Sunday, 31 January 1999I feel exuberant, fabulous; and my laundry is in the dryer for the next 50 minutes so I have decided to finish this volume off after all tonight, and start the month of February off in a brand-spanking-new volume.
Had a fascinating experience in the shower room at the YMCA today. I was talking to Art (who I haven’t seen in about 3 years) and I kept stealing glances at this mouth-wateringly beautiful man, probably 30, showering across from us. His smooth, tanned skin was luminescent, his buttcheeks perfectly delectable. All of a sudden, once he had turned around and was facing me, I realized with a start that his right arm was not there! It had obviously been amputated, high above the elbow. I was shocked, but not horrified or repulsed: just curious. I continued to steal glances without being obvious, and I was completely fascinated. His physique (including a luscious big dick just a-flopping there) was stunningly sexy, and he was missing an arm. Like I say, I took care not to be disrespectful, but I could barely take my eyes off him.
He was showering next to another hot guy, and the vibe between them suggested they were lovers. Wow.
What I was thinking: I would love to touch him, make love, get fucked by him. But it was more than that too, somehow. And I don’t really know how to express it. Something about the sexiness that alchemizes out of imperfectness. Some of the same stuff that was so rich in being sexual with Mark. What bodies are for, what eros can teach us when we open ourselves on a level deeper than what culture feeds us.
My sex life has been rich of late, even when the sex per se has been occasionally disappointing. I am becoming more open to Eros, less fixated on the quick fix. I have a long way to go, and I am predicting that in large part this is what 1999 will be about for me.
There was a stunning, tall hunky black guy named Rudy at the conference in San Francisco. I was blown away by his beauty, and one of the most erotic moments of the whole trip was sitting behind him during the post-banquet entertainment, drinking in the sight of his shaved head, the muscular curve of his neck. I sank right into the efferverscence of that moment, and this resonated far deeper down inside me than any of the actual sex I had in San Francisco, even the massage!
I ran into Rudy later that night on Market Street, as I was waiting to meet the guy I’d set up a sex date with off the Internet, Gary, which was bizarre as I’d been thinking about Rudy when he walked up to me. We had a brief chat. He’s a psychology student in NYC, I learned. And the next day, Rudy flashed me TWO intense, sensual smiles—the second more intense than the first—that took my breath away. So I assume there was some mutual interest. I felt no impulse to pursue anything, and Ed told me later that he heard Rudy has a lover back home. The smiles were beautiful. They were enough.
Sometimes, erotic energy can be expressed, communicated, without having sex. Go figure!
