NYSocBoy's Beefcake and Bonding

After visiting the Penis Park of Oslo and the many public penises in Helsinki , why not visit a museum dedicated solely and exclusively to the wonders of the penis?

Iceland may be off the beaten path for most tourists, but it's not as difficult to get to from the West as, say, Bhutan. the land of the penis), and there are lots of reasons to go: glaciers, hot springs, Old Norse heritage, gay-friendly people.

And the Museum of the Penis, AKA the Icelandic Phallological Museum.

The project of history professor Sigurthur Hjartarson, who spent his life collecting exotic penises, it was housed first in Rejkavik, then in the small fishing village of Husavik, and in 2012 back to Rejkavik, under the administration of Hjartarson's son.

There are 293 specimens from 93 species, every mammal in Iceland -- bears, seals, reindeer, dogs, moose, seals, rats, bulls. Also a few non-native mammals, like lions and elephants.

The smallest (from a hamster) is less than 1/10th of an inch long, and the largest 5 feet (part of a great blue whale's penis; the whole thing would extend 15 feet).

Only three human penises -- it's hard to get donors, and to preserve them properly -- but lots from mythological creatures like mermen, 'beach murmurers," ghosts, trolls (left), and Christmas lads.

Trolls turn to stone in daylight, so of course the troll penis is stone.

The elf penis is very long, but since elves cannot be seen, it is invisible.

And there's a sizeable collection of (human) phallic art, penises in all sizes and shapes, from lamps to pacifiers, and penis paintings, like the circumcision of Christ (by the way, in the Middle Ages, Christ's foreskin was sold as a holy relic all across Europe).

It's located on Laugavegur 116, a block from the popular gay bar Kjallarinn.

If you can't make it to Iceland, visit their online store, where you can buy phallic mugs, baseball caps, bottle openers, designer condoms, and "ball scratchers."

You can see lots of public penises in Prague, but if you want to see real, live naked men, head for Japan.

When I was in Osaka in 1986, I noticed that there were many more opportunities to see the nude male body than in the U.S. or Europe. Men hung around naked at home, among friends, at the medicinal hot springs (onsen), in non-gay bath houses.

And there are many naked festivals, hadaka matsuri, in which hundreds of men wear nothing but fundoshis (ceremonial loincloths) that display the backside.

Displaying the penis is frowned upon (photo by Nicholas Amheiser), but baskets and pubic hair are fine.

Usually the festivals are held in the summer, but the most famous, called Saidai-ji Eyo Hadaka Matsuri, is held in February in Okayama, about an hour by bus from Osaka.

The temperature is in the 30s, but the 9,000 nearly-naked men generate a lot of body heat.

They are struggling over possession of two wooden sticks (ofuda), tokens of good luck for the coming year, that are thrown out of a window at midnight by a Shinto priest.

You pull and grab the tokens from people's hands, tackle the men who have them, and so on; it develops into a gigantic mass of bodies, all struggling, grabbing, groping, until the victor manages to shove them into a box full of rice. There are also 100 willow sticks that provide lesser luck.

The day before the festival, there's another hadaka matsuri with elementary school boys in fundoshis competing over rice cakes.

Foreigners can participate, and a few hundred do. Most are content just to watch the endless parade of beefcake.

While you're in Okayama, you should also visit Okayama Castle and the Yumeji Art Museum.

See also the Penis Festival of Kawasaki, Japan, and the semi-nude British tradition, the Boxing Day Dip.

Since I figured "it" out, during the summer after my senior year in high school, I've gone on a lot of dates (a social event followed by bedroom activity).

Maybe 10% were spectacular, the stuff of memories and blog posts.

80% were pleasant, just everyday life in a gay neighborhood.

But 10% were Dates from Hell. Sometimes the social event went wrong. Sometimes the bedroom activity was miserable. But most often the guy turned out to be mess.

Here are 16 dates that I would like to forget.

College

1. Jack Kerouac and his Bratwurst. I spent two weeks hanging out in the Student Union with Jack Kerouac, aka Jurgen, a hipster writer who smoked a pipe and wrote horrible poetry. I finally got the nerve to ask him out, to a meeting of the Quad Cities Writers Club. When I got to his house, I was greeted by his live-in girlfriend! But I did get a sausage sighting.

2. I was visiting Des Moines for my first gay rights march, when I asked a cute guy wearing a mesh t-shirt for a date. He agreed. At the end of the date he said "Follow me home." He drove like a maniac, zooming around corners, running stop lights. Finally I lost him.

West Hollywood

3. The Kept Boy who Alan and I picked up at Mugi. He had a fantastic physique, but neither of us realized that he was drunk. And getting drunker by the minute.

4. Mario in the White Room. A neat freak with a pristine white-draped apartment like a hospital room, who made me put my clothes in the washer before we could climb into bed. Where he called me "honey" and was not into kissing (too many germs).

5. In Nashville, I accepted a date with a closeted country boy, a student at Vanderbilt, with an infinite number of rules and quirks. After a truly miserable date involving frozen custard and gay bashing, he ended up giving me the wrong number. I got revenge by looking him up in the student directory and calling him anyway.

6. The Worst Date in West Hollywood History. Ok, Ryan the Dwarf was nice, and very cute, but everything went wrong: a rainstorm when we wanted to go sailing, turned ankle when we wanted to go dancing, missing the concert, Ryan getting drunk, losing Lane (who was supposed to join us).

7. The Bear with the Pierced,,,. The Prince Albert wasn't the worst thing about the date. Or the swimming pool on a chilly winter night. Or the pot. Or the poppers.

New York

8. The Nastiest Guy in the World. Terrorized an online chatroom with his constant abrasive, abusive comments. I agreed to the date only because I was desperate to move into Manhattan, and he had a room to rent. Actually, he didn't. He lied in order to get me to go out with him.

9. Mario the Teen Model. My first experience with older-younger dating: I was 39, and he was 19. And I learned a valuable lesson: make sure you're back home, kissing on the couch, by 10:00 pm. Otherwise you may end up eating macaroni and cheese in a diner at 4:00 am.

Florida

10. Breaking Every Rule of Gay Cruising. This one was my fault: I didn't screen the guy well enough in advance. So I ended up in a half-built house in the swamp, cruised by two crazy roommates and invited to use drugs.

11. The Coffee Drinker. Drank coffee instead of beer at the Filling Station every day. I tried to say hello, and he said "I'm not into a relationship." Then Yuri landed a date with him, and invited me to share!

Ohio

12. The Huber Heights Horror. This one was his fault. He completely misrepresented himself and his intentions. I drove 20 miles in the middle of the night for a "date." and ended up with a hookup.

Upstate

13. The Grabby Male Nurse, one of the Gang of Twelve, gay guys who had known each other for years and had all dated each other. This one kept leering and groping, and made every word I said into a sexual double-entendre.

14. My Friend with Benefits. My boyfriend Troy was ok with "sharing," but when I started seeing another guy regularly, something had to give.

15. The Transman and His Angry Inch. Ok, so I read his online profile wrong. Not his fault. Still, what I found down there was rather surprising. And embarrassing.

Plains

16. Ricky with a Y, from last November, spent the entire date psychoanalyzing me. Even in the bedroom.

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

In spite of the beefcake on the posters and lobby cards, The Explosive Generation (1961) doesn't offer many swimsuit, underwear, or locker room scenes, though there are lots of clean-cut 1950s teens in tight pants.

It does offer some significant gay subtexts, as rich kid Bobby (Billy Gray of Father Knows Best, right) moons over basketball star Dan (the muscular Lee Kinsolving, left), and invites him to a wild party at his parents' beach house.

They dance, drink beer, and Bobby tries to talk Dan into having sex with his girlfriend Janet (Patty McCormack, center, best known as the murderous little girl in The Bad Seed).

Wait -- why does Bobby care so much about whether Dan has sex with a girl? What kind of vicarious pleasure can he get from. . .oh, right, the subtext.

That's why this poster shows the two of them dragging her toward a three-way triangulation.

Janet is reluctant -- how far should a girl go to prove her love to a boy?

So she brings up the subject in class. Fortunately, she has one of those hip, caring, hunky teachers who are always trying to make a difference: Peter Gifford (William Shatner), who is as horny as Captain Kirk meeting an alien princess, making every statement a double-entendre and putting his hands all over the bodies of both male and female students (not to mention dragging a boy out of a girl's arms so he can have him for himself).

Gifford decides to conduct a survey about students' attitudes toward sex. Parents find out, and become apoplectic with outrage. The principal starts screaming. The cops get involved. Gifford is asked to apologize (that's all?)

Bobby leads a student protest -- but not one of those loud protests of the hippie generation. They give the teachers the silent treatment. And the principal backs down. Problem solved.

The Explosive Generation is not very explosive, but it provides an interesting view of how histrionic parents got -- and still get -- over the idea of their teenagers having sex.

Rock Island, December 25th, 1990

My boyfriend Lane and I have an open relationship: bedroom activity with other guys is fine, as long as we are both present, "sharing" or at least watching. In emergencies, like when I'm back in Rock Island for two weeks, a close friend can substitute.

So on Christmas Day, I call Lane and tell him how my friend Dick and I went to JR's last night and hooked up with the Ginger Boy. And he tells me about how he went to a bear contest at the Faultline, and got the phone number of the winner, Randall.

"You should have seen him! A classic muscle daddy, in his 50s but not grey, a military haircut, a short-cropped beard, thick arms, nice muscular hairy chest! I groped him -- feels like a gigantic Kielbasa down there!"

"Sounds hot," I say. Not really my type though. I just turned 30, so I'm not into the over-40 crowd. I figure if they date, I'll just be the "watcher."

"And really into S&M: mummification, water sports, you name it."

I like some minor bondage, but Lane isn't into it at all. What does he see in this guy? "So, when is the big date? You can bring Max along to share, if I'm still in the Midwest."

"No, we'll wait until you get back. How about if we have with him on the 5th?"

West Hollywood, January 5th, 6:00 pm

I expect Lane to drive me to a West Hollywood address -- San Vicente, Crescent Heights, Fairfax, La Brea. But instead we get on the 410 and drive south for 45 minutes, to Long Beach!

The other side of the world? What does this guy have that the 20,000 gay men in West Hollywood don't?

The rest of the story is too explicit for Boomer Beefcake and Bonding. It includes a dungeon, a freezing swimming pool, and a Prince Albert. You can read it on Tales of West Hollywood.

Speaking of Raviv Ullman, the Israeli-American actor got his start on Phil of the Future (2004-2006), one of the few Disney channel teencoms that offered little beefcake and virtually no homoromantic subtexts. It was a "my secret" comedy about a family of the future trapped in the present. Phil gets a girlfriend immediately.

But he's done a lot of gay-positive roles since.

In Driftwood (2006), as a juvenile detention center inmate who befriends a gay kid (Jeremy Lelliott).

In The Big Bad Swim (2006), as a teenager who, along with his best friend (Avi Setton), films the exploits of a beginning swim class for adults.

In Normal Adolescent Behavior (2007), as part of a group of high school friends, including a gay couple (Edward Tournier, Stephen Colletti).

On stage in Dead End (2005), a revival of the original which not only upped the beefcake but, but intensified the homoerotic bonds between the boys (while eliminating the older-younger subtext).

In The Russian Transport on Broadway (2012), as the nephew of a Russian mobster who has qualms about his involvement.

Rumor has it that Raviv is gay or bisexual in real life, but he hasn't made any public statements. Do people make "coming out" statements anymore?

Robert Clark has been very busy since he buddy-bonded with Michael Seater on The Zack Files (2000-2002) and Strange Days at Blake Holsey High (2002-2006).

For one thing, he bulked up, transforming from a teen hunk into a bodybuilder with a stunning physique. (His brother Daniel is also a bodybuilder.)

For another, he's guest starred in some of Michael Seater's projects, and starred in some gay-friendly projects of his own.

On Veronica Mars (2005), he played a gay high schooler who is recruited by the lawyer to humiliate the homophobic ex-boyfriend of one of her friends.

Nonsense Revolution (2008) is about six best friends in Nova Scotia: a gay couple, a straight couple, a single lesbian, and a single heterosexual man. One of the gay men is killed, and comes back as a horny ghost, who seduces the lesbian until she can get all five friends together to send him to into the light. I'm not making this up.

On the paranormal series Warehouse 13 (2010), Robert plays a hunky high school wrestler with a penchant for catching on fire just when he grabs one of his hunky opponents.

Did I mention that most of his roles require underwear, shirtless, or otherwise semi-nude scenes?

Or that he's gay in real life?

He is also a singer, recording songs under RWC (Ready When Called) Productions.

Des Moines, June 27th, 1981

The summer after my junior year at Augustana. I drive out to Des Moines, where Thomas, the gay Episcopal priest I met last year, is holding a strategy meeting for the Gay Rights March tomorrow -- the first in the state of Iowa.

It's not a Gay Pride Parade, it's a Gay Rights March. We will be marching through hostile city streets, carrying signs that say "Stop Gay Police Harassment,""Gay People Are Not Criminals," and "We Are Your Children."

Gay men and lesbians from all over the state are sitting in Thomas's living room, discussing how to respond to screamers, what to do if we are arrested, where to meet if we must scatter.

I sit next to Mickey, the only other guy my age: short, tan heavily muscled, very attractive, with dirty blond hair and a round boyish face. We chat a bit, but don't exchange any personal information -- in those days you are circumspect, even among gay people.

"I want Boomer and Mickey to hold the banner that says "Gay is Good," Thomas says. "We want some muscle out there, to show the straights that we're not all weak little sissies!"

Mickey grins at me. "Up for being partners?"

"You know it." We clasp hands briefly.

Then he and the other townies go home, and the out of town visitors bed down for the night. It's a little crowded: the two bedrooms are full, and four of us get sleeping bags on the living room floor (nothing erotic happens).

June 28th, 12:00 pm

Mickey and the other townies arrive just after noon.

Do you remember those mesh half-t shirts they wore in the 1980s? You might as well not be wearing a shirt at all. Your pecs and shoulders were visible behind the sheer mesh stuff, and your abs were completely exposed.

They were hot if you had a perfect body. A centimeter less than perfection, and they looked stupid.

Mickey is hot.

2:00 pm

The march is a little disappointing. The media refused to publicize it, so no one knows about it except gay people, and they're mostly too closeted to come. Our only spectators are the police officers watching us carefully to make sure we don't have sex on the street, and a few passersby. Some run into the stores and offices to fetch their friends to gawk. No homophobic attacks, no screamers, just some laughter and an occasional "Look at the fags!"

Afterwards, we take down our signs and pack them into Thomas's car. "Great job, everyone! We let them know that we're not going to hide anymore!"

Mickey is standing next to me, smiling, muscular.

"I'm spending the night -- it's too late to drive back to Rock Island" I tell him. "Do you want to get together for dinner?"

"That'd be cool," Mickey says. "Let me go home and change, and I'll meet you at my favorite restaurant in town. Chicago Speakeasy on Euclid, say 7:00?"

5:00 pm

Back at Thomas's house, I shower and change clothes. I go into the kitchen, where two of the marchers, Paul and Erik are preparing lasagna and garlic bread for dinner.

"I won't be home for dinner," I tell them. "I'm going out with Mickey."

"You landed Mickey the Muscleboy!" Paul exclaims. "What's your secret?"

Erik adds "There's not a queen in Des Moines who hasn't tried to get into his pants."

Word of my "conquest" quickly passes through the group. I hear hooting and hollering as everybody starts to tease "the kid."

7:00 pm

The Chicago Speakeasy is festooned with pictures of gangsters and bootleggers from the Roaring Twenties. I ordered a "Dillinger Delight," a grilled chicken breast "wid all da grub": a baked potato and a side salad.

Now that we're alone, we feel more comfortable revealing personal information.

Mickey is in grad school in Russian at the University of Iowa, about two hours away. He also speaks German, Czech, and Polish. He figured "it" out two years ago, and hasn't been in a relationship yet, although he's dated a few guys. He's out to his older sister, but not to his parents or straight friends.

9:00 pm

"Want to go to the Garden?" he asks, naming one of Des Moines' gay bars. "So we can, you know, kiss and stuff?"

"Um...I'm only 20, too young to get in."

"Back to Thomas's place, then?"

I imagine a roomful of guys teasing us and making rude comments. "There's no privacy there. Could we go back to your place?" I assume that he has his own apartment.

"I guess. Follow me home."

He waits in his car for me to pull around, and then starts driving down Euclid, across the Des Moines River. Suddenly he turns left without signaling. I follow. He drives faster and faster, swerving across a busy intersection, then turning right, again without signalling.

"Slow down!" I yell. Of course, he can't hear me.

We're on 30th Street, zooming toward Drake University. He's a block ahead. Suddenly he turns right. I follow, but by the time I get there, he's gone.

I didn't get his phone number. Or his last name. There's nothing to do but go back to Thomas's house and face the teasing.

Why did he ditch me after inviting me over?

The full story, with nude photos and the answer, is on Tales of West Hollywood

My dream trip to Eastern Europe starts in Krakow, the old university town in Poland; heads west to Prague and Brno, Czech Republic; soutn to Bratislava in Slovakia; Gyor in Hungary; and finishes up with a week in Budapest.

It takes at least a week to tour the magnificent architecture left over from the days when Budapest was the gem of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

Work out at the Vsarhelyi Gym with world-famous Hungarian bodybuilders like Zoltan Voros.

Check out the gay nightlife, like Fetish Thursdays at the Magnum Sauna;

And see the public penises on every streetcorner. Here are the top 13 of Budapest (with Gyor and Debrecen thrown in):

1. Memento Park, dedicated to Hungary's communist past, features a dozen massive granite or bronze sculptures of nude men, such as the Republic of Councils Monument.

2. Wallenberg Park memorializes Raoul Wallenberg, who protected many of Budapest's Jews from concentration camps during World War II. He's naked, tromping on the Serpent of Evil.

3. Tromping evil is a common theme in Budapest sculptures. At the Citadella park downtown, another naked man is tromping on the Dragon of Evil.

4.Hero Square offers its own series of naked male statues. This one represents "Work," and stands next to a fully-clothed female statue representing "Prosperity."

5. Varosliget Park features a nude granite archer.

6. A rather stern, fig leaf-covered naked guy stands guard at the entrance of the Budapest Zoo.

More after the break

7. Two muscular guys dancing, while a third watches. All three have rather obvious bulges.

8. Ok, this one's inside, but too nice to pass up. A male nude in the National Art Museum.

9. Prince Eugen of Savoy, on Buda Castle.

10. The super-muscular Napozo Papa (Sunbathing Dad), by Endre Szollosi.

11. Gyor has this rather risque statue of a naked, rowing man in the public square.

12. Plus Nimrod, the great hunter of the Bible, with a sheep covering his privates.

13. And don't forget Debrecen, with this nude, moustached guy outside the Deri Museum

See also: The Top Public Penises of Prague and a Beefcake Tour of Eastern Europe; The Tragedy of Man

Bloomington, May 1983

At Indiana University, I was technically studying for a M.A. in English, but the variety of courses available at a gigantic university was overwhelming. What 22 year old from a small town in the Midwest could resist:
Tibetan Culture and Civilization
Mesoamerican Archaeology
First Year Arabic
Or Russian Folklore?

I was a definite disadvantage in the Russian folklore class, since I didn't speak Russian or know anything about the scientific study of folklore.

All of the other students were Russian majors, researching the folklore motifs in Dostoevski or Gogol. I was interested in...um...um..the mythology of the ancient Slavs?

Well, mythology is sort of like folklore, right?

The Professor, Dr. Kirtis, was a Hungarian bear, in his 50s, white haired, bearded, a little chubby, with thick arms and chest hair peeking up over the top of his shirt. A little old for me, but it was hard not to be attracted to his ravenous energy as he paced the classroom, arms flailing, as he pontificated on the Firebird Suite or Evenings on a Farm Near Dikanka or Afanasyev's folktale collection.

Not to mention his obvious beneath-the-belt gifts, a gigantic Mortadella shifting around inside his black dress slacks.

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

Plains, January 2016

Out here on the Plains, there are very few gay guys my age: they all fled to Minneapolis, Chicago, or West Hollywood during the Great Gay Migration of the 1970s, leaving a few shut-ins and down-low closet cases.

Shortly after moving here, I realized that if I wanted to socialize with someone my own age, it would have to be a heterosexual!

A daunting prospect: in gay neighborhoods, all of your friends and neighbors were gay. You might have some straight acquaintances, at school or at work, but you kept them at arm's length. They were the enemy, the oppressors.

But it's the 21st century, I thought. There must be some heterosexuals around who are not homophobic or annoyingly heterosexist.

I started striking up conversations with heterosexuals at work, at the gym, and at church. I started going to my friend's vegan potlucks, which were about 50% gay, 50% straight. And last weekend I went to a totally heterosexual party!

It was held by Arthur, an ex-hippie vegetarian in his 50s who often leads services at the Unitarian Church, and his wife Joanne. They are apparently quite affluent: they have a a formal living room, a separate dining room, a gigantic kitchen, a family room, and a patio that looks out onto the cold wilderness.

Eight heterosexuals and me sat around the gigantic dining room table, eating a potato casserole, cheese tamales, a green salad, and jello squares, then adjourned to the living room for dessert and coffee.

Here's my evaluation of heterosexual parties:

1. Everything is male-female. Gay parties were exclusively male, with very occasionally a lesbian, but at straight parties, the seating arrangements, the conversations, even the coats are strictly divided into "him" and "her."

2. They are age-segregated. Gay parties had every age, from young twink to geezer, but straight people invite only their own age group. Everyone was in their 40s and 50s.

3. They are elderly. Maybe it's because they they only go to the gym during the first week of January, but most straight men in their 40s and 50s are flabby and sagging or wrinkled and decrepit, with creaking joints and aching backs.

4. They are boring. Discussions of additions to the house, variations in health insurance, who just got out of the hospital, which kid just got a promotion at work, which stock is doing well, and how good the food tastes. A lot of how good the food tastes.

5. They end with a whimper. Gay parties ended with everyone going out to the bars, or else going off in pairs and groups to the bedroom. Straight parties end with women saying "Can I help you clean up?" and men saying "I have to get up early tomorrow."

During dessert-and-coffee, the back door opened, and a boy burst in: teenage or early twenties, shorter than me, thick brown hair, handsome square face, thick eyebrows, prominent ears.

He tore off his sweater, revealing an Adventure Time t-shirt. Thick, hard chest, nice biceps.

I wasn't planning to cruise, but it was impossible to not be overwhelmed by the contrast. Hardness, strength, vitality, energy! In a room full of sagging, tired people.

"How was the exhibit?"Arthur asked.

"Great! I met a guy who throws pots with Aztec designs."

There were no other explanations or introductions. The boy tore into the kitchen, grabbed a plate, and piled it high. He put a knife and fork in his pocket, grabbed a can of soda, and ran out of the room.

"Isn't he joining us?" I asked.

"Oh, Dustin doesn't want to hang around us old folks."

Maybe not, but I wanted to hang around with him.

I asked about the bathroom, and was pointed to the same direction that Dustin went. I found him on a couch in a study off the family room, shoveling food into his mouth and watching a music video.

"I love Adventure Time," I said, sitting next to him. "Do you think Princess Bubblegum and Marcelline were a couple?"

He grinned at me, perhaps astonished that a guy my age knew the show. "Maybe not canonical, but that's definitely the writers' intent."

Dustin was an undergrad at the Minneapolis College of Art and Design, home for winter break. He was mainly interested in animation. We talked about Adventure Time, Regular Show, The Simpsons, and the 1960s French sci-fi animated movie Fantastic Planet. I didn't do any obvious cruising, but there was a definite connection.

Then Arthur was standing in the doorway. "Here you are! I thought you got lost. Dustin isn't boring you to death with his animation stories, is he?"

"Not at all. I'm a big fan."

He looked at me with an odd smirk. "Well, when you're ready to join the grownups, we're playing mad libs."

After he left, Dustin laughed and touched me on the shoulder. "Hey, bro, if being an adult means playing mad libs, I'll give it a pass."

"Me, too."

He paused. "I have some cels from the Lord of the Rings, the Ralph Bakshi animated version, up in my room, if you'd like to see them."

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

Long before I ever visited New York City, I learned all about the Battery, the Bronx, the Empire State Building, Central Park, subways, seltzer, and delis. Like Los Angeles, it was a magical place, gleaming with steel and glass, where you could escape the constant "what girl do you like?" litany of the adults.

I learned all that through tv programs like That Girl and The Odd Couple, and through movies like On the Town (1949).

Based on a 1944 Broadway musical scored by gay composer Leonard Bernstein, On the Town follows the adventures of three sailors on leave in New York City before they ship out: the naive Gabey (dance master Gene Kelly), the fast-talking Chip (future Rat Pack singer Frank Sinatra), and the dopey Ozzie (comic relief Jules Munshin). They just have 24 hours, and they want to see and do everything, especially meet girls.

Then Gabey falls in love with a girl on a poster, Ivy Smith (Vera-Ellen), mistakenly thinking she's a famous actress.

So his friends obligingly give up their plans to help Gabey track her down.

They give up their plans to help a buddy? Anytime a same-sex friendship trumps the quest for hetero-romance, you have some significant gay symbolism.

During the madcap scavenger hunt, female cabbie Hildy (Betty Garrett) aggressively courts Chip ("Come back to my place!").

Ozzie is courted by anthropologist Claire (Ann Miller), whose mentor thinks she's a lesbian, uninterested in men; actually, she just prefers the big, brawny type ("Give me a prehistoric man!").

And Gabey catches the eye of the gawky Lucy Schmeeler (Alice Pearce).

Butch, aggressive women chasing unwilling, feminine-coded men: the gender atypicality gives the musical even more gay symbolism.

And even more: all of them become friends, boys and girls both -- when was the last time you saw a platonic male-female friendship in a musical?

They all help Gabey search. When he becomes despondent, they all invite him to "Count on me."

Gabey eventually meets the Girl, and the "three couples" share a final song and a kiss. But there's no marriage and children: when the 24 hours ends, the three sailors head back to their ship. Hildy, Claire, and Iris wave goodbye.

But they're not alone. Strangers yesterday, the three women have found each other.

This movie is not about hetero-romance at all. It's about friendship. That's what makes it a gay classic.

Plus the energetic dance numbers, the gay connections of actresses Betty Garrett and Alice Pearce, and New York City, the most important character, brimming with light and color. No wonder the posters call it "Twice as gay as Anchors Aweigh."

The original musical is a favorite of high school and college drama departments. Not a lot of beefcake, but Tony Yazbeck dances shirtless in the Broadway revival.

Speaking of Jeremy Lelliott, his costar in Disappearance, Jamie Croft, had several buddy-bonding projects as a child star in Australia.

In That Eye, the Sky (1994), the oddball outsider Ort (13-year old Jamie) lives in the Australian outback with his mother, his sister, his paralyzed father, and his frail, elderly grandmother. He's getting weird premonitions and questioning his belief in God. Then the hunky American Henry (Peter Coyote) arrives and teaches Ort about the magic of everyday life. Meanwhile Ort gets his first crush.

The miniseries The Valley Between (1996) follows the Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn-like adventures of German immigrant Bruno (15-year old Jamie) in South Australia.

He has a crush on an older teenager, Eddie (Josh Picker).

No heterosexual interest in Mighty Morphin Power Rangers (1996).

In his guest spot on The Lost World (1999-2002), about various people trapped in a sort ofLand of the Lost in the Amazon, teenage Rob Dillon (Jamie) is kidnapped by a savage tribe and requires a daring rescue. But he grins at a girl.

Then came Disappearance (2002), the gender-bending comedy Blurred (2002), and the teenage muscle hunk Hercules (2005; played as an adult by Paul Telfer). There is minimal girl-craziness in these projects, but unfortunately no shirtless or semi-nude shots, not even as Hercules.

More recently Jamie has moved into voice work, playing the 12-year old barbarian in The Legend of Enyo (2010) and Pablo in The Davincibles (2011).

In real life he is married with children; no word on whether he's a gay ally.

I figured "it" out during the summer after my senior year in high school, and spent the next four years at a small Lutheran college. I had a couple of boyfriends, went on a few dates, even marched in a Gay Rights March, but I had no idea that there was a gay community out there. Everything was underground, clandestine, unspoken.

Not until I started grad school at Indiana University did I really "come out," start going to gay venues and meeting gay people. And "tricking," going home with guys I just met.

In West Hollywood in 1985, "tricking" was rare and frowned upon, but not in Bloomington in 1982. We hadn't heard of AIDS, we were young and naive, and after 20 years of being told that same-sex desire does not exist, just being able to flirt with guys, to stare, compliment their physiques, touch their shoulders or chests was a new, glorious freedom.

It wasn't about sex. It was about belonging, friendship, community, about overcoming the heteronormative lie, about acknowledging that same-sex desire is real and valid.

And I met a lot of very interesting guys:

Fall 1982

1.Shaun, the first gay person I met in Bloomington, who also happened to be the boyfriend of Mark, the optometry student from down the hall. Not a problem: Mark was happy with "sharing."

2. Roy the Farmboy from southern Indiana, who worked with me in the Eigenmann Hall Snack Bar. We drove down to Kentucky for my first-ever service at the gay Metropolitan Community Church. Then we went out with Preacher and the Security Guard. I only managed to spend the night with the Preacher.

Spring 1983

3, My friend Viju talked me into going to gay bars. First we drove up to Indianapolis, where I met a blond violinist from Finland, visiting for a concert. They make them big in Finland.

4. Soon we started going to Bloomington's own gay bar, Bullwinkle's. On the first night I cruised solo, I accidentally hooked up with Creepy Old Guy with a grand piano who kept calling me "beautiful boy."

5. Meanwhile I got invited to my straight friend's "circle jerk," and ended up seeing Six Naked College Guys. Plus I landed a date with Asher, a cute freshman.

6. Back in Indianapolis, I hooked up with a Deputy Attorney General of the State of Indiana, whose large dogs kept trying to horn in on our evening together.

7. And a Mormon missionary who tried to convert me, while we were lying in bed, and left some tracts and a Book of Mormon on my nightstand. I still have it.

8. And a Nigerian Daddy with a tattooed penis, who summoned Yoruba Orishas. He convinced me that the point of cruising is not to search for archetypal male beauty, but to get to know unique guys in their unique locations.

Summer 1983

9. That summer my friend Joseph, an undergraduate who belonged to the Gay Student Union, took me to help clean out his great-aunt's house...and, you know, other stuff. Unfortunately, I got spooked by the ghost of Great-Aunt Rose, curtailing the erotic activity. But we spent the night together in his parents' house in Indianapolis.

10. Later Viju came to visit me in Rock Island, and we drove into Chicago's gay neighborhood, including my first bathhouse, Man's Country. We hooked up with a guy who took us to a country-western bar called Yosemite's.

Fall 1983

11. I dated Jimmy the Bodybuilder on Crutches all through the fall, until he dumped me for one of students in the class I was a teaching assistant for.

12. But Viju and I still had time to pick up a bisexual bodybuilder from Thailand (left) whose girlfriend showed up the next day. We all went out for breakfast. She didn't mind that he was bisexual, and sometimes "shared" his bar pickups, male and female.

Spring 1984

13. After Jimmy and I broke up, I dated a professor of political science from Egypt, in his 40s, who was making the rounds of the gay students on campus.

14. Meanwhile, Viju and I tried to find out if Professor Singer. who taught Restoration and Augustan Literature, was gay. Viju tried a "sexual confusion" gambit, while I just took my clothes off at the gym.

15. My last Bullwinkle's pickup was the most interesting: a townie who turned out to be my second cousin, grandson of my Grandma Davis's younger brother Harry. I showed him the photographs of the gay couple that I got from Grandma Davis's trunk when she died.

Summer 1984

16. During the summer after we got our M.A. degrees, Viju invited me to visit him in India, where I got a date with Arshad the Zoroastrian.

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

If you're fifteen years old, you're familiar with Michael Welch from the Twilight saga about a girl torn between vampire and werewolf boyfriends (Robert Pattinson, Taylor Lautner). He plays a human who has an unrequited crush on her.

Michael has sharp features and striking eyes that make him look angelic, demonic, or alien, so he is often cast as a gay-vague outsider, even if he sometimes experiences unrequited heterosexual passions.

He began his acting career at the age of 10 in Star Trek: Insurrection (1998) as Artim, a boy from a non-technological planet who bonds with the android Data. His touching performance won him a Young Artist Award.

Next came a series of paranormal and science fiction roles, including a clone of Colonel Jack O'Neill (Richard Dean Anderson) who just wants to be a normal teenager on Stargate SG-1.

Michael also guest-starred in a number of sitcoms and dramatic series, including a memorable role as a new neighbor who falls for the brainy Malcolm in Malcolm in the Middle.

On Joan of Arcadia (2003-2005), he played Luke Girardi, younger brother of the girl who talks to God, who has a homoromantic buddy-bond with his best friend Friedman (Aaron Himmelstein), although he dates girls also.

He was also in many movies. In The United States of Leland (2003), his mentally-challenged Ryan is murdered by classmate Leland (Ryan Gosling), who is dating his sister.

The Grind (2009) is about a grifter, Luke (C. Thomas Howell), who depends on his friends Josh and Courtney (Michael, Tanya Allen) to get him out of a jam. They start a sleazy website, but things go sour, and Luke has to rescue them from the Mexican mafia.

In Lost Dream (2009), college student Perry (Michael) falls for nihilistic free-spirit Giovanni (Shaun Sipos), who is involved in risky sex, drugs, and games of Russian roulette. He must save Gio before it's too late.

Michael's many unrequited, doomed, and hopeless same-sex loves seem to be throwbacks to the 1960s and 1970s, where the gay guy was always depressed and usually doomed. But, to be fair, his characters often have unrequited, doomed, and hopeless heterosexual loves, too.

Heterosexual in real life, he is a gay ally who publicly voices his support of gay marriage.

Wilton Manors, February 8th, 2002

The Filling Station was my favorite bar in Wilton Manors: three blocks from my house, good burgers and fries, a good mix of bears, regular guys, twinks, and drag queens. I usually got there at 9:00 pm, just as it was starting to get crowded, but that Friday night in February, I was meeting a date there at 7:00.

The bar was practically deserted: a bartender, a leatherman eating a hamburger, two giggling twinks, the elegantly dressed old guy who is a fixture at every bar. I sat down at the bar and ordered a Coke.

Then I saw the Coffee Drinker walking across the dance floor from the dj booth.

He was in his 30s, short, pale, solid with South Florida muscle, strikingly handsome, with a baby face and heavy-lidded sleepy eyes, wearing a white t-shirt that showed his nipples, a beige jacket, and slacks. And he was holding a large white coffee cup.

There's something indescribably sexy about a guy drinking coffee in a bar. How did he even know that they served coffee? Or was it just for him, from a pot brewing in the back room? He must have access to secret special places. Maybe he lived in the bar, and was just climbing out of bed. Maybe he was the manager.

As I watched, Coffee Drinker made a slow, careful circuit of the entire bar, occasionally taking a sip from his cup with both hands, as if he was cold. Was he ever going to stop?

Two circuits. Then my date arrived. I pointed out the Coffee Drinker. We speculated on who would be drinking coffee in a bar, and then went on to dinner.

February 13th.

I dropped in the bar on Saturday, but the Coffee Drinker wasn't there. The next popular night was Wednesday, bear night. I arrived at 7:00, and sure enough, the Coffee Drinker was making a long, slow circuit of the bar, never stopping, never interacting with anyone, occasionally sipping from his cup.

Two circuits. Three. Was he ever going to stop so I could draw him into a conversation?

I headed for the bathroom, timing myself to meet him, and gave him a smile and nod of recognition. He glared.

What was with this guy?

February 15th.

Friday night at 7:00 pm. The Coffee Drinker was making his usual slow circuit.

He had seen me twice, so certainly we were "bar friends" who could say hello and even hug without cruising. I began a circuit that intersected with him, and as we passed, gave him a friendly shoulder grab without making eye contact, a sort of bar "hello."

Coffee Drinker shrugged me off with a vicious glare.

What was with this guy?

February 20th.

I guessed that the Coffee Drinker came to the Filling Station on Wednesday and Friday nights. Sure enough, on Friday the 20th, 7:00 pm, he was there, making his usual circuit.

I ordered coffee at the bar -- yes, they served it, but the bartender wasn't happy, since he had to walk all the way out to the kitchen to fetch it.

Coffee in hand, I walked in the same direction as Coffee Drinker, caught up with him, and said "Look, we match."

He glared at me.

"Hi, my name is Boomer. Slow night tonight."

"I'm not interested in a relationship."

"Relationship? But I just..."

He turned and walked quickly in the opposite direction.

February 27th

Ok, I should have just given up, but he was cute AND a mystery. Tonight I brought my ex-boyfriend Matt the Security Guard, so the Coffee Drinker would think we were on a date, and not think I was cruising him.

We got our coffees and stood by the DJ booth, arms around each other, waiting for the Coffee Drinker to make his circuit past us.

When he saw us, he turned the other way, and began making U-shaped circuits that avoided the DJ booth.

Enough was enough!

I stopped going to the Filling Station early, and forgot about the Coffee Drinker.

April 24th, 2002

A Wednesday night, two months later. My housemate Yuri called about 7:30.

"Guess what -- I went to your bar, the Filling Station, and I met someone. Will you be home?"

In West Hollywood and New York, inviting someone you just met into your bed was rare and frowned upon -- you waited four or five days, and then went out on a date. In Florida it was still uncommon, but ok, as long as you did something social first -- making it into an instant date -- and invited a friend along, or at least gave a friend his contact information. Being alone with a stranger was a good way to get robbed or assaulted.

"Sure. Do I get to watch or share?"

"Watch, sure. Maybe share -- I will ask. Did you eat dinner? We can get Chinese food."

"I already ate, but I wouldn't say no to some kung pao chicken."

About half an hour later, Yuri came in, carrying a bag from the Lotus Kitchen -- followed by the Coffee Drinker. Real name: Sidney.

No big mystery -- he gave me Attitude because he thought I wanted a hookup.

But he was fine with sharing.

And he drank coffee because he was a recovering alcoholic.

The full post, with uncensored photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood

When I was visiting my friend Viju in India, I saw an occasional guy walking around naked, and figured he was an ascetic of some sort.

Turns out that most of the naked guys belong to Jainism, one of the oldest religions in the world, with about 5 million followers in India and abroad. You must seek moksha, or pure consciousness, by practicing non violence, not exploiting or attempting to control others, and detaching yourself from the world.

As you detach, you will give up human associations, including romantic partners. But for those of us who haven't gotten that far in our quest for moksha, there's nothing wrong with being gay.

About half of all Jains belong to the Digambara sect, and go skyclad, rejecting the use of clothing for comfort or display of social status. It's ok to look.

Jain icons are usually nude, too.

The most commonly revered of the Jain Siddhas is Bahubali, the first person in our cycle of the universe to reach moksha. Like the Buddha, he was born with wealth, power, and an enormous penis, but gave it all up to become a monk. But the fellowship of the monastic community was an impediment, so he went off by himself to meditate, skyclad.

There are many statues of Bahubali in Kamakata, the state of southern India with the largest Jain population

The most famous is the Gommata Shvara Bahubali, 57 feet tall (that's 10 feet taller than the Statue of Liberty), carved out of a single block of granite in 983 AD. It's an important pilgrimage site for Jains, but members of other faiths are welcome as long as they show proper respect (no giggling or making sleazy comments).

There are four other statues nearly as tall. Each of them is the subject of a ceremonial cleansing every 12 years in a Mahamstakabhisheka, a festival that draws crowds from all over the country. In 2014, it will be held for the statue of Bahubali in Dharmasthala.

You can also see many smaller images of sky-clad Tirthankara, enlightened beings who return to our level of consciousness to help us.

And Mahavira, the founder of Jainism (540-468 BC).

It's about a 3 hour flight from Delhi to Bangalore, but worth the trip.

I'm just wondering how you can clear your mind of worldly attachments with so many images of hot guys around.

See also: The Top 10 Public Penises of Hinduism; Pehlwani Wrestling of India; and Zoroastrians Do It Six Times a Day

During the summer of 1984, just after we got our M.A. degrees in English, my friend Viju invited me to visit his family in India for two weeks.

Except for trips to Agra and Varanasi, we spent most of our time in Delhi, hanging out with his parents, sister Aruna, and old university friends, We went to a bodybuilding competition, a lot of shopping malls, and since I was interested in religion, a lot of temples and mosques.

There were no gay bars, bathhouses, community centers, or gay organizations in India, but there was a lot of public sex in Jahanpanah City Forest. You saw a guy you liked, nodded, and followed him into the bushes.

Viju said that it was perfectly safe: although "sodomy" was technically illegal, the police didn't believe that it existed in India, so they didn't patrol.

I was a little hesitant, but when a tall, slim, very dark skinned guy in his 30s smiled at me, Viju whispered "Go for it!" I followed him into a little copse, where

[Sorry, too explicit]

"You are an American, right?"

Right. I'm here visiting my friend."

"I guessed that. I love American boys -- you have an energy, an excitement. Would you have dinner with me tonight?"

"I'll have to ask if Viju has plans for us..."

"Invite him along, too. The Host at 8:00? But first, if you're not too tired..."

[Too explicit]

The Host turned out to be a very bright, airy, and expensive restaurant on Connaught Circus, about a half hour by car from Viju's house.

Arshad arrived with a date for Viju: Noel, slim, redheaded, with a British accent. They were coworkers at an engineering firm.

"But originally I am from Ahmedabad, in Gujarat," Arshad told us. "A Parsi. Have you heard of us?" .

Parsis -- Zoroastrians! The ancient monotheistic religion that competed with Christianity in the first and second centuries. Ahura Mazda and Ahriman, light and darkness, order and chaos. The Avestas. Zarathustra. Fire temples!

"You are very intelligent as well as handsome," Arshad said, cutting me off.

"Boomer is very interested in religion," Viju said. "Me, not much. I look toward the future, not the past."

"Then you must let me take you on a tour of the spiritual sites of Delhi. I will take tomorrow off from work. There are temples for Hindus, Sikhs, Jains, Baha'is..."

"Christian churches, mosques..." Noel added.

"A Zoroastrian fire temple?" I asked eagerly.

"Of course, of course," Arshad said, looking down at the menu. "We will tour that as well."

We finished the evening at Arshad's apartment. Noel and Viju took the guest room, and Arshad brought me into the master bedroom, where

[Sorry]

After breakfast, Noel and Viju left, and Arshad drove me out to Ahinsa Sthal, about a half-hour drive south of his apartment. Sacred to Jainism, with a 13-foot statue of Mahavira.

That was impressive.

Then another half-hour drive east to the Lotus Temple, sacred to the Baha'i religion.

Ok, but what about the Fire Temple?

Back into town, 30 minutes north to the Jama Masjid, a huge mosque.

I already saw it, but ok, I didn't mind seeing it again.

Back to Arshan's apartment for lunch.

Another 30 minutes around Connaught Circus to the Lakshi Narayan Mandir, a Hindu temple that I had already visited.

It was late afternoon. We had been reverent all day. I was getting "church fatigue."

"Next the Sacred Heart Cathedral" Arshad said. "It's only a few blocks from here."

Interesting, but I had seen Catholic churches before.

"Could we go to the Fire Temple now? It's getting late."

He looked away. "Sure, sure, I suppose. It's only a few blocks away."

We got into his car and drove east on Nehru Boulevard. Just past a gigantic hospital complex, we turned right on Bahadur Shah Road.

"The Parsi Anjuman is there on the left," Arshad said as we zipped by.

It was a small, square building with a pillared portico and some vaguely Babylonian fretwork.

"Hey, aren't we going to stop?"

"Oh, there's nothing much to see inside. And I'm getting hungry. Shall we have dinner?"

"Hey, what gives? We spend all day touring the sacred sites of Jains, Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Bahai's, and Christians, but when it comes to your own religion, you zoom past at 80 miles an hour."

"Sorry. But...it's just that..." He stroked my knee. "One who is unclean may not enter the temple."

"Non-believers? That's ok, I don't mind not going in."

"Not you -- me. I'm unclean. My religion teaches that those who do such things are like dogs, filthy beasts."

I looked at Arshad. Did he actually believe that nonsense, think of himself as a filthy beast? It was hard to tell. "Well...my childhood religion, the Nazarenes, have some crazy beliefs, too. I suppose I wouldn't want to give you a tour of the their church either."

But still, the "filthy beast" statement made me feel uncomfortable. After dinner, I refused another bedroom session, and asked Arshad drop me off at Viju's house. We exchanged addresses, but didn't write..

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

During the famous summer of 1981, when I was working in the college library, taking classes in Chaucer and Modern German Culture, going to see Clash of the Titans, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Wolfen, Arthur, American Werewolf in London, Hell Night, and The Chosen, and finding subtext songs on the radio, the Film Club took a field trip to Madison Wisconsin for an Italian Film Festival, and I saw Pasolini's Arabian Nights.

Somebody told me there was gay content. Maybe a little. But only as an aside in the main plot, where he searches for his lost girlfriend Zumurrud (Ines Pellegrini). In the final scene, Zumurrud, disguised as a man, buys Nur-e-Din as "his" slave. "He" orders the boy to strip and lie face down on the bed. Preparing for a sexual assault, Nur-e-Din complies. Then Zumurrud reveals her true identity. Heterosexual love wins out over a threat of homoerotic assault. I left the theater sick to my stomach. My complete review is here.

I was amazed to discover, years later, that Pasolini was gay. Homophobic, but gay nonetheless.

Throughout my childhood, movies about the Arab world provided few hints of a "good place." They were mostly adaptations of the Arabian Nights, replete with Sinbads and Aladdins and Ali Babas who get girls, even when they were played by gay actors like Kerwin Mathews (I hadn't yet seen Sabu's homoromantic Arabian adventures.)

TV offered only I Dream of Jeannie, a heterosexist fable, and Shazzan, about a boy and a girl trapped in an Arabian Nights world.

I was not yet aware of the homoeroticism of Medieval Arab, Turkish, and Persian poets, such as Abu Nuwas:

I die of love for him, perfect in every way,
Lost in the strains of wafting music.
My eyes are fixed upon his delightful body
And I do not wonder at his beauty.

Or of the Orientalist fervor that sent hundreds of gay Europeans, including Oscar Wilde, W.H. Auden, and Andre Gide, to North Africa in search of Arab lovers.

But there were tantalizing hints in books. Sonia and Tim Gidal's Sons of the Desert was about two Bedouin boys.

The Stone of Peace, by Karah Feder Tal, has a Jewish teenager running away from his kibbutz in the Negev and befriending the Bedouin Ahmad.

James Forman's My Enemy, My Brother had another Jewish-Arab friendship.

And Passing Brave was a real-life adventure about two Americans, William Polk and William Mares, armed only with a knowledge of Classical Arabic, crossing the desert in search of a "good place."

See also: The Egyptian Professor of Political Science

In the summer of 1995, shortly after Lee and I moved to San Francisco, my parents decided to sell their house in Rock Island and spend their retirement years in their old hometown in Indiana. That meant I had to clear out the books, papers, furniture, and miscellaneous mementos cluttering my old attic room.

Road trip!

I had never seen the Cowboy States, and Lee had never been out of Southern California (except for his visit to a kibbutz in Israel). We planned every moment of that trip! Portland, Seattle, Yellowstone National Park, Devil's Tower, Mount Rushmore!

As luck would have it, our itinerary took us through South Dakota on August 3rd, 1996.

Do you know what happens in South Dakota during the first week in August? We didn't. We do now.

1. All hotels within 150 miles double their rates, and fill up anyway.
2. All highways, streets, roadways, and dirt tracks swarm with motorcycles, because:
3. 500,000 motorcycle enthusiasts converge in the tiny town of Sturgis for a week-long bacchanal.

4. There are thousands of topless and naked women, if you're into that sort of thing.
5. And about 100,000 hairy, husky, muscular, tattooed bears
6. Who parade around downtown naked.

7. Who parade around downtown naked.

8. Who parade around downtown naked.

9. Who parade around downtown naked.
10. Some of them are gay, and most of the others have a non-homophobic "laissez faire" attitude.

11. Did I mention that there are 100,000 hairy, husky, muscular, tattooed bears?

There have always been some gay bikers in the crowd, but since 2007 they have had an official presence. The Gay Community Center has a booth, there are gay men's biker events, and the Hawgs Dawgs, a gay/ bi/ straight biker group, makes an annual pilgrimage.

See also: The Top 16 Public Penises of the Cowboy States

The Icelandic Museum of the Penis

The Naked Man Festival of Japan

16 Dates from Hell

The Explosive Generation: Billy Gray in Love

Date From Hell #7: The Dungeon, the Freezing Swimming Pool, and the Pierced...

Raviv Ullman

Robert Clark: From Zack Files to Gay Teen

Date from Hell #2: When Neither of You Have a Place to Go

13 Public Penises of Hungary

The Hungarian Bear with the Mortadella+

Hooking Up with My Host's Son

On the Town: Three Sailors on Leave in a Gay City

Jamie Croft, the Australian Tom Sawyer

16 Indiana University Boyfriends, Dates, Tricks, and Hookups

The Unrequited Loves of Michael Welch

Spring 2002: Yuri Lands the Coffee Drinker I was Cruising

The Naked Gods of Southern India

Summer 1984: I Meet a Zoroastrian in a Public Cruising Area

The Gay Arab World

Why You Should Visit South Dakota Next August