"I've found him!" Kelly exclaimed over the telephone. "The One! We've only had one date, but that's enough to know!"
Kelly was one of the fitness trainers Barney's Gym: in his 30s, about Yuri's height, with a long face, brown hair, good biceps and excellent abs and a smooth, less-than-spectacular chest. Beneath the belt he was average, cut, with shaved pubes. Somewhat shy and quiet, one of those high-school nerds who found self-confidence at the gym.
He was primarily interested in big guys -- big in every way possible. Fat, no problem. Superchub, even better.
His dream guy was fat, young, smooth, and supersized beneath the belt.
Not easy to find! In Florida, where the beach is a few blocks away and guys wear next to nothing year round, the Wilton Manors norm was heavily muscled with 3% body fat. Husky guys were uncommon, and fat rather rare. Young fat guys practically unheard of.
And for whatever reason, fat guys tend to be a a little small beneath the belt.
On the night of their third date, they came over for dinner so Kelly could introduce him to his friends: Barney, Yuri, his boyfriend Jim, another fitness trainer, me, and Wade the Beach Boy. Yuri made his famous moussaka.
Tobias was in his 20s, tall, chubby, with a smooth chest, employed as a bartender at a hotel near the beach. Obviously smitten by Kelly: he kept his arm around him the whole evening.
But I was turned off by his greasy slicked-back hair, tattoos, rings, and unattractive leer.
And his speech, littered with profanity: "Little Kelly here, he's the best f*king lay in the business! Holy f*k!"
And the fact that he had been in prison: "There was a little queen at Kissimmee [juvenile detention center] that was on his knees every night, I kid you not!"
The rest of the story is too risque for Boomer Beefcake and Bonding. You can read it on "Tales of West Hollywood."