The 33-year Wait



I think a part of me always wanted to get down with “Terrell.”

I first met him in college, way back in the mid 1980s. He was the roommate of a friend of mine so I would run into him when I visited their dorm.

From the start it was clear Terrell was different. He dressed very trendy and preppy — Izod shirts, sweaters draped over his shoulders with arms tied across his chest, and duck boots. And he had an ethereal air about him — like he was just floating above the fray and didn’t give a fuck what anybody thought about him.

But he was movie star handsome — with dark, chocolate skin, deep-set eyes and a high-bridged nose.

Until the day I die I will always have this image of Terrell in my mind.

I was registering for fall classes and standing in a line waiting my turn on the stairs leading up to the Greco-Roman style Administration building. And I glanced down and saw Terrell sunning on the lawn.

The fact a black man was sunning was itself unusual — only white kids did that stuff back then.

But then Terrell casually pulled off his shirt, put on some dark Ray-Ban Wayfarers shades (they were all the rage since Tom Cruise wore them in the 1983 film “Risky Business”) and leaned back sensually and stretched like a black panther.

I was supposed to be “straight” then but I couldn’t help but admire his beautiful, lean, hairless torso and smooth, long legs. And despite the dark shades he was looking directly at me, almost like an invitation.

Embarrassed, I broke my gaze.

That summer “Caswell,” my friend who lived with Terrell, and I were hanging out in Washington, D.C.’s Georgetown neighborhood, riding around in my older brother’s Nissan 300ZX with the T-Top down and Prince’s song “Pop Life” blaring from the stereo.

Caswell took a moment from whistling at the girls on the sidewalk to turn to me.

“You want to know something Immanuel? I think that guy Terrell who lives with me in the dorm is a faggot.”

I was really intrigued but I tried to play it cool. Caswell might think I was gay if I sounded too eager.

“Wow, really man?”

“Yup. He acts like a faggot and got nothing but dudes coming up in there.”

Then we started talking about something else. However, a few days later the phone rang in my Mom’s kitchen and it was Terrell.

“Your buddy Caswell told me you are wondering what is going on in my house bitch,” he said nastily. “If you want to know motherfucker just ask me.”

I was shocked. How did he even get my number? But I regrouped quickly.

“Look, you can kiss my ass. Caswell brought that shit up. I never asked about what you do or don’t do.”

My voice was loud. I remember my big brother over heard the conversation and walked up.

“Hey Immanuel, are you okay? Is somebody bothering you? Because we can go fuck them up.”

“No, I’m okay. I can handle this.”

I got Terrell off the phone. In fact, he may have hung up on me. I don’t remember.

I never figured why Caswell told him about our one-sided conversation. Were they fucking?

Since senior year was starting and I was working and living off campus and just trying to graduate the whole crazy exchange fell off my radar blip.

That is, until recently.

Terrell came up as a friend suggestion on Facebook so I friended him. I learned Terrell went on to become a dancer and singer, appearing in theaters and on cruise ships. He also has an acting career and has appeared in bit roles on TV detective and cop shows.

His family is from Baltimore and he comes back from time to time to visit. Including this summer.

So he popped up on Grindr and I recognized his photo and hit on him and he responded. I explained to him who I was and that I always had a crush on him but he still wanted to come over.

And hour later he knocked and I opened the door and he was still handsome just older, with faint wrinkles creasing the corner of his eyes, which are still large and beautiful.

When he took off his clothes he was heavier than when he was young or in his Grindr photos but he was still looking good. And shoot — I’m older and balder and heavier than I was in 1985.

After we got naked he started sucking my dick, quite well I might add. I thought at first that was all he wanted to do. But then he got on all four and turned his shapely ass back to me and I mounted him and banged his ass while he moaned softly into the pillow.

Then we jacked and busted nutts and it was time for him to go. He was in town for his nephew’s high school graduation and ceremony started in a few hours.

“It was nice to see you again man,” I said.

“Yeah, it sure was.” he answered.

I doubt we will hook up again. The sex was nice but not spectacular. It’s funny how something you fantasize about for 33 years can be better as a fantasy than in reality.

But we stay cool and continue to text and keep up with each other.

The Down-Low Men I Left Behind


man walking in the night

When I think about what I did — getting into men, separating from my wife, divorcing and starting a new life on the gay side — I was either very brave, very stupid, very crazy or all three.

Would I do it again? Mostly in hindsight I say yes but then at other times I doubt myself.

But then I look at guys I have interacted with who are still down-low and doing the same thing. Remember, almost a decade has passed since I started this blog. I was in my early 40s. Now I’m in my early 50s.

And there are men out there my age and older who are still doing the DL song-and-dance.

There is Gerald, 70 years old and still creeping. Remember him from this 2014 blog post? His wife had a stroke and he wanted me to come and lay up with him at his house while she was in rehabilitation. I just couldn’t do such a disrespectful thing.

Now Gerald is recovering from prostate cancer treatment but is still as horny for man sex as ever. I have heard sexual desire really does not fade as we age — just the ability to perform.

Gerald is staring mortality in the face (we all are now that we are middle-aged) and he texted me something very poignant. He said sometimes he looks back and knows he would have been happier if he had come out as gay in college instead of just getting married to meet other people’s expectations.

To be 70 years old and regret not being your true self is profoundly sad to me.

Remember Samuel, the older Caribbean man who came to me for advice about leaving his marriage? It’s six years later and he is still with her and sneaking around like an undercover agent searching for dick. Just stuck in a rut.

Then there is Lamont — the DL businessman with the big house who creeps on his wife with men, even boldly doing so while vacationing with her on cruise ships. Well,  last month his wife and child went on a vacation together and he had the house to himself.

Like Gerald he wanted me to come lay up — and bring the condoms and lube too because he couldn’t keep stuff like that around the house where wifey could find them.

I politely turned him down. I like sex as much as the next person and he has an amazing body but the whole thing — sneaking into the house while the wife is away — just doesn’t appeal to me. It’s not sexy or exciting. It’s just kinda pathetic.

Married guys still hit up on me online. DL men my age who have been swinging with men on the sly since high school and college and are still doing that same shit at 20, 30, 40 and even a half century later. How they keep that from their wives for so long amazing me unless their wives really don’t give a fuck.

Sometimes I envy them, I gotta admit. They have the hetero-privilege, the respectability, the public persona of being upright family men. They didn’t disrupt their families and have to rebuild relationships with children, friends and other family members like I did.

But when I really sit down and think about it I’m happy and content and free. And my life is not a half-lie. So I guess I’m good.

Cruise Ship Capers


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Lamont loves to take cruises with his wife. But it’s also a chance for him to hook up with men on the high seas.

I saw my old buddy “Lamont” a few weeks ago. He is the down-low, married man who lives in a big house in the Maryland suburbs of Washington, D.C.

He has a government job and a real estate business on the side, so brother isn’t hurting financially and is living the good life. In fact, he always lets you know this because he often brags about his fine house and nice vacations.

“I just got back from a cruise to Aruba with my wife,” he said. “It was great.”

“Oh, I bet you didn’t get a chance to do much playing out in the middle of the ocean with your wife on the same boat.”

“Oh yes I did Immanuel,” he said with a sneaky grin twisting his face.

Lamont explained how it happened.

“My wife is very gay friendly and she struck up a conversation with this handsome gay black couple while we were in the elevator,” he said. “I played it cool but they were giving me the stare so I knew what was up.”

Lamont said he passed them a few times in the hallway and struck up conversations. It happened the two guys were friends and not a couple. And it soon became apparent they both wanted to freak with him.

So Lamont told his wife he was going to gym, or to lay by the pool or to the casino. But he was really going to hook up.

He had sex with the guys separately. And they might have even gotten together for a threesome — I don’t remember that detail.

This year’s cruise was not the first time this happened. Lamont said he has gone on other cruises with his wife and hooked up with men. So what should be a romantic trip with a married couple often turns into a chance for him to get some male-on-male sex.

“Lamont, weren’t you afraid your wife would catch you sneaking into their rooms,” I asked.

“Nah man, those ships are big,” he said. “And my wife isn’t very inquisitive. She lets me do my thing and I let her do hers.”

Read more about Lamont in my 2009 entry, “Portrait of a Down-Low Brother: Lamont”

The Nigerian Dancer


The Nigerian’s profile pic.

The Nigerian Dancer teaches Afro dance classes in New York City and comes to Baltimore and Washington. D.C. for gigs.

He hit me up online and for a year has insisted on meeting me. But he looked so young – he is 30 but looks like a teenager – that I continually fluffed him off.

But Monday he visited Baltimore and texted that he wanted to meet me while on his way to a cousin’s home. I explained I was taking a flight to Florida to see my partner in a few hours.

“I can Uber to you in 15 minutes,” he said.

So I reluctantly said yes but was pleasantly surprised. He was very intelligent and mature and expressed happiness to get a Green Card so he can practice his art in the United States and be more openly gay.

Plus he had a beautiful mocha body, tight ass, and a huge duck for visuals.

I took a few photos for souvenirs. Here they are two:

Guilt


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“Ira” hit me up on Craigslist months ago before Craiglist yanked the personals ads.

From the start I should have known he was wrestling with deep issues. Like starting with his name. What parents give their son a name more commonly given to girls? That had to fuck him up as a kid.

Ira is married and lives in one of those mini-mansion, tract homes in the Baltimore suburbs of Owings Mills. He is tall and light-skinned, in his late 50s, still has a decent body, and runs a successful media business.

Through a series of texts Ira explained that although he is married and a father and grandfather he has played with men since his days in college at Morgan State University.

“I’ve never been very good with women,” he said.

Since Ira claims to be religious he would go through periods of extreme guilt after playing with men. But of course the desire would build again and a few weeks or months later Ira would again find a man to rub dicks with.

Personally I thought we would never meet — he seemed so conflicted and more interested in talking about male-to-male sex than doing it. But last weekend I got a surprise text from him. He was doing some business nearby and wanted to drop by. We had been texting back and forth for a year, so why not?

But the sex was weird. I knew he wasn’t into penetrative sex so it would all be foreplay. But he insisted I put on a condom just to frottage because he was afraid of catching a disease and taking it back to his wife.

Then he averted any eye contact with me at all, his eyes darting away when I looked at him like some nervous animal.

“If I don’t look at you I  still get the feeling of sex but I can kinda psyche myself out that I’m not really here,” he explained.

Yup, told you brother man had issues.

To be honest he insulted me. He was the one seeking me out but then treated me like a walking germ just waiting to give him an STD. And the sex was trash.

Then, not long after he departed Ira texted saying he was again suffering from a severe case of religious guilt. It was like he was blaming me.

“I have reservations and I’m trying to be sincere to my wife.”

“I have God on my side. That’s why I feel uncomfortable with it.”

I urged Ira to not walk but run to get therapy from a psychologist or social worker who was an expert in dealing with men grappling with same-sex attraction. And I assured him that he could still have an active faith based life and still be a same gender loving man. He just had to work it out.

That backfired.

“Messing around is not my cup of tea any longer. I’m distancing myself from sin,” he responded.

The next day I called two buddies to talk about Ira. One is a gay man who was formerly married to a woman but is now married to a man and is a minister and gospel singer in southern Maryland. Let’s call him “Daniel.”

And the second friend lives in San Francisco and is very active in the Congregational Church in California. Let’s call him “Roger.”

“That man is just ignorant about the Bible,” Roger said.

Roger went on to explain how some so-called Christians pick and choose parts of the Old Testament Book of Deuteronomy that seem to condemn homosexuality. But they conveniently ignore other parts of the book that say practices such as eating shellfish and wearing garments of mixed fabric will send you to hell, too.

The Apostle Paul, who wrote against homosexuality, was a product of the patriarchal Jewish society of his times, Roger explained. The most important thing is Jesus never condemned homosexuality in the Gospels and in fact if Jesus was on Earth today he would probably be supporting oppressed groups such as immigrants, the homeless and LGBT people, he said.

“I think Ira’s main problem is not that he is gay but why is he cheating on his wife,” Roger said. “When he figures out why he is married to her and cheating everything else will work out. It goes beyond the fact he is gay.”

Daniel was more blunt, which surprised me because he is a minister so I thought he would have a more conciliatory, helpful tone. Daniel said he was just tired of arguing with ignorant people such as Ira about whether being gay was a sin.

The medical and mental health profession had long ago proved that homosexuality is merely a part of the human continuum. And many denominations now accept LGBTQ people, Daniel said.

“Why are you wasting time with that brother,” Daniel said. “He is not worth arguing with. And please don’t have sex with him again.”

 

 

 

The Handymen


I took a shot of “Dominic” with my cellphone. He and Carlos showed up for work at my house not wearing drawers. I saw a lot more of them than just their roofing work.

My rowhouse is almost 100 years old. So renovation has been a constant thing since I moved in five years ago.

First I added a bathroom. Then my partner Van and I gutted out the old kitchen and had a contractor install a new, modern one. Then it was on to re-do the upstairs bathroom. And on and on.

And we hire handymen to do the work. And sometimes these outwardly macho men do some of the gayest shit.

I met “Carlos” at Club Bunns on game-night. We were spade partners. And we whipped ass, winning two or three games in a row.

He mentioned he did some home repair work so I said, “Damn, man I need a new roof on my back porch. Could you do the job?” And Carlos said, “Damn, skippy.”

But even though Carlos was at a gay bar, playing spades with a bunch of gay dudes, he explained he was straight. In fact, he just did occasional maintenance work at the bar and had a girlfriend.

“There she is over there at getting a drink,” he said. And he introduced me to this cute, little brown-skinned thing.

But that very night Carlos pulled me outside for a cigarette break and started complaining about how he and his girl didn’t get along and fought all the time and how sometimes he just hated going home.

This was a red flag to me — sometimes “straight men” use that “I-ain’t-getting-along-with-my-girlfriend” routine as a way to get out and hook up with men.

Then I mentioned to the club manager that I was going to hire Carlos to do some work

“Hey, that’s my boy,” the manager, “Antonio” said. “Are you going to try to get that ass?”

“Oh, wow, I just met his girlfriend. Does he swing with men, too? I didn’t know that was your piece,” I answered.

Antonio didn’t answer the question right off the bat (later he said he did not play with Carlos). “Oh, he does good work. You should be pleased,” he answered.

Still, I thought it odd a gay man would act so territorial about a handyman.

So a month later Carlos and his buddy “Dominic” showed up to do the work. And right off the bat I noticed they were wearing sagging jeans. And then I noticed they weren’t wearing drawers.

And they are stretching up on ladders and climbing on the porch roof and bending over to cut roofing tiles. And their asses were out. And their pants were sagging so low in front I could see pubic hair. And the dick prints were popping.

And they had to be checking each other out because sometimes Carlos would hold the ladder for Dominic and Dominic’s ass would be right in his face. And vice versa.

And they bantered and joked and joned on each other in a downright affectionate way. Like old lovers.

“I bet they get down with one another,” I thought to myself.

But I didn’t flirt or nothing. Because my gaydar could have been off and I didn’t want to mistake a straight man for a gay man. It was two against one — my partner was in Florida and I didn’t want to have to fight two dudes in my backyard.

So they got the roof done and I paid them for the job and off they went. But not 15 minutes later Carlos called back from Dominic’s phone, claiming he had misplaced his. “Can I come back and look for it,” he asks.

That’s the oldest trick in the book, I thought. I saw him glancing at me through the window while he worked. He was very friendly. He probably wanted to come back and flirt.

But all I did was help him find his phone (turned out he had really left it in the flatbed of Dominic’s truck) and sent him on his way.

But soon another handyman would come into my orbit who was much more obvious.

For months this brother on Adam4Adam was hitting me up, saying he liked my profile and photos and wanted to get together. He explained he was bisexual and not too experienced with male-on-male sex.

This week “Wallace” hit up me again so I invited him over. He explained he was a renovation contractor doing some estimates nearby and  would get to me before his next job in Glenn Burnie.

He showed up, tall, balding and light-skinned, with green eyes. Kinda handsome actually.

“I’ve been married for 16 years and have three kids,” he explained. “But I like playing with guys too. I was doing that even before I got married. Sometimes I need a little fix.”

So we went up to the bedroom and played. He took off his work jeans and boots and actually had a beautiful body with light brown, kinky hair dusting his flat stomach, chest and lean legs.

His uncut dick was big and as it got harder the head popped out from the foreskin like a gopher peeping out of a prairie hole.

He was more experienced then he let on. He kissed me sweetly and nibbled my nipples. Then I spread his legs and dove between and started eating his ass. He was clean but had been sweating and his skin had a slight salty taste.

He seemed fascinated with the size of my dick though. Soon he was sucking it and jerking it furiously. It most definitely was not one of his first times on a dick.

“I want to see you cum,” he murmured between licks.

So we lay on our backs and jerked off until it we nutted. His nutt squirted backward in an arc that splattered his belly. I got up and got a damp washcloth so he could clean up.

And we had a post-coital chat.

“So you are a contractor,” I asked. “Are you licensed and bonded?”

“Yup, I can give you my license number.”

“Well, I need some windows reframed on the back of the house. Can you do the job?”

“Yup I sure can. And my rate is usually $150 an hour but I’ll hook you up Immanuel and do it for just $75.”

“That’s a deal,” I said. “Can you come back Friday?”

“Yup I can but I work with my straight buddy. So you gotta act like we didn’t get down. I don’t want him going all over West Baltimore spreading my business.”

“Dude, for $75 an hour you don’t have to worry about that. Besides, I don’t give a fuck about your personal life. That’s none of my business. See ya Friday!”

 

 

 Walk of Shame


My partner “Van” is out of town so I hung out last night with long-time friend “Freddy.”

We met at the recently reopened Baltimore Eagle up Charles Street, one of the hottest gay spots in the city.

We caught up over drinks and then went to the dark room bar in the back to see if anything freaky was going on.

But Freddy kept pausing the convo to answer texts.

“There is this hot, built dude I met with a muscle ass who wants a threesome. Are you down?”

“Sure.”

“He has a tight ass. You will like it.”

The narrow rowhouse “DeShawn” shared with his family was less than two miles away so we got there in no time.

He had the place to himself. Everyone was at a Friday night church service.

DeShawn, a handsome, 40-year-old brown-skinned man with a rough shadow beard, met us at the door naked and led us up the stairs to his modest room in the back.

The walls were painted fire engine red and his bed was just a boxspring and mattress on the floor covered with a flowery bedspread.

A buddy of DeShawn was there fully clothed. “He was just leaving,” DeShawn said.

After his buddy left we smoked a little weed and started sexing. DeShawn took turns sucking us off as we lay on his bed.

“Damn y’all have two big dicks,” he said, looking almost beatific as he held one and then the other in his hands.

We tag teamed him every way possible. Doggy style. Spoon style. Missionary. He even made us lay back and rode us.

DeShawn was a true champ power bottom. Freddy is six feet four with a dick bigger than mine but DeShawn wasn’t complaining – he made us tap out.

But then we heard women’s voices in the hallway and we stopped all the noise and listened. DeShawn’s family was back from church.

One of the women, who I later learned was his grandmother, must have heard us.

“Did you say something,” she said to another woman.

“No I didn’t,” the woman answered.

Oh shit they probably heard us fucking, I thought.

We decided to get dressed and take the party to my house since Freddy’s house was messy.

But first we had to get past the relatives.

The room was hot and we were still sweating. We looked like we had been having sex. And probably smelled like sex, too.

We walked out of the room. I saw DeShawn’s grandmother standing in the doorway of her bedroom, already in her white bathrobe.

She just stared at us.

We walked down the stairs and a heavy, dark-skinned man with gray hair was sitting in the dining room watching a TV on the sideboard. He was Grandma’s boyfriend.

He just stared at us.

We walked through the living room and young handsome man sat there. He was staring too.

It was the friend you had been in DeShawn’s room when we arrived.

“l thought you left already,” DeShawn said.

Motherfucker was probaby eavesdropping at the door while we were fucking, I thought. I could tell just by his “cat-caught-with-a-bird-in-his-mouth” expression.

I was so embarrassed that if I was not so dark skinned you could have seen me blush.

But DeShawn acted like pulling a threesome while his relatives were in the house was no biggie.

“Oh don’t worry about it.”

They already knew he is gay as well as his baby brother.

So the party finished at my place. I took some pics in both places that I’m sharing.