sophisticated guy who lives in a gay mecca. Or else I'm not the only one suffering from infinite boredom during a holiday visit with parents.

1. 1986: My ex-boyfriend Fred and I hit JRs together on Christmas Eve and bring home a ginger boy Fred knew in high school.

2. 1990: My friend Dick and I hit JRs in Rock Island on Christmas Eve, and meet the same guy!

3. 1993: I hook up with Brother Byron, the Church Treasurer of the Nazarene church when I was a kid.

4. 1998: In Indianapolis, I meet a guy who lives only five blocks from my parents' house. Unfortunately, he's closeted.

5. 1999: A big holiday. First, in Rock Island, I meet my old Sunday School teacher's stripper sons. Then I spend New Year's Eve in Indianapolis, where Matt the Bartender uses the Y2K bug to trick me into his bed.

6. 2000: I bring Yuri home for Christmas, and we teach my 14-year old nephew the Gay Facts of Life.

7. 2001: I discover that Dick, my old bully, has been dating the pizza boy, who becomes my Christmas present.

8. 2003: My Uncle El dies on January 1st. We go to Kentucky for his funeral, and I reunite with my Kentucky Kinfolk. It's more erotic than it sounds.

The full list, with nude photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

In the 1970s, American mass media couldn't get enough of blond preteen boys. Not toddlers, but boys in late childhood, old enough to be cast as adventurous, daring, and mischievous in "boys will be boys" roles. And too young for the pubescent growth spurt that would turn them into yucky androgynous teenagers.

Christopher Shea, born in 1958, is best remembered as the voice of the wise-beyond-his-years Linus in the animated Peanuts specials, especially It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown (1966).

Linus has always been my favorite Peanuts character: witty, intellectual, rejecting the advances of girls, a good friend to Charlie Brown. And no other voice artist comes closer to capturing his inner beauty than Christopher Shea.

Christopher also did some television work, with guest spots on The Invaders, Green Acres, The Odd Couple, and Here Come the Brides, and a few movies. His last credited role is A Little Game (1971), about a teenager (Mark Gruner) who plots to kill his stepfather.

He moved to Humbolt County, in northern California, where he died in 2010, leaving a wife and two daughters.

His brother Eric, born in 1960, did the usual tv guest spots: Batman, Here Come the Brides, Gunsmoke, The Flying Nun, Room 222 -- but he snared some more substantial movie roles, such as Lucille Ball's son in the big-family comedy Yours, Mine, and Ours (1968) (top photo, the one in the pajamas. The other one is Tim Matheson).

The younger brother of Ben Harvey (Beau Bridges), who gets involved with a clan of prostitutes in Gaily, Gaily (1969).

Kid kid genius Alvin, who solves Cooperstownes with the help of his buddy Shooie (Clay O'Brien) in two Whiz Kids movies (1974, 1976). He also played the Spunky Kid in The Poseidon Adventure (1972).

His last credited role was in When Every Day was the Fourth of July (1978), about a lawyer (Dean Jones) defending a deaf man who has been accused of murder.

Eric has retired from acting and, according to the imdb, works as an electrical contractor in Los Angeles.

I have no pictures of Stephen, born in 1961, since he has only one live screen credit: "Small Boy" on a 1968 episode of Adam-12. But he took on his brother's mantle and voiced Linus in all of the Peanuts animated specials from Play It Again, Charlie Brown (1971) to Be My Valentine, Charlie Brown (1975).

So I'll give you a pic of one of the many other voice artists who has played Linus over the years, Corey Padnos

See also: Tim Matheson; and The Fabulous Bridges Boys.

Wednesday, December 24, 1986:

I'm 26 years old. living in West Hollywood, but back in Rock Island for the holidays, staying in my old room. At 6:00 pm my brother and his family and my sister's boyfriend arrive for our traditional Christmas Eve pizza and present unwrapping.

At 9:00 Fred picks me up. He's 34, tall, athletic, with a stern, rugged face, a smooth chest, and impressive beneath-the-belt gifts.

When we met, he was student clergy. When he got a church assignment, he talked me into moving to Omaha with him. I lasted for a miserable month. Now he's working as a mental health counselor in Kansas City. He's home for the holidays, staying in his old room at his parents' farmhouse, about 30 miles south of Rock Island.

We're going to spend the night together, and then have the traditional Christmas morning breakfast and present-unwrapping at his house.

"I told my parents you might have a friend with you," Fred tells me. "I didn't know if you were bringing Raul home from West Hollywood."

"We broke up a couple of weeks ago, so I'm single again. I just met [My Celebrity Boyfriend], but we haven't arranged a date yet."

"Who knows? You might make a friend tonight!"

"I'd rather have you to myself. We haven't seen each other since last Christmas." We may be broken up, but Fred is enormously attractive, and I'm feeling especially vulnerable after my breakup.

"So we'll share. That's all the rage in West Hollywood, right?"

The rest of the story contains nude photos and explicit sexual situations. You can read it on Tales of West Hollywood

In the 1970s, a series of sketches on The Carol Burnett Show featured the young Vicki Lawrence in old-lady drag as the abrasive matriarch of a dysfunctional Southern family. In 1983 she spun off into Mama's Family as elderly Thelma Harper, still grumpy but considerably nicer -- a champion of the underdog, fighting such social ills as illiteracy, nursing home abuse, and sexual harassment in the workplace.

Her family consisted of her sister, her dimwitted son Vint (Ken Berry, center, previously of Mayberry RFD), his sexually voracious wife Naomi (Dorothy Lyman, right), and his kids.

The boy was played by Eric Brown, left, star of the sex farce Private Lessons.

After a season, the show was cancelled. It returned in 1986, with the sister and kids gone, and Allan Kayser (left) introduced as Bubba, Thelma's juvenile delinquent grandson. And the jaws of gay men everywhere dropped. The 22-year old Kayser had a dazzling smile and a stunning physique, and he knew it. And the producers knew it.

In every episode, he was crammed into muscle shirts and sweatpants or painted-on jeans, and his body always got the limelight, even when something else was going on.

Mama's Family immediately became must-see tv.

Bubba's plotlines were standard teenage sitcom fare -- school projects, teams, dates -- he had no significant male friends, except his Uncle Vinton, and that relationship was avuncular, not romantic. But sometimes beefcake is enough.

During the 1980s, Allan also starred in a few B-movies that allowed him to show off his bulge and biceps, including Hot Chili (1985) and Night of the Creeps (1986).

When Mama's Family ended in 1990, he retired from acting, married, and moved to Missouri. He has appeared in only a few small roles since.

He still has a stunning physique, and he is still gracious to his gay fans.

In Britain, Christmas is traditionally a time for caroling, exchanging gifts, going to pantomimes...

And plunging naked into the frosty Atlantic Ocean.

Porthcawl, Wales, has been holding an annual Christmas Morning Dip for chartiy for over 40 years.

Many other seaside towns hold their in Wales and England, like Aldeburgh, Llandudno, Cromer, and Tenby, hold theirs on Boxing Day, December 26th (so-called because people would box up their Christmas dinner leftovers and pass them out to the less fortunate).

In Aldeburgh, Llandudno, Cromer, Tenby, and a dozen other towns, Boxing Day means a morning of fun and entertainment, followed by a quick costume change and a headlong dash into the sea (typically a frigid 50 degrees Fahrenheit).

Many dress in tuxedos and evening gowns (they're not limited to men, like the Naked Festivals of Japan). Others go in costumes as Santa Clauses, Elves, Uncle Sams, or Power Rangers. But most take off as many clothes as they can stand.

The rules are:
1. No full nudity (though occasionally skimpy thongs are ok, and sometimes they "accidentally" slip off).
2. No wetsuits (you have to be cold).
3. It only counts as a "dip" if you get your hair wet twice.

Afterwards the participants dry off, sip Bovril (beef tea) and wait to see if they have won the prizes for bravest, best costume, and most donations.

Boxing Day Dips aren't gay-specific events, but they're a nice opportunity to see some beefcake during the most bundled-up of seasons, and give to charity.

What We Do In the Shadows (2014) is a mockumentary about four vampires sharing a flat in contemporary Wellington, New Zealand:

1. Viago (Taika Waititi, who also wrote and directed), a Byronesque partyboy.

2. Vladislav (Jemaine Clement), a sexually voracious Dracula.

3. Deacon (Jonathan Brugh, left), a newby (only 183 years old).

4. Petyr (Ben Fransham), an 8,000 year old inarticulate Nosferatu.

They are old-school vampires who vaporize in sunlight, have no reflection, and dislike crucifixes, but they have modern problems, like problems over chores, squabbles with friends and slaves, and how to meet potential victims in the increasingly tech-driven world of modern New Zealand.

Vladislav (left) butts heads with a shrewish female ex-lover, and another re-unites with his long-lost girlfriend. There are no identifiably gay characters. I counted at least one homophobic slur. Yet there is a strong gay subtext in the struggles of four men living together.

Particularly with the newly-vampirized Nick (Cori Gonzalez-Macuer), who displays no heterosexual interest, before or after, and who "comes out" as a vampire to his best friend Stu (Stu Rutherford) in scene full of gay symbolism.

Vampires think of humans as either slaves or prey, so human-vampire friendships are scandalous. Yet when Stu starts hanging out with the vampires, they all come to love him. Then Stu comes as Nick's date to a vampire-zombie-witch masquerade ball, and they risk their lives to save him from becoming an appetizer.

None of the cast is apparently gay, although in interviews they often compare vampires to gay people, who also must "walk in shadows," hidden from a persecuting world.

In 2014? Really?

Still, a perfect little vehicle for getting your mind off the roar of Christmas.

June 1976, Minnesota

Every year the family spends a week camping somewhere in the northwoods, fishing, swimming, hiking -- and, on Sunday, finding the nearest Nazarene Church.

Even when it's in Brainerd, Minnesota, an hour's drive away.

"But Nazarenes can't eat out on Sunday, so we'll have to drive back here and cook dinner!" I protest. "It will be after 2:00 when we eat!"

"Jesus prayed and fasted all night," Mom pointed out. "Besides, there might be some cute girls there."

I sigh. Not the "what girl do you like" litany again! What about cute boys?

"And what about the soulwinners? We'll be mobbed!"

"Oh, stop complaining. We'll just call ahead and tell them we're coming!"

I sigh. Not the "what girl do you like" litany again!

The most prestigious thing a Nazarene can do is soulwinning, talking sinners (which basically meant all non-Nazarenes) into accepting Jesus as their Personal Savior, thereby winning their souls for our team.

We take classes in soulwinning, hear sermons about it, read stories about it, evaluate scenario. Our Sunday School teacher often asks "How many souls did you win this week?"

Usually none at all. It's not easy. When you were 14 years old, would you have been able to walk up to this guy and say "Hi, do you have a moment to hear the Good News of Jesus Christ?"

If you aren't "spiritually mature" enough for soulwinning, you can witness instead: tell the sinner that you are ecstatically happy every moment of every day because you're saved, or just demonstrate with a broad smile. The sinner, immersed in the unrelenting agony of the unsaved life, will eventually want to know more.

Soulwinning is so prized that casual visitors to a Nazarene church can easily be mobbed by people grinning at them and trying to start soulwinning conversations. Unless they come with a member, signifying that they are "taken," or call ahead.

When we walk through the foyer of the Brainerd Church of the Nazarene, looking for all the world like a family of sinners who stumbled in by accident, we are nearly mobbed, but the Sunday School superintendent, the one we called earlier, comes to the rescue.

"This is Brother Davis and his family, from the Rock Island Church of the Nazarene," he announces, and the wannabe soulwinners back off.

But in my Sunday School class, they haven't gotten the word.

Ten or so high schoolers are sitting on folding chairs or chatting before the class begins, and every one of them looks up and flashes me a toothy witnessing grin. Two girls and a boy approach, intent on starting soulwinning conversations.

"I'm from Rock Island..." I begin. Then a tall, black haired boy with a strong physique, obviously church royalty, leaves his cluster of admirers and exerts control. The others back off.

"Welcome! I'm Roald," he say, offering a warm, tight handshake and a more subtle witnessing smile. He's done this before! "Is this your first time?"

This could work to my advantage!

The rest of the story, with nude photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

Variety shows are out of style now, but in the 1960s, they were all the rage. At least among the adults. In 1969, they could watch 9 hours of variety per week: Leslie Uggams, Carol Burnett, Red Skelton, Glen Campbell, Jim Nabors, Tom Jones, Jimmy Durante, Jackie Gleason, and Andy Williams (programs all named after their star).

All of the kids I knew hated variety. Passionately. Except for our own Smothers Brothers and Laugh-In, of course. Slow songs from dinosaur times, lady dancers in skimpy costumes, jokes involving heterosexual desire, comedy sketches featuring characters popular on radio a thousand years ago, and bathetic closing numbers involving sad clowns or cleaning ladies.

I usually managed to get out of watching variety shows by claiming homework, or when my brother and I got our own tv set, watching something else -- anything else. But for some reason I saw a lot of Carol Burnett, hatred or not.

There were only three reasons to watch:

1. Co-host Lyle Waggoner, a former male model who appeared nude in Playgirl. He played the leading-men and hunks in comedy sketches. Unfortunately, because they were comedy, he never appeared nude or even shirtless on the show.

2. Frequent guest star Ken Berry (previously of Mayberry RFD), who sang, danced, and appeared in comedy sketches. He had some muscles, and often wore extra-tight pants that would give Frank Gorshin some competition in the bulge department. Unfortunately, his numbers usually involved heterosexual romance. One, called "Love Stolen from the Cookie Jar," was about how much he enjoyed grabbing the butts of strange girls.

3. Occasionally other hunky guest stars, like Steve Lawrence and John Davidson.

4. The "Mama's Family" sketches, about a dysfunctional Southern family, featuring Carol as the brash Eunice (left), Harvey Korman (not pictured) as her husband, and the much younger Vickie Lawrence as crotchety Mama (right). Gay actor Roddy McDowell (center) appeared occasionally as Eunice's highly educated, sophisticated brother, who lived to regret his visits. Alan Alda and Tommy Smothers appeared as other brothers before it was established that Mama had only one son, Vinton (Ken Berry).

Anything that skewered the myth of the deliriously happy nuclear family was fun. And it spun off into the sitcom Mama's Family,which was a must-watch program of the 1980s due to the hunky Alan Kayser.

See also: Once Upon a Mattress.

My sophomore year in college revealed the world of Winnetou and Bravo magazine, but my junior year was oppressively heterosexist: gay-free Modern British Novel and Modern American Literature, and in German Literature, Dr. Weber assigned us the Thomas Mann novel Der Tod in Venedig (Death in Venice, 1912), and then spent a lot of time on a blazing hot spring day pointing out that Aschenbach was not Wearing a Sign.

What I read was obviously about a stymied same-sex courtship. The middle-aged writer visits Venice on holiday, and becomes obsessed with the beautiful 15-year old Tadzio. He watches the boy and follows him around Venice, but does not approach.

Aschenbach notices that there is a cholera epidemic in Venice, being covered up by the authorities, but he doesn't warn Tadzio, for fear that he will leave, and beauty will be lost to the earth. Nor does he leave town himself; he sits, watches Tadzio, and smiles. Finally he succumbs to cholera and dies. I couldn't help noticing the parallel with Herman Melville's Billy Budd, which we were reading in my American Renaissance class at the same time.

Why didn't Aschenbach just strike up a conversation with the boy? I wondered. Same-sex act were legal in Italy, and the age of consent was 14. Maybe he thought the match inappropriate due the age difference? Maybe he was just shy, or maybe same-sex desire was so alien to his self-image that he was paralyzed? When Tadzio smiles at him, inviting a "hello," Aschenbach runs away in terror and whispers "I love you" to an empty garden.

But Dr. Weber said: "Aschenbach's obsession for Tadzio is the desire of age for youth, for the new that will supercede the old, even of civilization for savagery. It is a quest for ideal beauty that always kills. When Icarus flies too close to the sun, he dies. There is no hint of homosexuality in the novel."

As "proof" that Aschenbach and Tadzio, like all fictional characters, were straight, Dr. Weber showed us the 1971 film version, Morte a Venezia (this was the same class that showed us a beefcake version of Das Nibelungenlied). Tadzio was played by 15-year old Swedish actor Bjorn Andresen (left).

But in the movie, Tadzio is obviously gay, engaging in homoerotic horseplay with his friends. He even appears to have a boyfriend. And Aschenbach, played by gay actor Dirk Bogarde, is obviously gay, too. They are separated not by sexual orientation, but by their different worlds.

I've seen the Benjamin Britten opera three times, twice on tv (in 1981 with Robert Garde and an unnamed, non-singing performer, and in 1990 with Robert Tear and Paul Zeplichal). It gives Aschenbach a girlfriend. But the ballet doesn't; and it transforms Tadzio from an androgynous waif to a muscular, gay-and-proud twenty-something.

So the obsession becomes that of an old-style gay man who believed that his same-sex desire was "too personal" to reveal, who pretended to be heterosexual, who married a woman, and who now longs for the freedom of modern gay youth, cavorting openly on the beach.

See also: Male Nudity in German Class; and The Gay Werewolf of Steppenwolf.

The Homophobia of "American Horror Story"

My Grade School Bully Grows Up

How to Survive Gym Class

Tom Cruise: All the Wrong Moves

The Jackson 5: Beefcake Brothers of 1970s Soul

The Naked Ghost of Hylton Castle: A Gay Murder Mystery

My First Hookup

Noah Fleiss: 1990s Child Star Homophobia

"The Crazies": A Gay-Free Hollywood Iowa

December 2015: Who Can Hook Up the Fastest?

Naked Nazarene: The Catholic Bear's Bulge

My Worst, Best, and Most Erotic Christmases

The Shea Brothers and Charlie Brown

A Ginger Boy for Christmas

Allan Kayser: the Bodybuilder of Mama's Family

Getting Naked after Christmas: The British Boxing Day Dip

What We Do in Shadows

Summer 1976: On My Knees in a Cute Boy's Bedroom

Looking for Muscles on the Carol Burnett Show

Fall 1979: Death in Venice