A record-breaking snowfall has hit our metropolitan area, paralyzing the city. You think that would slow a brother like me down? I don’t think so.
This weekend I’ve played, learned some new things about myself, and seen a shift in my relationships with friends. I got a lot to say. So here we go.
Friday Afternoon, February 5:
“Oliver,” a dude I had been rolling with regularly and I really liked, had invited me to be snowed in at his place. We made tentative plans the night before. But on late Friday morning his text messages abruptly stopped. I assume he found someone else he would rather be snowed-in with — we are men and I understand how fickle men are sexually.
But the he could have been up front and honest and let me know instead of stringing me along for two days. I’ve come to the realization this dude is not worth my friendship or time. He is fun but too self-centered. So adios amigo..
And besides, I had made an alternate plan in case Oliver pulled another flake-out act. My buddy “Andre” invited me to crash at his place. Andre is a good cook, and great host, and is place is close to downtown restaurants and bars. So instead of being stuck in the snow in the suburbs I aimed my car at his place. I arrived just as the snow was getting heavy and found a parking space.
Then I got on the phone and called another buddy, “Baron.” Baron is a dark-skinned, tight-bodied brother, and very sophisticated sexually. He lives in the suburbs too.
“Why don’t you come in the city and hang out with Andre and me?” I asked.
“That sounds good. Hey my roommate has a four-wheel drive and can get me to the subway. Let me ask.”
In two hours Baron was knocking on the door, a blizzard was raging outside, and the weekend was starting. First off the bat Andre and Baron cussed me out for wasting my time with Oliver. Gay men can get brutally honest when they “read you.” It’s hard to take to take criticism but it’s something I needed to hear.
“I never hear anything good about this person,” Baron said.
“I keep hearing this same shit over and over. You must like that drama,” Andre said, throwing up his hands.
“If you let a person treat you like that it won’t get better. They will keep doing the same thing.”
I’m well over 40 years old now and I know they are right. So enough with the lecturing. I was ready to play.
“Let’s go to a sex club,” I suggested. I got on the phone and sure enough, there was one open about a mile and half away. But it was late and the subway was closed, the streets were piled with snow, and the few cabs running were charging exorbitant fares.
So we bundled up ands headed out on foot. Even with all the snow, some bars were open, and tipsy young people were out in the street. Some were even having snowball fights. I love snow and I love being out in it. I was in heaven.
There were only about a dozen guys at the sex club but we made the best of it. Highlights of the night: Baron met this 6 foot 4 black guy in the military with a hardcore body and swinging dick and got busy. I met a Danish white boy whose flight was stranded in our city. I prefer black men but he proved to me white guys could be very nice to lay with and the myth all white men have smaller penises is a myth. He was sporting a thick, eight-inch dick.
“Europeans tend to have bigger dicks,” said Baron, who has traveled abroad and played with all types.
“Man, you’re not kidding.”
Saturday, February 6:
We played around at the club until almost dawn. Then we trudged back through the drifts and blowing snow and made bacon and eggs, sausage and bagels. But I since couldnt’ sleep I got up and shoveled out the driveway and took a long, hot bath.
Since I was in the city I knew several guys within walking distance. One was “Axel,” a 50-something brother who had suggested I join a gay men’s support group. We are both Geminis and talk a mile a minute, changing subjects constantly, going off on tangents, and somehow coming back to where we started in the first place.
I called Axel. “Yeah, come over and hang out.”
Andre and Baron were still lounging around the house, sipping drinks. I hate lounging. I am a bundle of energy and like to move. So I head through the snow to Axel’s place. It was nearer than I thought. I got there in 15 minutes, despite the deep snow.
Axel has been around awhile so he regaled me with stories of our city’s once vibrant gay cruising and club scenes and stories about all the men he had known who had died from AIDS in the ’80s and ’90s when the disease tore through the gay community. We wondered why so many younger gay men now have raw, unprotected sex.
“I went to a sex party recently and was about to fuck this bottom and put on a condom and he looked at me like I was crazy,” Axel said. “Then I realized it was a raw party. My buddy who asked me didn’t tell me that.”
“So I just sat back and watched,” he said, shaking his head.
Axel is a decade older than me but still has a lean, fit body. So we went upstairs and played awhile. Two “tops” playing can be a lot of fun, because you focus more on foreplay since penetration is not the ultimate objective. We ended the session with jacking off together. When Axel cums he really cums. His kneeled beside me and busted his nutt over my dark body. It felt like warm raindrops spattering my body.
I was more tired than I realized. I fell asleep, snoring loudly. When I woke two hours later Axel had fixed batter-fried flounder, rice, broccoli and carrots.
It was a perfect snowy afternoon — good company, good conversation, good food, good sex and a good nap.
When I got back I found Andre and Baron were back in the bedroom, fucking the brains out of some young white guy they met online. All I heard were moans from behind the bedroom door.
“Stay out here,” Andre said, ordering me to park my ass in the living room. I had no problem with that — let them enjoy themselves. I put my snow suit back on and went back outside and started digging out my car.
The air was crisp and cold. Young people were out playing in the snow under the streetlamps. I smiled at them as I worked, remembering when I was a young kid who thought the snow was magical.
Sunday, February 7
Sunday morning I went online and invited an older guy I know to come over and play with us. “Baxter” owns a holistic health center in the city. Although he is older he is tall and lean and keep himself in great shape.
It took him hours to get there because the subway was running slowly. He came back into the bedroom and we started playing. Andre came back and took off his clothes and lay beside us. But Baxter didn’t engage him so Andre got up and left.
So I kept playing. Then Andre came back and I tried to play with his nipples and get the action going with the three of us.
“That’s okay,” Andre said, and left again. So I kept sexing Baxter until Andre came back in the room and said our time was up and it was time Baxter left.
From then on, things got worse.
Andre called me rude, and a “sad-sack piece of shit.” You see, the rule was that if one of us played with a guest that weekend we were all supposed to play with that guest. Funny, I didn’t know there was a rule. And Andre and I have played countless times before with multiple partners. So what was the big deal if one of them preferred to play with me and not him? Why let one piece of ass come before friends?
“One day that dick of yours is going to get you into trouble you can’t get out of,” he said.
Funny, my dick was not a problem when it was helping Andre score a hookup. But It was his house and I had to respect him. I apologized and gave him a bear hug and told him I loved him, which I do. But he kept bitching about the issue, like a dog gnawing a bone.
And then I looked at Andre and realized something. The guy had been drinking vodka and juice all weekend. He woke up in the morning and started drinking before breakfast. When Andre is sober he is warm, engaging and gentle. But when he drinks small, things set him off. A meanness clouds his warm, brown eyes.
The previous night he made a pot of delicious beef soup and I drank it out of a big mug while we watched “Unforgiveable Blackness,” a PBS documentary about boxer Jack Johnson.
“Look at him, drinking soup out of a cup instead of a bowl,” Andre said to Baron. I thought to myself, “Why is he trying to put me down? What’s up with that? Who gives a fuck how I drink soup?”
He had criticized me for leaving Baron alone with him while I went visiting Axel. But Andre had a small apartment and I didn’t want to cramp them. I thought by going out and taking a breather I would not wear out my welcome.
Then he had called me a “dumbass” for putting up with Oliver’s antics. I may be a sexual freak but I am far from dumb. When I get enough of a person I know how to cut them out of my life.
It was clearly time to go home. I had already paid an elderly black man $25 to help me finish digging my car out of the snow drifts. The road was still slushy but I was only a quarter mile from the main streets, which were plowed down to the blacktop.
I ordered Baron to pack. Then we started to head out.
“Look, you’re just going to go out there and get caught in the snow. The streets are bad and the city is closed down,” Andre said.
But I wanted to get back to my own apartment, my own bed, my freedom.
My car got caught in the snow one time but a neighbor and Baron gave it a push, and we were off. I didn’t stop until we were back in the suburbs.
Despite the drama it was a good weekend. It has helped me focus on who I need to keep in my life and who needs to go as I make this journey. I am worth more than I give myself credit for. I am stronger and more resilient than I thought. I still love people and life.