Excerpt from the new gay memoir, 'Naked in Paradise' by Len Richmond available on Amazon. Who knew that my high school sexual fantasies would some day come true? Who knew that the same sort of high school bullies that once called me 'faggot' would secretly want to be bullied by a 'faggot'? Who knew that so many straight men would respond to my L.A. Weekly ad? Of course, they don't want their wives or girlfriends to find out, so they leave me nervous voice mail messages, using phony names, pager numbers, and strict instructions to call only between certain hours. Mostly, I meet them in the middle of their workday, so their spouses don't get suspicious. And what attracts so many heterosexual men to my gay classified ad? It turns out to be the 'No experience necessary' I put at the very end. Tony is my first straight date. Thirty, with hard, chiseled muscles, long Fabio hair, and a locked-up, watertight bubble-butt. Tony's hot but indecisive. When we make our dates, half the time he cancels out at the very last minute. Then when we do get together, he keeps having second thoughts, and will suddenly shout, 'Stop, STOP!' 'Huh?' 'Slow down you're going too fast.' I swear all I'm doing is stroking his designer pecs, I'm nowhere near his erect penis. But being straight from Boston and brought up Irish-Catholic, Tony's paralyzed with papist guilt. So I stop. We sit. We talk. We watch some of my old pre-condom porn. I start to touch him again. He gets hard. He's breathing heavy. This is it. We're going to do it now! I unzip his pants- 'Stop!' 'What?' He jumps to his feet and zips up. 'Are you sure you wanna do this?' I ask. 'Yeah, but nobody's willing to go at my pace. They always want to rush things. We'll get there, but we gotta go slowly.' I don't usually hang in there when it's more tease than tickle-but ah, those muscles, that porno-grade bubble-butt. So I say I'll call him again. And he grins, I guess grateful that I'm not as impatient as all the other gay shmucks, whose ads he answered. - - - - - - - - - - - - Vinny is a beefy, curly-haired electrician who's a dead ringer for Mac Davis. He lives with his girlfriend in the Valley, and together they pick up couples off the Internet for suburban swinging sessions. 'I'm more into it than she is,' he confesses, 'but she does it for me.' Vinny will occasionally service the other straight guy in the foursome, or get oral sex from him-all very edgy for Burbank. As Vinny nervously sips his second beer, he admits that when he read my L.A. Weekly ad, it stirred up a long-suppressed fantasy to be a sex slave. I reach over, take the beer out of his hand, and make him stand at attention facing the wall. I blindfold him, march him into my bedroom, and push him backwards onto the bed. Then I give him precise instructions on how I want my dick sucked- 'Start with just the tip.. you'll have to earn the rest.' When Vinny doesn't do it right, I spank him. He's all teeth to start with so I spank him a lot. It feels like sweet revenge for all the 'faggot' slurs I endured in my teenage years from macho jocks just like him. Anger and sex can be a potent mix. Smack! Vinny's passivity amazes me. Are all straight men who seek gay sex frustrated bottoms? Smack! Vinny submits without making a sound, holding in his pain, being a 'man'. My mind wanders. I'm back at California High. An overweight, closeted, Jew boy who can't catch a ball. All my rage held in. I don't make a sound either. Not letting anyone, not even my friends, see the blood-spattered killer inside, as I murder myself repeatedly in my struggle to pass for straight. Vinny suddenly moans loudly as he has an explosive orgasm. He's very affectionate afterwards in the shower, and says, 'Man.. I've never done anything like that. It was wild. I really liked it.' As we suds up with my Antiseptic Microbicidal Skin Cleanser, Vinny says he wants to get together again soon- 'But I can only do afternoons,' he explains. 'My girlfriend doesn't get suspicious when I'm out working. I can fit you in between appointments.' 'Sounds good to me.' - - - - - - - - - - - - Rick is a Chicano from East L.A.-a cocky, swaggering twenty-five year-old who flirts with the ladies, but every six months or so wants to get 'pounded' by a guy. I pound him hard. Really hard. Probably 'cuz I'm so enraged over Mikey dumping me. Hey, somebody's got to pay! I aim straight for his prostate. It startles him as if mugged from behind. I bounce him on the mattress until he loses control. He capitulates completely. At one point I think he's going to cry. Rick says he's never been fucked like that before-not with such aggression. In the shower, he's mellow as a pussycat. At the door, he kisses me goodbye on the lips-something Hispanic straight men never ever do. But when I call Rick a week later to see if he wants to get together again, he's cold and aloof. He puts me on hold and never comes back on the line. He'd clearly like to forget it ever happened. My ex-lover Larry, who only dates Latin dudes, gives me some sage advice: 'He's treating you like one of his Latina chicks. He may have got fucked by you, but he needs to be the big stud. I'll tell you how to deal with Hispanic men if you want to see them again.. you must treat them like Kings and say, 'You are a handsome man. You must fuck every girl on the block.' You gotta treat them like they're the most beautiful men in the world. That's how their mamas treated them. And you're just one of the girls now.' - - - - - - - - - - - - Tony, the Fabio look-a-like, stands naked in my candlelit bedroom, his back against the wall playing with himself-as I admire his golden body. 'Don't you wanna turn the lights up,' he asks, 'so you can see me better? I turn up the lights. God, he looks great. 'You must be working out a lot,' I say salivating like a dog at dinnertime. Tony smiles and nods. I go to touch him. He lets me stroke his pecs and abs until I arrive at his penis, then pushes me away. 'You're going too fast,' he says. This is frustrating. Where's the easy, playful sex I used to have every weekend? Mikey was a great bottom. He'd let me be as crazy as I wanted in bed. And of course, there was the whole wonderful relationship that went around the sex-like a Twinkie surrounding the cream. At my front door, after another pokeless night, Tony seems worried that I may be losing interest- 'So.. do you want to see me again?' he asks. I look into his eyes and there's fear. So this perfect creature with the Chippendale body is scared of being rejected. Imagine that. 'I'd love to see you again,' I say. His whole body relaxes and I hear a sigh of relief. All those muscles protect a very soft center. I'm a sucker for insecurity in a sexy man. For a moment I imagine Tony falling madly in love with me. Of him leaving his oppressive straight life to become my devoted sex slave. But it's too dangerous a fantasy to indulge in for long. - - - - - - - - - - - - Vinny, the swinging electrician from the Valley, returns my call two weeks after I punch my number into his pager-leaving an anxious message on my machine: 'I wanna apologize for not calling you back sooner, but.. uh, I haven't had the opportunity. I'll tell you what man, after I got home my butt was still red! And uh.. I don't know how we're gonna hide that kind of stuff from my girlfriend, man. I need to think about how to.. how to work this. But I do wanna see 'ya again!' Oops.. I gotta watch it. I don't want any angry girlfriends knocking on my door, demanding to know if my hand fits the print on their boyfriend's butt. - - - - - - - - - - - - John is a paramedic-fireman. A handsome, divorced single-dad who's raising three little girls on his own. He's so clean-cut and all-American, I'm almost embarrassed to bring up the subject of sex. After sitting on my sofa, nervous as hell, jabbering endlessly about his job, his kids, his ex-wife, anything but sex, for over an hour, John suddenly blurts out, 'I love getting fucked!!' Oh.. okay. Now, suddenly I'm nervous. He's one of most beautiful men I've ever met, and a fireman to boot! Talk about your ultimate fantasy being delivered to your doorstep. As soon as we undress and climb in bed, John pounces on me-making all the sexual moves. Suddenly, I don't know my place. I can't control him. He 's bigger than me and won't stay still for a second. He lifts me up and lowers me down. Wraps his legs around me like a wrestler, all the while demanding, 'Fuck me! I want you to fuck me!' I lose my erection. I'm just overwhelmed. I finally pin him down. 'Stay still!' I shout. I regain some sense of control. He lies still long enough for my erection to return. Well, half an erection anyhow. Instructing him not to move a muscle, I fling on my condom and manage penetration. Then he's off again. Bucking wildly. Going nuts, while crushing mine. It becomes a struggle of wills to keep my penis inside him, but I do until he cums. Then fast as a fireman, he flings on his clothes, 'My kids, my babysitter.. I'll call you soon!' How many women have heard that from one-night-stands as they rush out the door? - - - - - - - - - - - - Vinny, the swinging electrician from the Valley, leaves another angst-filled message on my answering machine: 'Just calling to say hey, and.. uh, I don't know bro.. I got lots of stuff goin' on in my mind.. I just don't know what to make of it yet. A lot of things, see? Anyway, I'll try back next week, or something. Maybe we can get together then.' - - - - - - - - - - - - Tony, the Fabio look-a-like, calls one Saturday morning and asks if I want to play with his beautiful body later that afternoon. 'Sure,' I say as I fantasize his bubble-butt finally submitting to my masterful moves. But the afternoon comes and goes. Finally, at six pm the phone rings. 'I'm almost done here,' Tony assures me. 'I'll call you when I'm ready to leave.' 'We can make it another time,' I say, half hoping he'll cancel. 'No, today's fine. I'll call when I'm ready to head out your way.' Three long hours later the phone rings again. 'I got a couple more things to do,' Tony says, 'and then I'll be over.' Well, I've got better things to do than spend my Saturday night waiting around for Tony-but hell, I'm horny, so I say, 'I've got a hard dick here waiting for you, just hurry up!' By the time Tony finally arrives I'm in bed watching Saturday Night Live. I'm tired, irritated, and ready to go to sleep. But hell, I'm still horny, so I slap his ass, squeeze his pecs, rub my dick against his hard thighs, get one finger up his butt (a miracle!), and he cums. God, how I miss Mikey. As my English friend Cash once said, 'It was the most ghastly sexual experience of my life, and I did it five times!' - - - - - - - - - - - - Patrick, a forty year-old surfer from Manhattan Beach, has a wife in Indonesia, tattoos crawling down his back onto his ass, and double-rings through both nipples. 'Are you straight or bi?' I ask, to break the ice. 'Well, let's see.. I think about fucking chicks maybe ten times a day. I think about fucking with a guy maybe.. once a day.' 'Every day?' 'Yeah.' That may be the truth, but everything else he says sounds like a lie. Whether he's trying to impress me with his prowess as a stud- 'The surfer chicks are all over me. I can get laid ten times a day.' Or his tales of being molested by a tabloid celebrity- 'You heard of the McMartin Preschool molestation case? Bucky McMartin molested me and took naked pictures of me, and sold them and made a fortune!' 'Why didn't you tell your parents?' 'Bucky drugged me. Put something in my food. Bucky did that to all the kids. It was well known. You heard of Virginia McMartin, the grandmother?' 'Yeah.' 'She used to urinate in the kid's mouths.' I don't have sex with Patrick and that really irritates him. He keeps asking me why. I say I don't like to fuck on the first date, but the real reason is, if he lied about everything else, he might also be lying about his HIV status. Which of course kicks in my OCD. I've read all the medical research and formed an obsessive-compulsive strategy for surviving the dangers of strangers. And this is it:
  1. Latex gloves.
  2. Lambskin condoms (still the strongest and safest in spite of what the stupid government says).
  3. A rubber ring called 'Condom Secure', to hold it in pace.
  4. Nonoxyonol-9 fortified lube, with triple antibiotic ointment mixed in for
good measure.
  1. Disinfectant mouth spray (90-proof Peppermint Schnapps works well).
  2. Anti-bacterial Band-Aids on any recent cuts.
  3. And finally, ER's own Betadine Surgical Scrub for the shower.
Okay, so I'm a tad over the top, but I've never caught anything, so you can't argue with success. As I walk Patrick back to the elevator I say, 'It was good meeting you. I'll call you soon,' but of course I don't mean it. Yeah, I lie to him 'cuz he lied to me. I guess it's a guy thing. - - - - - - - - - - - - Tony the Fabio look-a-like still won't tell me what he does for a living. He's so secretive I wouldn't be surprised if he turns out to be a Mafioso (he is Italian) or a paid escort for rich older women (hence his Fabio impersonation). Tony's cell phone rings during sex and sometimes he cuts our sessions short, so he can run off in the middle of the night to deal with some 'emergency'. 'Are you a drug dealer?' I ask one day. 'No, of course not.' 'Does your job have anything to do with sex?' 'God, no.' 'Then why won't you tell me what you do for a living?' 'I might tell you some day, if I think I can trust you.' - - - - - - - - - - - - Vinny, the swinging electrician from the Valley, leaves one last, morose message on my machine: 'Say listen, this isn't gonna work out. She was suspicious from the very get-go. It's no surprise.. so I finally told her, and she didn't take it very well. So anyway I'm shit out of luck. I don't know, maybe in the future, I just don't know what to tell you. I'm disappointed. I'm sure you probably are too.' - - - - - - - - - - - - Eric, a Latin cop from Orange County, leaves an intriguing voice-mail in my L.A. Weekly box. His secret vice, which he has yet to experience, is to get down on his knees and give a guy a blow job. I've always wanted to see a policeman in that position. I give Eric a call, and within an hour he's at my front door. But he has such deep pockmarks on his face and is so short and squat, that I just can't imagine having sex with him. I tell him right away- 'I'm sorry,' I say, 'but you're not my type. I'd like it if you still wanna stay and talk and have a beer.' 'That's no problem,' he shrugs. 'Are you okay with that?' 'Yeah, you were honest with me.' After that he's so relaxed, I suspect he's secretly relieved I turned him down. We spend the evening talking openly about everything-including how he has to suppress his sexual desires and hide his shower-room erections from other cops, in a viciously homophobic sheriff's department. Eric's job, besides staying in the closet, is to transport prisoners from court to jail. He's been attacked, elbowed in the jaw, and spent several weeks in the hospital in spite of being trained in karate to defend himself. He grins as he recounts how he kicks prisoners in the balls now whenever they try to fuck with him. He was a gang-banger before becoming a Deputy Sheriff, and knows how to fight dirty. The more we talk, the more I admire him. Getting down on his knees to give a guy a blow-job goes against everything he was brought up to believe in. Instead of kicking someone in the balls, he's ready to snuggle up and make love to them. I wish I wasn't so hung-up on superficial looks. I'd like to give Eric his fantasy. I turn the lights down low to see if his looks improve. No need to get the disinfectant mouth spray-they don't. Still, I feel more intimate with Eric than with all of the phantom fucks that have been jumping in and out of my bed lately-leaving nothing of themselves behind but sweat and sperm. When it's time to say goodbye, Eric gives me a big hug and says, 'I'll talk to you again. We're friends, aren't we?' - - - - - - - - - - - - Tony the Fabio fuck-a-like, who I've now decided has got to be a gangster (he talks like a wise-guy and always wears black), calls and asks to see me later that afternoon. I've played this game of hurry-up-and-wait before. My brain says no but my penis says please. When night falls, Tony's still a no-show, surprise, surprise. Then the phone rings. 'I'm still tied-up,' he says in his thuggish accent. 'Doing what?' I demand to know. 'My job.' 'You are in the Mafia, aren't you?' 'Maybe.' 'Well, hurry up. I'm sitting here playing with my dick and it's got a short attention span.' By the time the muscle-bound mobster arrives it's almost midnight. I chase him around the bedroom, and we play that game of tag that resembles the dumb-fumble of animals mating. After I spank him, stick one finger up his butt, and he cums, the two of us collapse on the couch. It's late, but Tony's wired. Maybe he's on coke or something 'cuz he suddenly feels like talking. I try to guess again what he does for a living- 'Bodyguard? Godfather? Undercover FBI informant?' Tony laughs and shakes his head no. Then, I suppose because he finally trusts me, he spills the beans. And no, Mr. Meathead is not a Soprano. 'I write and produce and direct Hollywood movies. I also own my own production company,' he announces to my gaping, open mouth. 'Huh?' 'I've made a lot of movies.' 'But.. you always seem so shy.' 'Oh, here I'm shy. I'm not at work. I've directed some big stars.' Could it be true? Was I fucking, or rather not fucking a fucking big film director? 'You gotta come to my house sometime,' he says. 'I live in a 1.3 million dollar home in the Hollywood Hills. I have seven luxury cars.' I walk Tony back to his car. Well, fuck me if it isn't a new Porsche. I feel the power shift beneath my feet. Spanking a 'hoodlum' was one thing. It's quite another to slap the bubble-butt of an affluent film director. - - - - - - - - - - - - I've learned a lot from sleeping with straight men. I've learned that the compass of heterosexuality doesn't always point North. It points in the direction of the dick. I've learned that dominating the dumb jocks that used to scare me in High School can be damn good therapy. I've learned that if you're gonna date men who date women, you'd better be ready to be treated like a girl. And I've learned that I want to start dating gay guys now. Excerpt from the new gay memoir, 'Naked in Paradise' by Len Richmond available on Amazon.


Lee Richmond

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