2001-01-01 - 23:55:55
Unforgettable Old Acquaintances

Unforgettable Old Acquaintances

By choice, I saw the New Year in alone. My ex-lover Matt and his lover Trevor came over for coffee last night, but they went home by 11 pm. We had a decent visit, then watched my favorite video, a documentary about gay male sexuality called "Sex Is…". They had borrowed it from me several months ago but never got around to watching it. I insisted we watch it right then and there; Matt put up quite a fuss, said he didn't really feel like it, but Trevor was eager.

You see, these boys are having some sexual problems. Trevor wants a lot more sex than Matt gives him. So it was mischievous of me to demand that we watch this movie.

I view the documentary at least twice a year; it features a dozen or so gay men of all races and ages and lifestyles speaking frankly about sexuality. Every time, I learn something new; a different voice speaks to me.

Last night, it was the fifty-something balding man with the sad eyes and the stutter who I connected with. He spoke eloquently about his sexuality evolving from a fixation on getting off with scads of different guys, that he'd thought he was after sex on all those late-night prowls but once he'd cum on any given evening he was still unsatisfied. It was companionship he'd been seeking.

He talked about how he has invested more sensuality into the mechanics of sex: "I'm a foreplay man; I'm an afterplay man. Really, that's what it's all about for me."

And he looked sad; he didn't have to come right out and say that he was single; he exuded loneliness. I recognized parts of myself in the oral and the physiognomic narratives he spun.

I don't know what Matt or Trevor's reaction to the film was; they were tight-lipped when it was over. There was no post-video discussion, and they returned home right after. Here's hoping Matt gave Trevor the fuck of his life!

I can see myself as a sensual, lonely old man; I cannot imagine ever settling down into a sexless relationship.

Surely other options can be concocted?

***

Despite my disillusionment with the inauthentic crap that goes on in the Internet chatrooms--about which Donny has bemoaned hilariously --I ended up logging onto gay.com last night. Another reason I'd stayed away is because my pewter only has 16 meg of RAM and can barely cope with the chat applets. (I don't know how many times I've been in the middle of a sizzling online chat when my screen has frozen up and I've had to reboot, re-log back into the chatrooms only to find the promising young stud has disappeared.)

As the clock struck twelve, I was checking out a facelink pic of this interesting-sounding 29 year old. He'd already seen mine, and was still chatting me up. It took about **five fucking minutes** for the URL to load up. I began to fret that he would think I'd checked out his pic, hadn't liked it, and was ignoring him, so I typed "Please be patient; my computer is very slow" but he logged off just before I hit "Enter". A couple minutes later his pic did finally load up, and he wasn’t that bad looking. His email address was there so I sent him a friendly little email to explain what happened, so as not to be rude.

Then "Bottom-23" pulled me into chat. He too had seen my pic in my profile, and as was expected from a guy with such a nick, his first query was whether or not I was a top.

"It's been known to happen," I replied, coyly.

One message lead to another, and finally he gave me his stats. He told me he was 23, obviously, and 5'8 and 140 lean pounds and Asian. "Are you still interested?" he appended.

"Sounds good so far," I wrote back. "Do you have a pic?"

Before I could send that message, my computer froze up. I felt sick, knowing from several Asian men how frequently racist white guys ignore them as soon as their ethnicity is disclosed. It took five minutes to reboot and get back on the chatroom, and I pulled Bottom-23 right back into private chat to explain what happened. Whew.

He didn't have a pic, but sure sounded interesting; in from out of town on business, staying at a hotel downtown.

Then he asked me how big my dick was. I told him. He vanished.

So there ya go: karma rarely boomerangs instantaneously.

***

Next I logged into the local Internet Relay chatroom. It wasn't very busy, of course, as most everybody was out partying. But soon Ross--that studly hung strawberry blonde with the shoe fetish--logged on. We have been chatting online for a year and half, talked on the phone once, but have never met. He recently moved out of my city, but we still keep in touch via online chats.

In providing me with a new series of crotch pics, Ross made my night; heavens, is this young man endowed! (I've debated with myself today about the ethics of posting his magnificent member here, but sorry to say, I don't think that's right, eh?) Blood started pumping--if you know what I mean--and I violated myself, ogling his fab phallus as we carried on friendly, intelligent conversation. Thank you Ross!

So, did I get laid on New Year's eve? You decide.

***

I woke up at noon today, wondering if Jon had made it through the festivities alive. Yesterday, he'd begun drinking at home at 930 am, and was intending to finish off the evening doing cocaine with Andrew.

I phoned him this afternoon, and he sounded surprisingly fresh. This was about 3 pm; Jon admitted that yes he was drinking again, already. More forcefully, I expressed my concern. My words made Jon cry. He said he wants to give up the booze and the drugs. I don't know whether he's hit his bottom yet, but he's close. I pray-- not a verb I use often, or lightly--that he gets there before he kills himself.

Jon opened up more and more. Soon he wanted to read me a journal entry he wrote three years ago. It was beautiful. As I listened to this over the phone, I considered sharing yesterday's entry with him. So I asked him; he said he wanted to hear it. I was nervous, but I read what I'd written. Dead silence on the phone for 90 seconds afterwards, then Jon cried, thanked me over and over again for my honesty. Said he'd need to lean on me to beat this. Said he might even have to go to AA.

Jon is so loveable, talented, irreplaceable. He could do anything he sets his mind to. He wants to be an actor. "And I really need you to hear me," I said, as he discussed goals and aspirations, "Unless you deal with the booze and drugs, you're gonna be dead."

I don't say things like that lightly. He heard me.

It's up to him. I know this from my own experience: he has to make the decision. And it's fucking scary. But I've done as much as I can do.

The reason he sounded so fresh? Turns out the coke he and Andrew procured from a drag queen who works at the bar last night was actually crushed-up aspirin tablets. Jon was incensed.

"Well, I see it quite differently," I said, "Methinks someone or something was watching over you."

***

Okay, so I'm touching base with my pantheon of ex's. Nick, my second lover, came over for coffee tonight. We get together every couple months, always expressing a desire to stay in better touch that has yet to be realized. But he's a great guy, and I am happy we've stayed friends. Nick and I dated for a year and a half, breaking up when I moved to Toronto in the summer of '93. ("I add a year to each relationship," I said to Kyle and J.C. last night; Matt and I were together for almost six months, Nick lasted a year and a half, Mark two and a half years.)

I have always loved Nick's bizarre sense of humor, his big belly laugh. The poor guy's getting the belly to go with it, alas. But he works out a lot, and is otherwise in fantastic shape. Tonight, it turned out, he'd come to my place directly from the peep shows--a porno shop downtown with private viewing booths, a cruisey venue for man-on-man sex. Laughingly, he told me there was only one young buck on the premises who interested him; the rest of the patrons were older, unappealing men. So Nick was happy that the object of his desire wandered into the next cubicle, flopped his dick through the glory-hole for some attention my ex-lover was all to happy to provide. But then, after a few minutes, the guy wandered off again.

Disappointed, Nick went over to where the tasty young man was sitting, asked him if he'd like to join him in his cubicle, pick up where they'd left off. "Later," was the guy's reply. Nick waited around, watching the guy sit there, growing impatient. Finally he approached him again, asked if he was ready to hook up.

"Um, I'm going to be here for quite some time," was the stud's annoyed reply.

"Well, **I'm** not!" huffed Nick. Adding, "Fine, go let some old man do you then," as he stormed away.

Laugh-tears were streaming down his face as he told me this misadventure. He flashed me one of those impish, guilty looks. "Oh yeah, and I also gave him the finger."

I thought we'd both pee our pants. "So, um, I have no idea why I don't have a boyfriend, eh?" Nick said. 'I'm a real catch. So mature, so psychologically well-balanced. Guys just don't know what they're missing."

That's my Nick.

Later, while we sat here at my pewter--perusing the thousands of face and dick pics I've acquired over years of online chatting--Nick began to tell me a story about the biggest dick he'd ever encountered. As he situated this anecdote in time, I interrupted him: "Hey!" I said, feigning indignation, "You realize that this experience occurred while you and I were a couple, eh?"

Nick laughed, continued on with his story. He'd picked some guy up off the street one day. Whose cock was so thick Nick could not close his hand around it.

"But, you know, I was thinking of you the whole time, eh?" he said, batting his eyes at me. "He meant nothing to me."

Yeah, right.

Nick and I were in an open relationship and living in different cities at this late stage of our relationship, which is why tonight's exchange was totally light-hearted.

But it reminded me of a lesbian friend Sally, who broke up with her lover Denise a few months' back. The break-up was fairly amicable; after several weeks had passed, they got together for coffee. By this point Denise was in a new relationship. When Sally asked how things were going, Denise told her about the four month anniversary she and her new girlfriend would be celebrating in a few days' time.

Sally laughed and laughed and laughed. "What's so funny?" asked Denise, bewildered.

"Oh nothing," replied Sally. "It's just that we broke up three-and-a-half months ago, that's all."

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