Late last Thursday night he hit me up on Adam4Adam.com.
A tall, dark-skinned brother in his late 30’s. Just two miles away if you drove in a straight line.
“Look, I just want to suck some dick,” he texted. “I don’t drive but you could come over.”
I’m not lying. His photos looked hot. We phoned each other. His voice was masculine and had that edge to it. You know, that huskiness and urgency that is in the timbre of a man’s voice when he is horny as shit.
“Yeah, text me that address.”
But when he gave me his address he directed me to come to the rear of the row house.
“Why? Are you not alone?”
“My girl and kids are upstairs sleeping. It would take an hour on buses to come to you. But I can open the basement door and you can just come downstairs. I want to suck that big dick.”
“Dude, are you crazy? That’s so disrespectful.”
“I’m feeling hormonal,” he answered. “Just come over.”
There was no way I would have done that. What if his son or daughter woke up and walked downstairs and saw Daddy doing something salacious that would have them laying on a therapist’s couch 20 years from now?
What if his girl came down? And had a knife. Or a gun. Or a frying pan.
Oh HELL no I wasn’t going.
But his dilemma made me think. How long could his situation go on? I had been down that road years ago (read my earlier blog entries to see).
I had come far enough to see where his path would lead.
This wasn’t going to come to a good end. He was going to break out of this down-low prison eventually or his woman was going to find out and spring him from prison himself, possibly in a messy, disastrous way.
I wanted to tell him so much. To give advice. To warn.
Instead I logged off, turned over and went to sleep. The next time he hits me up I promise I will try to talk to him but that Thursday night I was too tired.