My partner “Van” and I met “Terrell” a few years ago at Blatino Oasis at the nudist Santiago Resort in Palm Springs.
Terrell, 31, who hails from Homestead, Fla., is a kept boy. His boyfriend, or should I say patron, is “Gerard,”a wealthy, 70-year-old white man.
Gerard owns several homes in Miami and Fort Lauderdale and he flies Terrell around the world, to Spain, to Mykonos, London and even Brazil.
Yet I don’t envy Terrell, despite the fact he drives around in a BMW hard-topped convertible probably financed by Gerard.
What if Gerard gets tired of his boy toy? Or Heaven forbid dies and leaves Terrell with nothing? Terrell says he doesn’t even take Gerard around his peeps, who may know Terrell is gay but never bring it up.
I hung around with Terrell by the pool in Palm Springs. He had the best weed. We just vibed on each other’s company – he saw Van and I lounging around nude but we didn’t even so much as flirt with him
“Come on Immanuel. Let’s get high,” he would say while Gerard looked on approvingly from a patio table where he sat sipping his morning coffee and reading the paper.
And I as I puffed the blunt I would look at them and wonder how they got together. The handsome, golden-complexioned, street wise Miami boy and the wiry, slight white man.
Terrell still lives in Miami and one day he hit me up on Grindr, opened up his private pics, and we recognized each other. When I come down to Van’s place in Hollywood we always say we will hang out but never do.
But this morning he hit us up and said he wanted to get high and get fucked and watch me fuck Van. And get pics and videos.
So he came by the condo, we lit up one of his blunts, and we did that thing. Here are some pics and a video clip:
A casual acquaintance “Jaleel” called me a week or so ago, all upset.
“Come get your cousin,” he said. “He is fucking up.”
Jaleel was dating”Edgar,” a dark-skinned bottom whose family comes from the same town as my Mom. He also has the same last name as my mother’s family so we jokingly call each other cousin although we have not proven the connection.
“Oh, no Jaleel, what did he do?” But deep down I already knew. Edgar. who was married to a woman but divorced several years ago, is a dick hound. I mean, that guy would fuck a tree if someone attached a dildo to it.
“Immanuel, I really tried to make this work,” Jaleel said. “I took him out on dates, cooked for him, and even paid for comedy club tickets. But he is still keeps fucking around on me. I’ve had enough.”
Jaleel explained what happened. He had planned to take Edgar on a date on Friday night but Edgar begged off, claiming he was fighting a cold and wanted to sleep in. So Jaleel went out to Club Bunns, where DJ Thommy Davidson spins house music every Friday night and people dance until the walls sweat.
“I happened to take a break from dancing and looked on Jack’d on my phone and it said Edgar was just a mile away,” Jaleel said. “That made no sense because he lives eight miles out of town.”
Jaleel guessed Edgar was nearby at Druid Hill Park, a notorious cruising spot. People are known to go there and fuck in the bushes, on park benches, damn even the pitching mound of the baseball field.
“I drove over and saw his car and walked through the trees and there he was,” Jaleel said. “So I hid in the brush and just watched and he was doing stuff you wouldn’t believe.”
That piqued my curiosity. I wanted the dirty details.
“What was he doing, Jaleel?”
“That black motherfucker was on his knees sucking three and four dude’s dicks and bending over and taking dick up his ass — raw! I couldn’t believe that shit.”
Jaleel walked back to his car. He meant to just leave a note on Edgar’s car saying he got caught. But his anger got the best of him and he went back and confronted him in the darkness of the park.
“Bitch, I see your ass out here. It’s over. Fuck you. And here is the jacket you bought me. Give it to one of these niggers you fucking in the park.”
And despite the chilly weather Jaleel stripped off his jacket, threw it at a surprised Edgar’s feet, and stalked off.
Jaleel is handsome, a stylish dresser, owns his home and his nice as can be.
“You can do better than Edgar although I know it hurts.”
“Yeah, you are right Immanuel. Thanks for listening to me. I really needed to vent.”
And I hung up the phone.
And would you believe it wasn’t two hours later before Edgar hit me up on Adam4Adam trying to get some dick.
We don’t live in the Dark Ages.
We understand how many diseases are transmitted. We can cure things our ancestors died from like flies.
And most Americans can read at a third grade level.
Then how come there are so many young folks having raw, risky sex and drugging who get mad at you when you say, “No thanks I’ll pass ”
This handsome 22-year-old hit me up a week ago. Slender and dark as a human Tootsie Roll.
“I want you to flood me with cum,'” he said.
“Sorry, I don’t do raw and I really prefer men closer to my age.”
He didn’t take no for an answer. He sent more pics to entice me. But they turned me off more.
His arms looked like they had track marks from intravenous drug use. Then he sent a photo of his spread ass cheeks.
What was up with his fingers? They had clearly infected, ulcerated sores.
What were those white patches up his ass? Globs of cum or some disease?
And why would you send a stranger such shots?
All I could think is these young men have so much life ahead. I’m 30 years older and still enjoy life.
Why are they destroying themselves?
Self-hate in the gay community takes many forms. But one form I have noticed lately is the gay guys with girlfriends.
Like by having a girlfriend you aren’t really gay. At most you are bisexual. Which somehow in their minds is superior to being gay.
A few weeks ago I got hit up on via Facebook by an older man named “Duane.” He started flirting, which led to him sending nude photos and saying all the things he would do to me like sucking the hell out of my dick.
Finally we talked to each other by telephone and he explained that like me he had once been married and was a father and grandfather. His wife had died in a tragic accident and since then he had played with men, been in relationships with a few and even been a male exotic dancer in gay clubs to make extra money.
“But guys are crazy,” he said. “I ended up having to issue a restraining order against one of my boyfriends.”
Now Duane still plays with men and in fact bragged about hooking up with one of my old hook-ups, the illegal alien, who is now on the path to citizenship. But he also has a long-distance girlfriend in Georgia who he plans to live with when he retires in a few years.
“I just think women are better at relationships so I see myself settling down with her eventually,” he said. “I like to cook and really want to operate a food truck with her.
“Have you told this woman you have sex with men,” I asked.
“Well, she knows I experimented with men in the past and that I was an exotic dancer but she doesn’t know I’m doing so currently.”
“Do you have sex — it doesn’t seem like you get together that often,” I asked.
“Well, we have had sex one time.”
Oh. Okay. It will be interesting to see how that works out, I think to myself. For some reason I don’t think Duane is telling this woman the full truth.
Last month another man hit me up — this guy named Abebe. I think he is Ethiopian or something.
Abebe has a daughter from a previous relationship but is single now and enjoys bottoming. But when we talked on the phone I learn he has a fiancé. Like Duane, Abebe’s fiancé lives hundreds of miles away and he rarely sees her.
“Have you ever had sex,” I ask.
“No,” Abebe answers.
“Well, how often do you see her?”
“Oh, once every few weeks or months.”
These are men in their late 50s. They have good jobs and seem to be independent. They are very sexually active with men and go online to seek male partners. So why go through all this girlfriend pretense?
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.
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.