Saturday, May 8, 2004I was restless at midnight last night. I didn't specifically need sex, so much as I craved some absorbing, intense experience. I knew -- and know -- that it's not usually a good idea to go out looking for sex when the motivation for doing so is not primarily erotic in nature. But I was so restless after telling David the whole story of the assault, that I went anyway.
And I do not regret it.
By the time I got to the cruising area, it was lightly raining. There were four or five guys wandering around. One or two looked interesting, but I was not powerfully attracted to anyone. So I simply bided my time.
An older Asian man I had sex with at a bathhouse the summer before I moved here was there. [Donny, in this entry.] I remembered how perfectly he sucked and jerked me that night, one of those rare occasions where someone else got me off. I wasn't all that attracted to him then, less so now. But still, my memory of his attentiveness, how excited he was by my large nipples, made me desire a repeat performance. I did nothing about it. I could tell from watching him last night—I highly doubt he recognized or remembers me—that he was looking for reciprocity. He looked desperate enough that, had I not reciprocated, he would have settled for that. Intuiting—or at least imagining—all this, I felt ethically constrained from hooking up with him.
So I bided and bided and bided...didn't feel like I needed to have sex so much as I needed to be there, smack dab in the middle of this milieu of lonely boys and hungry bodies. My sense of belonging surprised me. Harking back to seemingly olden days. There wasn't a lot going on, nor any particularly tempting potential sex partners. It didn't matter: I felt open and alive, just watching and thinking and feeling.
Then a guy showed up in a tight shiny black leather jacket. I noticed how tight the jacket stretched across his shoulders, and desired him solely on this visual fact before I got a chance to see how cute he was.
He seemed skittish—everyone did, last night—and I could not tell whether he was interested at all. He veered down towards the beach. I followed. Still no cue from him. I began to fantasize about having sex on the beach with him, while at the same time not feeling particularly safe to go too far away from everyone else in order to do so.
He wandered south a bit, sat down on the back of a park bench, staring straight ahead, everywhere but at me as I walked over and stood right there gawking at him, feeling self-conscious and aroused. He would occasionally steal glances at me, frozen-faced. My visage withered at the cold expression, and I thought I should just walk off. Yet I sensed some yearning to connect beneath the unencouraging face. I walked over and stood right in front of him, looked into his eyes—beautiful eyes—and said "You're really cute!" He smiled, asked me how I was doing. We started talking, he was friendly and his voice was (pleasingly) slightly effeminate. His friendliness had nothing to do with being in a public gay cruising area; we were just two men who recognized another queer and wanted to connect.
Thom was his name. 27, works in computers, originally from the Maritimes. Mousy blond hair, slim build, one or more earrings. Every so often as we sat there on the top of that park bench, Thom would ask about sexual things, like how often did I come here, was I top or bottom, etc. He said he had only come down here once before, had never done anything, was curious but found the scene “freaky”. He also described himself as sexually quite shy.
I was endeared from the get-go. I began flirting, and the flirtation wove itself into a delightful, full-bodied conversation.
Thom mentioned a tattoo, so of course I asked to see it. Without much hesitation, he stood up, undid his pants and exposed his hip to show me the cartoonish devil there. This revelation of flesh incited devilish promptings in me, let me tell you. But I restrained myself, made one or two flirtatious comments, and left it at that.
The more we talked, the more I liked him. I wasn't so much overpoweringly attracted to him physically as I was heartened and aroused by the friendliness. It made me yearn.
He suggested we walk, which sounded great to me. We walked south, past the swimming pool. All along, as I listened and talked so effortlessly, I scouted out our surroundings for a suitable, semi-private location for sex. I did not make my scouting verbally apparent. There was something so wholesome about him, about the energy between us: my secret preparations turned me on even more.
I particularly remember Thom telling me about his parents. His father is French and his mother is English. "They are just like kids," he said, laughing. His mother is physically a lot bigger than his father; when Thom phoned home last weekend, his mother answered and spoke to him while physically holding her husband down on the floor and tickling him mercilessly.
I wanted to touch the boy these hilarious people brought into the world.
I suggested we walk onto the beach. When we got very near the water, there was a pregnant pause. I could hear myself breathing excitedly, audibly. "Can I kiss you?"I asked. Thom paused, then said yes.
Standing by big rocks and a log too damp to sit on or lean against, we kissed. Thom was a dreadful kisser, at first. It didn't matter. We were touching at last.
At first, the standing-up sex we had was eminently forgettable. He had a nice thick uncircumcised cock. We jerked and sucked each other. But none of this was really the point. The point was our excitement, this breathy electricity a natural climax to an hour's walk and talk in the park. Nothing could be more natural, more precisely right than we two boys together clinging, the cool wind huffing against exposed throbbing midriffs.
And then, magic: it began to rain. I thought we'd get too cold and have to stop, but no. Our fervent pawwing and licking and sucking became baptismal. Raw, elemental conjoining. Thom chewed and sucked on my neck like some benign vampire, his damp body wafting up boy smells.
What can I say? I'm not entirely happy about the befuddled headspace that sent me out into the night, but what I found and made with Thom was sumptuous.
Once we'd cum and wiped up, we walked back towards home. Thom only lives a couple blocks from me, right behind the Italian place. The conversation was as comfortable and friendly as before. I felt no strong urge to give him my number, but had he offered his I would have followed up with a call. As it was, no numbers were exchanged. We had a sweet kiss and hug on the corner, said we hoped to see each other around. Thom said he hoped I would say hi if I saw him.
(I will.)
And that was as much of a hopeful future as we both seemed to need.
How fabulous. Two shy hungry boys, meeting so well, on the beach, in the rain.
11:55 p.m.
