My boyfriend Lane and I had different tastes in men. We both liked hefty, muscular or chubby guys, but he liked them older, tall, hairy, and fair skinned, and I liked them my age, short, smooth, and dark skinned. So we got the idea of cruising separately and looking for our preferred types.
On Friday or Saturday nights, there was usually a party or a dinner to go to early in the evening. If it didn't end in bedroom activity, Lane went to the Faultline or the Eagle in search of bears and leathermen, and I went to Mugi or Basgo's in search of Asian or Hispanic guys.
We would cruise from about 9:30 pm to 11:00 pm (if you don't meet someone within the first hour, you're not going to). At 11:30 we met at the French Quarter to have a late snack and make the introductions. Then we went home to share.
We usually ended up with one guy in our bed, but almost never two. I don't know why.
That night in April 1994, I was having a dry spell: ever since I got back from Atlanta, nothing. Three Saturday nights in a row, Lane picked up hirsute, hung leathermen old enough to be my father, who paid attention to him but not to me.
I felt like a third wheel in my own bedroom.
"Ok, that's it!" I exclaimed after the latest hirsute, hung leatherman had his coffee and left. "I'm tired of the old, hairy guys! Next Saturday night, I'm going cruising by myself -- you can stay home and watch a VHS tape of Star Trek -- to a twink, bar, where I'll pick up the smoothest, softest twink who ever twirled on a dance floor to the music of Sound Factory.""That's easier said than done," Lane pointed out. "You're 33 years old. Infinite Chazz thinks you're hot, but the average twink wants somebody his own age."
"Not a problem -- I'll just flash my biceps and basket, and they'll follow me anywhere. In fact, I'll do you one better. Next Saturday night in our bed, there will be a Cute Young Thing."
The youngest, softest, most innocent of twinks, barely legal, too young for the bars, age 18 to 21.
"Ok. Let's make it interesting. If you bring home someone under 21, I'll do the chore you hate the most for a month."
"That's grocery shopping!" I exclaimed. "And if I bring home someone over 21, or nobody at all, I'll do the chore you hate the most for a month."
I knew that I was in trouble. I'm a twink magnet now in my 50s, but in my 30s young guys usually ignored me. And how was I supposed to meet a Cute Young Thing, when they're too young to go to the bars?
The rest of the story is too explicit for Boomer Beefcake and Bonding. You can read it on Tales of West Hollywood.