What’s Wrong with the Children?


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?

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.

Guilt


ThinkstockPhotos-912932514

“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.

 

I Cram to Understand You


Thought I knew you well enough to call you a man, but

Just like a test
Ju-just like a test
Ju-just like a test
I cram to understand you

Rapper MC Lyte 1988

From the start I should have known he was a low-grade sociopath. But against my better judgement my adventurous ass had to taste him. And I got a sour taste in my mouth, like lemon and salt.

My partner and I had known “Lawrence” for a minute. He came to one of our sex parties with another guy who was so hyped up on drugs that we almost had to throw him out. But Lawrence was cool — he wore a pair of long Johns and looked sexy sitting in a chair getting his big dick sucked while it was sticking out of them.

A month or so after that party he came back and had a threesome with Van and me. But that affair was kind of weird — Lawrence mostly just lay back passively while we played with him. So Van and I decided that likely wouldn’t happen again and chalked it up to experience.

Months passed. In November and early December of 2016 Van was away in Florida setting up his condo and I was alone for a month. But it was cool — we have an open relationship so it was understood I could have company.

And Lawrence started hitting me up around that time, saying he wanted to get together again. And finally it happened again.

He came over and we had some weed and hit the bed and I’m not lying the sex was much better than before and stretched my boundaries. And I think we met the next week and did it again.

And he started coming on strong, throwing out hints he wanted to meet my Mom and date me, and calling me up at lunch just to talk.  And against my better judgement, or maybe because I was lonesome, I started to get hooked on the attention. Because it was intoxicating.

And then one Saturday morning he invited me to go with him to walk his dog at Druid Hill Park. The day was starting and that damp cold that can grip Maryland at the start of winter was setting in. I could feel it lapping my cheeks like wet, icy kisses.

We were in the middle of the field and he let his big, furry dog off the leash to go running. And he turned and embraced and kissed me, right out in the open. Traffic just going by on Beechwood Drive and just beyond on busy Auchentoroly Terrace. A few people even walked nearby and I swear a man in a parked work truck looked over and stared.

I have to admit it was hot. It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me as an openly gay man. Like I was in a movie or something.

But another part of my mind was thinking about what I had read about sociopathic people. That they hook you with attention and flattery to get what they really want. And that you are really disposable.

In fact his behavior perplexed me so much one day I called him and just asked.

“What do you want from me, man?”

He paused and answered.”A fuck buddy.”

That soon became apparent. He wanted me only when he wanted sex. And since I was getting a nutt too why not?

A few weeks before Christmas he met me at the nightclub Bunns  on a Friday night. He introduced me to an old friend of his, “Taylor,” who was attending a private birthday party upstairs.

“We want to freak with you Immanuel. Let’s go over to Taylor’s place,” Lawrence said.

It was cool and I got Taylor’s address and cellphone number and we met up at his spot, smoked some weed, and got to freaking. Taylor was younger with a big dick like mine and we tore up Lawrence’s tall, brown-skinned body. We  fucked him doggystyle and bent over the sofa and all over the floor of the living room.

It surprised me that Lawrence, a person who was so businesslike and professional during the week could let himself get fucked so roughly. I remember thinking if there were 10 guys up in there that night he would have let them all run up in him — that’s just how much in heat he was.

But I noticed Taylor acted a bit jealous of the attention Lawrence showed me. For instance while we were smoking I mentioned that I had invited Lawrence on a gay men’s trip with Van and me and Taylor looked hurt.

“You used to go on trips with me like that, Lawrence,” he said.

After we nutted we put on our clothes and Lawrence went to his car and I went to mine. It was a cold night and so I let my car idle and heat up. But before I could drive off Taylor was texting me, inviting me back to his ground floor apartment to keep fucking.

But I begged off, saying I had a busy Saturday ahead. And wasn’t he Lawrence’s friend?

Later that morning Taylor kept hitting me up. So I texted Lawrence to tell him what his friend was doing.

“He always does that shit,” Lawrence said, sounding angry. “He always hits up on the other guy after we have a threesome. Look Immanuel, I want you to let me know before you have sex with him again.”

Lawrence sounded like a jealous lover. So I told him I had no intention of sexing Taylor solo. And I texted Taylor and told him that too.

Taylor’s response was downright weird.

“Fuck you I don’t care,” he said. “I was really into Lawrence anyway.”

So why hit me up?

Then I told a good friend of mine “Darryl” about how Lawrence was acting and the weird aftermath to the threesome I had. And Darryl, who grew up in Baltimore and has been on the scene awhile, schooled me. I didn’t have to cram for the test about Lawrence anymore.

Lawrence was the type who would meet a guy and throw themselves into them and then fade back, just like he was doing to me and had probably done to Taylor, who was apparently still bent out of shape, Darryl explained.

Lawrence also only came out on the gay scene when he got horny and wanted to freak, Darryl said. He was one of those gay men who was only in it for the sex. In fact, Darryl had first met Lawrence in another gay bar, “The Gallery,” and Lawrence had only been introduced to him for less than an hour before Lawrence offered to suck his dick in the stall in the men’s bathroom.

“There is something about him that turned me off so I didn’t do it,” Darryl said. “Look Immanuel, I can’t tell you what to do but that guy is not worth your time. Fuck him if you want but keep him at arm’s length.”

Christmas came and I went to Florida to be with Van and Lawrence had to have an operation so our relationship cooled.  I told Van what went down and he was pissed that Lawrence would try to make relationship overtures to me while he was away. But again, we chalked it up to experience. Because a lot of gay men are messy like that, Van said.

“He will hit you up again,” Van said.

And from time to time Lawrence would text me, or we would flirt because I must admit the attention was intriguing. But things would be weird sometimes.

I remember one night in March I was out dancing in Baltimore and he sent me a text at 1:30 a.m.. He was at a freak session down in Washington, D.C. and sent me a picture he apparently secretly took of a naked guy who was with him.

“Wyd,” he texted.

“Barhopping,” I texted.

“Freaking in dc thought you might be in the area,” he said.

Lawrence had admitted to me he had tried every drug in the book. He was probably hyped up on meth or something and getting his back blown out and wanted another dick, I thought.

“Okay, thanks of thinking of me lol,” I texted back.  I don’t think he got that I was being sarcastic.

The photo Lawrence texted me.

And the next day I unfriended him on Facebook because that text exchange proved the point Darryl was trying to make. I decided I didn’t want to give somebody like that too much access to my life.

But a year passed and November has come around again. And the weather is turning chilly and damp. And Van went to Florida to check up on the condo and I was again alone.

And Lawrence said he wanted to hang out with me and we met up at Bunns. We talked awhile and then I went out front to grab a cigarette. And he soon rushed out after me, looking like he thought I would just leave without letting him know.

I really wanted to go barhopping that night and I suggested we hit The Eagle but he soon just came out and said why he wanted to hang out with me.

“I want you to fuck the shit out of me.”

His eyes looked almost like he was pleading — or was just plain horny. So I said yes and he followed me home.

But the sex was different — it didn’t have the same heat as a year before. I felt like I was going through the motions — like I was looking at myself having sex with him. In fact, my dick could barely stay hard.

And he fell asleep before I could ask him to leave and was snoring so I let him rest. And we lay a few hours and then I got up and showered and fed the cat and made myself a cup of coffee. And I heard him upstairs getting up and dressing.

And when he came downstairs and put on his coat to leave I looked at him and wondered, “Why the fuck did I do that?”

I felt a little used but hey I am very grown and knew what I was doing. I wanted to taste that again to see if it would be the same. But it wasn’t.

Now I have to get that sour taste out of my mouth again.