First let me get this out of the way, I don’t claim to be a writer.
This project began as an outline for self portaits (photographs) that I wanted to make about sex, sadness and being a superhero. As I started making notes, they slowly turned into short stories. The first seven stories were turned into hand-bound booklets called CAKE WALK. That can be purchased HERE.
I’d also like to give a big thank you to Jon Kinnally for all of his support, as well as his incredible editing and profreading skills.
This project began as an outline for self portaits (photographs) that I wanted to make about sex, sadness and being a superhero. As I started making notes, they slowly turned into short stories. The first seven stories were turned into hand-bound booklets called CAKE WALK. That can be purchased HERE.
I’d also like to give a big thank you to Jon Kinnally for all of his support, as well as his incredible editing and profreading skills.
Good To Go
The Oatmeal Boy
Colonel Mustard
Señor Wolff
New Wave
Learning To Fly
The Accidental Fister
First Time
The Oatmeal Boy
Colonel Mustard
Señor Wolff
New Wave
Learning To Fly
The Accidental Fister
First Time
First Time
Hot Guys Are Waiting For You Now.
Well, at least that was the promise.
. . .
I was a late bloomer when it came to sex. While going through puberty and through high school I never thought about it, I never had any interest in doing it. I also was never interested in having a girlfriend, and the idea of a boyfriend wasn’t yet even the tiniest spark of a thought. I didn’t think I was gay, even though I was called a fag in the lunchroom on a regular basis. All I wanted was to escape to the art room and dream about graduating and getting the fuck out of Augusta, Maine. After my mother died at the end of my senior year, I graduated and had nothing to keep me there. I was accepted to an art school in Los Angeles and I was so excited to get as far away as I could from that town, and from who I was, or maybe who I wasn’t.
This was my opportunity to be someone new. Someone who I wanted to be. I knew no one there and more importantly no one knew me. The problem was I didn’t know who I was. When was I finally going to bloom?
Los Angeles was such a different world than rural Maine. For the first time in my life I had friends who were not as pasty white as I was. I managed to quickly make some friends and for the first time met some gays - two guys, both from different parts of Texas. And even though they never said they were gay - no one did - I just knew by the way they acted from what I had seen in the movies.
Now looking back I found it odd that while I was in Los Angeles, going to an art school from 1985 to 1989, I cannot recall seeing anything about the LGBT community or HIV/AIDS prevention. I always thought that the arts were where the gays thrived, yet here in Downtown Los Angeles there seemed to be none.
My first year in college I shared a room with a surfer. Very straight. A dude. We had bunk beds in our dorm and I slept on the bottom. I also started drinking alcohol, even though I had tried it twice in high school and both times it ended with me puking over a porch railing. My roommate and I would easily finish of a fifth of the cheapest vodka, often straight up, every weekend. This newfound debauchery also started to wake up some feelings that had long been ignored and probably more accurately, that I kept hidden from myself.
I religiously read the LA Weekly, mostly for Matt Groening’s “Life Is Hell” and Lynda Berry’s “Ernie Pook’s Comeek”, but I also found in the back of the paper some ads that caught my attention:
Call Now! Hot Guys Are Waiting!
Live One On One Action!
I think the first time I called one of the hotlines, my roommate was out and I was pretty drunk after partying in a friend’s room down the hall. I crawled into my bunk and called 1-800-HOT-DUDE, or something like that, and agreed to pay $2 for the first minute and $1 for every additional minute. Normally I’d dial into the group calls and just listen, though every now and then in my quietest voice I’d say, “hello?” This became a frequent activity and always after tossing back a bunch of cheap booze. It got to the point where sometimes I’d have a $200+ phone bill and I’d have to grab it before my roommate did so he wouldn’t know about my calls, and about me, and then I’d have the task to figure out how to pay it and then I’d tell him, “Oh, you only owe $20.” Not the best use of my limited cash while in school.
Throughout my four years at school I changed rooms and roommates about every semester and in my junior year I had my own room. My secret was so much easier to keep now. I still never had sex and I had some friends in my classes, women, who all knew I was a virgin and they would talk about deflowering me, often in front of me. One night after our end of year exhibition and about eight margaritas, one friend said she was going to take me back to my room and fuck me.
“Okay.”
She did, and it was great, but I remember thinking afterwards, “What was the fuss all about? And why did I wait so long?” That week I figured that since I had sex with a woman why not try it with a man? It was very matter of fact and I felt no anxiety or real nervousness about it. The decision seemed logical to me. That weekend, again after some cocktails, I got into my bed, now a full-size with no one sleeping above me, pulled my 5lb push-button onto the mattress next to me and dialed.
“Press one for group talk. Press two for one-on-one action. Good luck guys!”
2
“Hello?”
“Push the star button to go to the next caller.”
“Hello?”
This went on for a while. “Hello?”
Finally a “Hello” in a kind English accent was on the other side of the receiver. We started chatting and for whatever reason I felt I could trust him. He asked if he should come pick me up and I said yes. I gave him the address to my dorm and hung up. Then I panicked. What have I done? I had to go through with it, he knows where I live now. After I calmed myself down and reminded myself, “this is what you want”, I changed my clothes, brushed my teeth and headed out to the dark sidewalk across from McArthur Park. He drove up in a cute burgundy convertible MG, just like he described. I hopped in and tried to hide my nervousness but didn’t do a very good job and he smiled at me and chuckled a bit as we drove off.
We drove through the Hollywood Hills and finally up to his house, which he shared with a few people. He took me back to where he stayed; it looked like Eden. There were so many potted trees and plants and flowers and hanging plants and plants on tables and more and more plants. For a moment I thought maybe I had fallen asleep and this was all part of a fantastic dream. He offered me some water and walked me over to the edge of his bed. We sat down and he put his arms around me and started to kiss my neck. He put his tongue in my ear and then moved to my mouth and we started ferociously making out. I imagined we looked like in the movies when two long lost lovers finally meet up again. There were fireworks and sweat and our tongues twirling and dancing in each other's mouths, and I thought, “Yes. This is the big deal.”
This went on for hours or years or seconds, I couldn’t tell the difference. All I knew was that I think I was finally beginning to understand who I was, and yes, hot guys were waiting.
Hot Guys Are Waiting For You Now.
Well, at least that was the promise.
. . .
I was a late bloomer when it came to sex. While going through puberty and through high school I never thought about it, I never had any interest in doing it. I also was never interested in having a girlfriend, and the idea of a boyfriend wasn’t yet even the tiniest spark of a thought. I didn’t think I was gay, even though I was called a fag in the lunchroom on a regular basis. All I wanted was to escape to the art room and dream about graduating and getting the fuck out of Augusta, Maine. After my mother died at the end of my senior year, I graduated and had nothing to keep me there. I was accepted to an art school in Los Angeles and I was so excited to get as far away as I could from that town, and from who I was, or maybe who I wasn’t.
This was my opportunity to be someone new. Someone who I wanted to be. I knew no one there and more importantly no one knew me. The problem was I didn’t know who I was. When was I finally going to bloom?
Los Angeles was such a different world than rural Maine. For the first time in my life I had friends who were not as pasty white as I was. I managed to quickly make some friends and for the first time met some gays - two guys, both from different parts of Texas. And even though they never said they were gay - no one did - I just knew by the way they acted from what I had seen in the movies.
Now looking back I found it odd that while I was in Los Angeles, going to an art school from 1985 to 1989, I cannot recall seeing anything about the LGBT community or HIV/AIDS prevention. I always thought that the arts were where the gays thrived, yet here in Downtown Los Angeles there seemed to be none.
My first year in college I shared a room with a surfer. Very straight. A dude. We had bunk beds in our dorm and I slept on the bottom. I also started drinking alcohol, even though I had tried it twice in high school and both times it ended with me puking over a porch railing. My roommate and I would easily finish of a fifth of the cheapest vodka, often straight up, every weekend. This newfound debauchery also started to wake up some feelings that had long been ignored and probably more accurately, that I kept hidden from myself.
I religiously read the LA Weekly, mostly for Matt Groening’s “Life Is Hell” and Lynda Berry’s “Ernie Pook’s Comeek”, but I also found in the back of the paper some ads that caught my attention:
Call Now! Hot Guys Are Waiting!
Live One On One Action!
I think the first time I called one of the hotlines, my roommate was out and I was pretty drunk after partying in a friend’s room down the hall. I crawled into my bunk and called 1-800-HOT-DUDE, or something like that, and agreed to pay $2 for the first minute and $1 for every additional minute. Normally I’d dial into the group calls and just listen, though every now and then in my quietest voice I’d say, “hello?” This became a frequent activity and always after tossing back a bunch of cheap booze. It got to the point where sometimes I’d have a $200+ phone bill and I’d have to grab it before my roommate did so he wouldn’t know about my calls, and about me, and then I’d have the task to figure out how to pay it and then I’d tell him, “Oh, you only owe $20.” Not the best use of my limited cash while in school.
Throughout my four years at school I changed rooms and roommates about every semester and in my junior year I had my own room. My secret was so much easier to keep now. I still never had sex and I had some friends in my classes, women, who all knew I was a virgin and they would talk about deflowering me, often in front of me. One night after our end of year exhibition and about eight margaritas, one friend said she was going to take me back to my room and fuck me.
“Okay.”
She did, and it was great, but I remember thinking afterwards, “What was the fuss all about? And why did I wait so long?” That week I figured that since I had sex with a woman why not try it with a man? It was very matter of fact and I felt no anxiety or real nervousness about it. The decision seemed logical to me. That weekend, again after some cocktails, I got into my bed, now a full-size with no one sleeping above me, pulled my 5lb push-button onto the mattress next to me and dialed.
“Press one for group talk. Press two for one-on-one action. Good luck guys!”
2
“Hello?”
“Push the star button to go to the next caller.”
“Hello?”
This went on for a while. “Hello?”
Finally a “Hello” in a kind English accent was on the other side of the receiver. We started chatting and for whatever reason I felt I could trust him. He asked if he should come pick me up and I said yes. I gave him the address to my dorm and hung up. Then I panicked. What have I done? I had to go through with it, he knows where I live now. After I calmed myself down and reminded myself, “this is what you want”, I changed my clothes, brushed my teeth and headed out to the dark sidewalk across from McArthur Park. He drove up in a cute burgundy convertible MG, just like he described. I hopped in and tried to hide my nervousness but didn’t do a very good job and he smiled at me and chuckled a bit as we drove off.
We drove through the Hollywood Hills and finally up to his house, which he shared with a few people. He took me back to where he stayed; it looked like Eden. There were so many potted trees and plants and flowers and hanging plants and plants on tables and more and more plants. For a moment I thought maybe I had fallen asleep and this was all part of a fantastic dream. He offered me some water and walked me over to the edge of his bed. We sat down and he put his arms around me and started to kiss my neck. He put his tongue in my ear and then moved to my mouth and we started ferociously making out. I imagined we looked like in the movies when two long lost lovers finally meet up again. There were fireworks and sweat and our tongues twirling and dancing in each other's mouths, and I thought, “Yes. This is the big deal.”
This went on for hours or years or seconds, I couldn’t tell the difference. All I knew was that I think I was finally beginning to understand who I was, and yes, hot guys were waiting.