Why didn't I leave? My exorbitantly high rent and legal costs constantly drained my available cash, and I hadn't saved enough yet to afford movers or a new first/last/security rental fee.
As a cost-cutting maneuver, I already returned my car to the dealership, and it saved me lot of money. Furthermore, parked cars in Queens got scratched/dented daily by uncaring drivers, so it was more of a liability. Also, insurance rates soared when they found out that I moved to Queens. Instead, I bought monthly $125 MetroCards and took the public bus to/from work and for all errands.
I was without any money to my name. I was being prosecuted. My mother robbed me of my good
credit, double-crossed me, stole my work/energy that went into our family home, as well as all the things I bought but didn’t have
receipts for. She had me falsely arrested for insurance fraud, meanwhile she conducted an insurance scam by inflating the homeowner’s insurance claim, and she broke the
law by acting as Edith’s Power of Attorney to pay for her own expenses, which was Elder Care Abuse. My bank, of several years, lied to the District Attorney's office about instructing me to sign/print the 2 names on the insurance check. My sister and father ignored pleas for aid. My mother demonstrated that she hated her gay son. I had been nothing more than a convenient "meal ticket" to her, and a fundraiser (to everyone).
I was stymied at an unrewarding job. I hadn’t had romantic love in my life during the
past decade, when it would’ve been normal for people to experience it. During those 10 years, I reached out many times, only to have guys reject me or move beyond my reach. All around me, people enjoyed themselves through school, careers, and social circles. I worked hard, sacrificed my
freedom/spare time—all for nothing.
The family home—with my name on it—was due for foreclosure! It also had a lien on it! I was forced out of my community, church, and social
life—without a chance to explain my goodbyes. My mother smeared my hard-earned reputation to all who would listen.
I let go of all of that.
My Pastor, whom I reached out to for help, merely apologized that he had been wrong. I never got a consoling ”reaching-out” phone call from him afterwards, like pastors are SUPPOSED to do. Not ONE call! Nor did he try to connect me with good people, support groups, or charitable resources! It was like "Thanks for the money you helped raise and for your years of volunteer work, but now we'll continued without you, and we're not going to care about you." Since graduating college, none of all my earnestly good efforts produced anything tangible for me, in any aspect of life.
In the past, many friends gathered around my dinner table and into my cars… yet nobody offered me money or help now. They simply let me disappear from their lives.
For years, I donated my time/talents to “causes” and “charities”… and now I lacked support for myself. My mother's mania was negating my hard-earned good credit score!
For food, I went shopping at the Dollar Store and I subsisted on oatmeal with peanut butter (for every breakfast), and pasta with butter sauce, or rice with canned beans—for every lunch & dinner of the week!!! I barely had money to pay my attorney fees, rent, electricity, and Metrocard for the buses. I lived like that for five months! I was exhausted each day—mentally and physically, as my order of life crumbled around me. I felt so alone... taken advantage of at every turn... from when I woke up in the morning to when I returned home for sleep. I actually considered that my life wasn't worthwhile.
My Pastor, whom I reached out to for help, merely apologized that he had been wrong. I never got a consoling ”reaching-out” phone call from him afterwards, like pastors are SUPPOSED to do. Not ONE call! Nor did he try to connect me with good people, support groups, or charitable resources! It was like "Thanks for the money you helped raise and for your years of volunteer work, but now we'll continued without you, and we're not going to care about you." Since graduating college, none of all my earnestly good efforts produced anything tangible for me, in any aspect of life.
In the past, many friends gathered around my dinner table and into my cars… yet nobody offered me money or help now. They simply let me disappear from their lives.
For years, I donated my time/talents to “causes” and “charities”… and now I lacked support for myself. My mother's mania was negating my hard-earned good credit score!
For food, I went shopping at the Dollar Store and I subsisted on oatmeal with peanut butter (for every breakfast), and pasta with butter sauce, or rice with canned beans—for every lunch & dinner of the week!!! I barely had money to pay my attorney fees, rent, electricity, and Metrocard for the buses. I lived like that for five months! I was exhausted each day—mentally and physically, as my order of life crumbled around me. I felt so alone... taken advantage of at every turn... from when I woke up in the morning to when I returned home for sleep. I actually considered that my life wasn't worthwhile.
My ex-coworker, Joe, heard the trauma in my sobbing phone calls. After I received another
setback in my court case, he and his wife immediately drove over at midnight, bringing bagels, doughnuts, and coffee—just to sit with me, hold me and
tell me things would get better. They
recounted how they survived Life’s turmoil, and they encouraged me to ride my
life’s trough to a new crest. They
told me to find the beauty in life. My coworker/friend, Yvonne (the stock girl who also lived in Bayside) did her best to comfort me and bring some dinners. She had rich parents who paid for her rent, car, college tuition, and cellphone, yet she never offered or agreed to help me. Instead of discarding her, I accepted her level of friendship for what it was. Like the Musketeers, we each suffered from homes that were breaking apart (Yvonne's parents were divorcing).
Joe and Yvonne told me that they “never liked Chris and always thought he was a user with bad undercurrents”. !!! "Always thought?" Did my ears deceive me? I asked them why they hadn’t warned me earlier?! Isn’t that what friends do? Why let me go through the whole ordeal, unsuspecting, if they could see something that I didn’t see? It's one thing if a person chooses to ignore warnings, and you let them learn the hard way, but its another to stand by and watch bad things happen, then announce that you knew it would happen all along! Maybe the Universe didn’t allow friends to make a first move with me, either! I earnestly asked them to tell me such things earlier, next time: I welcomed their advice and warnings.
Joe and Yvonne told me that they “never liked Chris and always thought he was a user with bad undercurrents”. !!! "Always thought?" Did my ears deceive me? I asked them why they hadn’t warned me earlier?! Isn’t that what friends do? Why let me go through the whole ordeal, unsuspecting, if they could see something that I didn’t see? It's one thing if a person chooses to ignore warnings, and you let them learn the hard way, but its another to stand by and watch bad things happen, then announce that you knew it would happen all along! Maybe the Universe didn’t allow friends to make a first move with me, either! I earnestly asked them to tell me such things earlier, next time: I welcomed their advice and warnings.
As usual, the next day, I took a one-hour bus ride, to work. It wasn’t like the buses on television, nor did it have a pleasant mix of people: it was mostly for low-income workers going to Long Island. Typical of NY, public transportation is neglected, dirty, delayed, suspended, inefficient, and unreliable. The places where passengers must wait for it are deplorable. It's not worth the money that riders pay, but I already explained how the profits get syphoned.
On my first day taking the bus, the Long Island Buses kept passing me! Finally, a woman joined me and told me that I had to wave them down to make them stop—unlike the Queens Buses or city buses. How ridiculous that they didn't stop on their own!
If the bus arrived at your stop early, and you weren't there yet, it was a 40-minute wait until the next one (which was usually late). Sometimes, the scheduled bus didn't come at all! (which, bus-riders still deal with nowadays). There are very few "sheltered" bus stops on Long Island, so you stand in the rain or snow or sticky humid summer sun. The few shelters that exist don't help much; they are undersized for the quantity of riders.
On my first day taking the bus, the Long Island Buses kept passing me! Finally, a woman joined me and told me that I had to wave them down to make them stop—unlike the Queens Buses or city buses. How ridiculous that they didn't stop on their own!
If the bus arrived at your stop early, and you weren't there yet, it was a 40-minute wait until the next one (which was usually late). Sometimes, the scheduled bus didn't come at all! (which, bus-riders still deal with nowadays). There are very few "sheltered" bus stops on Long Island, so you stand in the rain or snow or sticky humid summer sun. The few shelters that exist don't help much; they are undersized for the quantity of riders.
You might have to wait near garbage or on an unshoveled/icy sidewalk.
Most passengers wore outfits for housecleaning, maintenance, and day-laborer jobs. Guys carried big green buckets full of scrub brushes, mops, and cleaning bottles onto the bus. Immigrant women passed slices of cantaloupe or mango to each other over the seats. I looked like a white-skinned fop (going to sell upscale clothes) in my 3-piece donegal tweed suit or my white gabardine trousers and canvas spectator shoes made by English shoemaker, Peal & Co. (We weren't allowed to keep clothes at work, and we were required to arrive fully dressed).
On the third day that I took the bus, a fight broke out between some “darker skinned” guys, causing the multi-lingual crowd to panic and the driver to shriek over the loudspeaker and pull over. Sitting in my suit and polished dress shoes, I meekly waited for it all to end. "Fortune smiled on me" again, a couple of months later, when the bus I was on caught fire! Everyone screamed and pushed off the bus, with black smoke billowing out of the rear engine, and green oil streaking on the street. It was only amusing for the overpaid policemen and the two different responding fire departments (who enjoyed the overtime). I also experienced the misery of being delayed for HOURS when two different buses broke down; one on a winter night, the other in summertime. (No, you can’t make this up!)
Most passengers wore outfits for housecleaning, maintenance, and day-laborer jobs. Guys carried big green buckets full of scrub brushes, mops, and cleaning bottles onto the bus. Immigrant women passed slices of cantaloupe or mango to each other over the seats. I looked like a white-skinned fop (going to sell upscale clothes) in my 3-piece donegal tweed suit or my white gabardine trousers and canvas spectator shoes made by English shoemaker, Peal & Co. (We weren't allowed to keep clothes at work, and we were required to arrive fully dressed).
On the third day that I took the bus, a fight broke out between some “darker skinned” guys, causing the multi-lingual crowd to panic and the driver to shriek over the loudspeaker and pull over. Sitting in my suit and polished dress shoes, I meekly waited for it all to end. "Fortune smiled on me" again, a couple of months later, when the bus I was on caught fire! Everyone screamed and pushed off the bus, with black smoke billowing out of the rear engine, and green oil streaking on the street. It was only amusing for the overpaid policemen and the two different responding fire departments (who enjoyed the overtime). I also experienced the misery of being delayed for HOURS when two different buses broke down; one on a winter night, the other in summertime. (No, you can’t make this up!)
I acclimated myself with
Craigslist (it's free and was one of the first online "networking" sites at that time) and posted ads for roommates.
Before and after work, each day, I laboriously posted roommate ads,
re-posted them (to keep them at the top of daily search lists), and checked through responses. It didn't help that my outrageously-overpriced apartment had TERRIBLE cable/internet service for my computer modem—often failing for no reason. It forced me to make 7 calls to overpriced Time Warner—squandering my days off awaiting their servicemen—while they replaced cables, tested signals/pings, and never solved the problem. Clearly, THAT technical blockage wasn't helping me attract roommates.
I called prospective roommates during my breaks at work. I interviewed them as soon as I got home, calling them if my bus was delayed, and I did more interviews on my days off. I essentially performed tasks night and day without a day off and was emotionally fatigued. In response to my ads, one pair was an Arab father and son from the Islamic Kingdom of Saudi Arabia who said that they would cook for me, in lieu of paying too much rent, and they’d teach me life lessons. No thank you. Other candidates included potheads, guys in bands, and slobs. Meanwhile, I sold more of my possessions and clothes on Craigslist to make money. I never sold myself for money.
I called prospective roommates during my breaks at work. I interviewed them as soon as I got home, calling them if my bus was delayed, and I did more interviews on my days off. I essentially performed tasks night and day without a day off and was emotionally fatigued. In response to my ads, one pair was an Arab father and son from the Islamic Kingdom of Saudi Arabia who said that they would cook for me, in lieu of paying too much rent, and they’d teach me life lessons. No thank you. Other candidates included potheads, guys in bands, and slobs. Meanwhile, I sold more of my possessions and clothes on Craigslist to make money. I never sold myself for money.
I joined Facebook... and its era of posting pictures online to punctuate your daily sentiments.
Mostly, I use it as an online diary and a pen-pal tool to keep connected with friends who are scattered "far and wide". Many college friends apologized for being self-admittedly lazy about not responding to the letters that I sent them after graduation.
One bright idea that occurred to me was renting my now-unused driveway. Because I paid the highest rent of the townhouse, the lease gave the driveway to me. I put handmade signs around the nearby LIRR train station and along the streetlights, advertising a fee to use my driveway. A plumber paid me $150 per month to park his van there. The landlord was simply happy to know that I'd be getting money for the rent. I learned what it was like to collect money for doing nothing (whether I was there or not). It is a great arrangement! LIFE LESSON! People who collect enough rent or royalties don't have to be employees.
My second roommate was a young blonde woman, named Geraldine. She came from an Irish-American family.
She taught
dance classes in the vicinity. She was decent, paid in cash, didn't mind that I was gay, and didn’t have too much
furniture. Things went well for awhile. Her boyfriend was a muscular Tae
Kwon Do instructor, who worked nearby on Bell Boulevard. She spent most nights at his home. Appreciating that pattern, I sought to bring men to my home.
My pricey "state-of-the-art" Razr cellphone (pathetic with no battery life) didn't allow phone apps for online dating—which nowadays help you find guys in a 10-block radius of your location.
But I used the technology that did exist, which was a free website called Craigslist, to find gay guys in my area.
My pricey "state-of-the-art" Razr cellphone (pathetic with no battery life) didn't allow phone apps for online dating—which nowadays help you find guys in a 10-block radius of your location.
But I used the technology that did exist, which was a free website called Craigslist, to find gay guys in my area.
I wasn't expecting "Mr. Right", but certainly "Mr. Right Now".
Websites ushered in the era of digital-networking & anonymous sex. It was great for gay men. No more seedy bars. No more wasted time "cruising" desolate areas. No more hours of idle chitchat or coaxing. You chatted online with clear intentions… and with pictures of "everything"—including the places where they wanted to meet (to avoid unanticipated surprises, as seen below).
Some guys used the website's online platform to arrange an in-person "meet & greet". Whenever a guy wanted to meet for drinks or food, it was a waste of time. I tried it seven times. By the fourth time, I was fed up, but a friend urged me "not to judge everyone because of a few losers". Trust me: don't waste your efforts. Those seven guys used our meet-ups to rate me, judge me, ask "categorizing questions", interview me (to give themselves reasons not to act) and eventually lose the courage to act. People who want to meet for hours before "supposedly wanting sex" suffer from disorganized thinking and self-focused priorities, and they'll waste your time.
Some guys used the website's online platform to arrange an in-person "meet & greet". Whenever a guy wanted to meet for drinks or food, it was a waste of time. I tried it seven times. By the fourth time, I was fed up, but a friend urged me "not to judge everyone because of a few losers". Trust me: don't waste your efforts. Those seven guys used our meet-ups to rate me, judge me, ask "categorizing questions", interview me (to give themselves reasons not to act) and eventually lose the courage to act. People who want to meet for hours before "supposedly wanting sex" suffer from disorganized thinking and self-focused priorities, and they'll waste your time.
If meeting someone for "fun", you might forgo parts of their personality/appearance. After all, you weren't introducing them to your friends. It provided more freedom to communicate upfront and find out what preferences you shared. Illustrated in the chart below, it was still impossible to tell if a guy was gay, straight, "straight acting", bisexual, bi-curious, closeted, or "in denial". Some men could "host" in their home, hotel, or car; others needed me to provide the privacy/space. Some were exclusively "tops" or "bottoms", while some used categories such as "versatile-bottom" (you penetrate them, but if you excite them enough, they might want to penetrate you) or "vers-top" (they penetrate you, but if you entice them, they might let you penetrate them).
Straight couples mostly don't have to deal with that. They only decipher if a person is honest, decent, clean, and whether they really just want a "quickie", a "regular thing", or a relationship.
Straight couples mostly don't have to deal with that. They only decipher if a person is honest, decent, clean, and whether they really just want a "quickie", a "regular thing", or a relationship.
It was astounding to see how many so-called "straight" men labeled themselves as “discrete” or “on the Down Low (DL)" while looking for gay companionship. The internet opened a torrent of ways to have anonymous sex and maintain secrets, and all types of "str-8 guys" were interested.
But there were provisos. NOBODY was looking for DATES, or anything beyond "doing the deed". After our sexual fun ended, I might get a brief "Wow, that was great!" or "You felt fantastic!"...
If I asked them about meeting again socially, I got these types of uninterested faces.
In fact, some men lost interest if I didn't initiate action immediately, as soon as I met them. For example, a white guy came to my place, and I politely made "small talk" for several minutes. Impatient, he interrupted me and said, "I guess I'll get us going and choose what we do." He sucked me off, and that was enough for him; he didn't want reciprocation. (He wore his hair in a man-bun, which looked sexy as his head worked between my legs).
...but they quickly left.
If I asked them about meeting again socially, I got these types of uninterested faces.
In fact, some men lost interest if I didn't initiate action immediately, as soon as I met them. For example, a white guy came to my place, and I politely made "small talk" for several minutes. Impatient, he interrupted me and said, "I guess I'll get us going and choose what we do." He sucked me off, and that was enough for him; he didn't want reciprocation. (He wore his hair in a man-bun, which looked sexy as his head worked between my legs).
He jerked himself off while doing it, and he timed our organs to be simultaneous. I was euphoric. Yet, he refused my offer to meet again because he disliked my initial hesitation.
A week later, a good-looking guy followed me into the coffeeshop's lavatory and stood at the urinal next to me. Then, he stepped backward to reveal his growing erection. I was undeniably enthralled by this "first experience", but I was afraid of someone entering and immediately seeing us. (The doorway faced the urinals). Since both toilet stalls were occupied, we couldn't use them for privacy. Quietly, I asked if we could go somewhere else... but he zipped up his pants and said that he "didn't have any more time". I offered to swap phone numbers, but he said No, and I never saw him again.
With no friends, family, or money, I invested some of my spare time online.
If other guys were online "looking to travel" and Queens County was a possible destination, they could've found me online "hosting" in Bayside. It was customary for guys who needed to "travel" to supply the condoms and lube. The guys who could "host" provided the furniture to have sex on and offered a towel/shower afterwards. Without spare money, it was better for me to host.
If you’re gay in a macho/conservative area (like Bayside) and looking for dates, you’re probably only going to find sex. And sex is a wonderful thing. Bayside didn't have any gay bars or even gay-friendly eateries; the neighborhood is very "guido Italian" / "machismo Latino".
The only entertainment venues existed on Bell Boulevard, which was full of loud drunken sports bars, gyms, a motorcycle club, and Italiante "pinky ring" restaurants.
Example of typical dialogue on the street:
Guy 1: "Yo, playah, do it make me bad if I bone your hoe 5 minutes after you do?"
Guy 2: "We ain't boning anymore; I dumped that bitch."
(Classy, huh?)
During my year there, I only saw one openly gay guy. He was from Malaysia, which is a constitutional monarchy in a tropical climate.
The only entertainment venues existed on Bell Boulevard, which was full of loud drunken sports bars, gyms, a motorcycle club, and Italiante "pinky ring" restaurants.
Example of typical dialogue on the street:
Guy 1: "Yo, playah, do it make me bad if I bone your hoe 5 minutes after you do?"
Guy 2: "We ain't boning anymore; I dumped that bitch."
(Classy, huh?)
During my year there, I only saw one openly gay guy. He was from Malaysia, which is a constitutional monarchy in a tropical climate.
He worked for a small eatery that popped up. I only bought one snack there, but I often visited to chat with him. He learned about my experiences in NY, and he described the kingdom (elective monarchy) where he was born. A few times, our hands lingered together over the counter. One day, he gave me his phone number. A day later, I called him... and he said that the eatery closed, and his boss was missing and didn't answered his calls. As a new immigrant, he was perplexed and startled. He never returned to Bayside. Argh!!! I wasn't surprised at Life's timing. Again.
Therefore, most of the guys I "connected" with were from other parts of Queens. Queens County is America's most diverse county, so I encountered many nationalities. Unlike people who go to a new area but stay within their own demographic, I enjoyed meeting the diversity around me.
Therefore, most of the guys I "connected" with were from other parts of Queens. Queens County is America's most diverse county, so I encountered many nationalities. Unlike people who go to a new area but stay within their own demographic, I enjoyed meeting the diversity around me.
Unlike American boys, boys from other countries were more open about homosexuality. They also lacked materialism, self-centeredness, and negative judgements. They did not discriminate guys based on the zip code that they lived in, or what type of car they drove, or if they knew the most-popular athletes/singers.
Some guys consider themselves "gay for play" (only enjoys sex, not intimacy). Seen below, one example was a white college kid from Texas who never did anything homosexual yet... but he was eager to try. Uninterested in foreplay or sucking me, and unsure of fingering, he only wanted to do the penetration. He simply laid down and asked me to do everything—from arousal to orgasm. The brawny boy remained on his back, and I did the "riding" and altering of positions. (I envisioned myself "riding like a cowboy" on an actual Texas cowboy)!
Thankfully, his penis had a sideways curve, so there was something on his motionless body to tingle my anus.
Other guys label themselves as "gay for pay". I avoid them. One dark-skinned guy messaged me online to reveal that he wasn't an escort or prostitute but he wanted to make me squeal: "$poil this dick and it go deep". He was a self-proclaimed "professional release therapist"! No thanks.
Most guys didn't want to meet in public. If they did, I chose my neighborhood's coffee shop; it was furthest from the macho-type bars and grills on Bell Boulevard.
They weren't interested in anything beyond sex. They came, got a coffee, had minimal chatter, and "eyed me up" to consider me for a series of (alway secret) trysts.
About that... there's a difference between being involved in "a quickie" and in someone's "immoral" sexual release. How the guy viewed the act created different moods.
Guys only wanted to come to my home if I was alone with my roommate gone. In some cases, when a guy drove to meet me, the "interaction" was only intended to go as far as his car (where he could control things and ensure privacy).
I began a short-lived "repeat thing" with a Bolivian who looked like this...
Despite being a jock, he chose me because he respected my personality. Online, he messaged me, "I just joined this site and you're the only one to actually write a sentence, and you complimented my profile." (Comparing him to students who feared being at a college too far from home, I admired how he journeyed thousands of miles from South America for a new life on another continent. He respected that... instead of only being valued for his body). At night, he drove 15 miles from his apartment in Ozone Park, and everything happened in his car: most was oral. He thought that my **** was the "perfect size", he liked that I was "leaky like a faucet", I kissed well, and he loved the look on my face when I neared "the edge" of a climax.
He bravely relocated to NYC, but he was fearful of being known as a "homo". He sought like-minded men online. Calling me "irresistible", he wanted to meet, but when I said that my roommate was home, he replied that he "wasn't comfortable coming inside" if she was there. But he said that he'd drive to me, and "we could find a quiet spot". I assumed that he wanted to use his car—parked in a quiet area. He arrived on a motorcycle! His idea of finding a "quiet spot" meant driving us to the park. Thank goodness his bike had a strong kickstand!
I dealt with it gladly. Puerto Rican men have a high sex drive and rhythm: pleasing qualities for an intense orgasm!
During nights, a Cuban "thug" (born in an anti-gay Soviet-inspired dictatorship)...
...picked me up in his car and drove 12 miles to a parking lot in Astoria Park, where any noises where muffled by the bridge's traffic overhead.
Whenever he neared climaxes, he spoke loudly in Spanish. I didn't understand, yet I knew that I gave him immense pleasure.
(I didn't know it at the time, but that part of Astoria Park was a cruising area for gay guys. The invention of phone-apps like Grindr hugely diminished that).
A hairy guy who identified as an "otter" invited me to his apartment, where he kissed, sucked, rimmed, and plowed me.
He glanced at me several times, as I walked by. During my return, he did it again. Finally, he gave a smile, which I understood to be inviting. His attractiveness prompted me to say Hello, which evolved into friendly chatter, which progressed to his compliments about my legs. I gave the same compliment. Our flirting was obvious. Then, he stood and let his erection be noticeable. He stepped closer, so it was within my reach. I reached.
Apparently, guys desiring homoerotic fun loitered in the park hoping to find similarly-minded guys. The fact that they sat near the public lavatory was the only indication.
We enjoyed oral fun in the public lavatory. Afterwards, I offered to exchange telephone numbers, but he declined. I told him that I lived nearby, but he wasn't interested. He invited me to meet him again at the park to arrange an "afternoon of play". We arranged it for my next day off. However, when he arrived at the park, he carried a folding chair. He said, "I hope you don't think I'm being anti-social, but I just want to sit on my chair and get a tan in the sunshine." He suggested that I sit on the ground near him, while he made a series of phone calls. Wearing white shorts, I didn't want to sit on the grass, so I sat on the closest bench and waited 20-minutes.
When he was done tanning, I was excited to do something sexual. However, without regard for me, he put his shirt on and said that he had no more time and had to leave. I couldn't believe that he couldn't spare a few more minutes, after having me meet him on my day off. Offhandedly, he asked if I wanted to meet during the next week? Faced with a person who cared so little for another person's time, I declined his offer. I never saw him again. I was eager to check the lavatory for another candidate. Unluckily, a week after that, the city closed that park's lavatory for a whole year for renovation... because NYC is uncaringly slow and inefficient. I was gone before it reopened.
A youthful Korean anesthesiologist rode the bus 20-minutes to my area for our hookups, and we collaborated for kinky sex that aroused him: sexy underwear, role-play (e.g. a delivery boy "I come in and catch you watching porn and you unzip me and suck me in front of the porn"), me using his metal dildo on him, and him topping me in "creative" positions.
However, he experienced a fad when he only wanted to have "unprotected" sex. I did not. Furthermore, knowing that he would have unsafe sex with other guys, I ended things.
Another mishap occurred when I went to a young white guy's apartment, but his "monster cock" was so thick and long that I could only fit it inside me if I laid on my back. But he wanted me to lay on my stomach, and he wanted to pound me fast. Without any foreplay (hole stretching), I struggled to please him, but it felt overwhelming. I regretted my big dinner, too.
Weeks later, I attempted again, but his rigid insistence on positions/pace ruined our chances.
Inversely, a young braggart named Adrian (seen below) tried to seduce me by telling me that he "had to" wear extra-large condoms.
However, when I saw that the oversized condom was too baggy for his erection, I declined. Wearing the wrong size (especially if it will slip off) is useless and unsafe. The youngster's mindset was too risky for me, so I went home.
Another time, a handsome Greek accountant sent me a faceless selfie.
Those types of photos indicate men who need to preserve their privacy and hide their identities (or they're ugly). Usually, they reveal their face pics when they get acquainted and like you. He quickly liked me. He asked me to rendezvous with him after work.
Instead of a bedroom, he selected a deserted driveway (behind some bushes).
A sweetly-polite 19-year-old from Japan invited me to his home at midnight, but really intended for us to use a local (darkened) park. It was a delight using his super-thin Japanese condoms. Courteously, he always offered me pilsner and Japanese snacks to enrich the mood. As a believer in Shintoism, he felt that the parklike area was full of good energy and specialized kami deities that maintained it.
All the other times were at night. After a few weeks of meeting there, the novelty of outdoor exhibitionism wore off. The autumn air became cold. I asked if there was any other way that we could meet? When he said "No", so did I.
His reasoning was to avoid embarrassment. (Although ancient Greeks condoned same-sex attraction, the current Greek Orthodox Church condemns it).
A young South African—with a delightful accent—desired a back alley (only at night). His steep upward curve felt great inside me.
Once, in desperate horniness, he took me there in daylight.
A middle-aged white man only wore baggy shorts (a.k.a. "going commando"), so he could pull his long erection through the leg of the shorts and get it inside a part of me. A Thai guy arrived wearing sweatpants, so he could partially slip his waistband down and get himself inside me. In both situations, our fun was intended to be so quick that they didn't even want to undress. The white guy was uncircumcised with a foul-smelling foreskin that prevented any intimacy from me. The Thai guy had a hammer-shaped dick: narrow with a big head. It was a fun sensation, but he did not want to see me again.
One time, I responded to an online enticement from a commuter in his late-50s: a manager of a construction company. Seen below, he was proud of his fitness, sizable "schlong", and his hidden homoerotic tendencies.
He wanted "recreational sex", and his fetish was to receive my cumshot on the top of his head.
I had a fling with a former member of the Army's Military Police. Wearing his uniform and leather holster during foreplay was his fetish, as was role-playing. He looked similar to this.
I also got an offer from a Long Island commuter, aged 64, who was an official with the powerful Teachers Union. He required a penis pump and cock ring to sustain an erection, and he wanted to suck me while masturbating.
Another unusual experience was "fooling around" with a nature-loving NYC Park Ranger who only desired "experimental touching" but no penetration.
My most unusual proposition was from another Korean. The young muscular man wanted to have sex with me on the morning before his wedding! How many people get such an invitation (albeit an indecent proposal)? I didn't agree, and I let him venture into uncertain matrimony with his wife.
Too many guys only messaged me after they'd been out drinking until the wee hours of 4am.
Was that a compliment or an insult? Was I their last option, or was I only their option when they were inebriated?
I recall two instances where guys (a lanky Russian and a burly Indian) came to my area, but were so nervous that they wanted to just "talk and walk around" for awhile. Which was OK… but after hours of walking around, by the time we arrived back at my place, my roommate was home… and then they didn't want to go inside. Argh! Suppressing my frustration, I focused on being spontaneously creative outside (instead of using my comfy bed).
I recall two instances where guys (a lanky Russian and a burly Indian) came to my area, but were so nervous that they wanted to just "talk and walk around" for awhile. Which was OK… but after hours of walking around, by the time we arrived back at my place, my roommate was home… and then they didn't want to go inside. Argh! Suppressing my frustration, I focused on being spontaneously creative outside (instead of using my comfy bed).
His cone-shaped penis had thickness with a small head... like a butt plug! Unlike men who are only "top" or "bottom", he was "versatile". One time after I topped him, he was thrilled and wanted to flip-f*ck me. Without any more condoms, he wanted to penetrate me anyway. I wouldn't allow it. Horrified, I realized that he was complacent with unsafe sex. I am never agreeable to that, nor do I sleep with men who are.
Born in the Kingdom of Cambodia, Stephen—who didn't live alone—eventually invited me to his place (late at night because he was "closeted" and didn't want to upset his two roommates).
(In his homeland, guys craving gay sex were everywhere. You merely smiled at one, and they approached you. He didn't understand the unwelcoming snootiness in America, or the prerequisites of lisp/steroids. He also disliked hiding his sexuality but did it to keep his affordable rent). Thus, instead of being in his apartment, he intended to use his building's stairwell for sex. (He claimed to be a talented interior designer, but I never saw the interior of this home). He only wanted to be a "top", but his crotch featured a downward-curve that was uncomfortable to have inside me. I ended things.
Online, I began interacting with a bearded lifeguard from Bulgaria.
He liked our shared interest in photography. With his Balkan charisma, he flirted with me for a few nights before inviting me to his home. (Images of his hairy-but-trimmed chest and "beach bod" musculature kept me interested).
...but when his retail job got relentlessly stressful, he lost his sex drive. I tried three times, but I could not restart it.
He lived alone, yet he only took me down to his building's basement corridor (fearful that his neighbors might hear our sexual fun within his apartment). His deepthroat skills and "jackhammer lovemaking" were fantastic. I tolerated the mice and mosquitos in his basement...
...but when his retail job got relentlessly stressful, he lost his sex drive. I tried three times, but I could not restart it.
A teenager from Guatemala was sexually volcanic—just like his homeland (and the logo of his nation's capital)!
He lured me to the laundry room in the cellar of his apartment building. It was as steamy as Central America.
From a standing-bent position (like this)...
....he pummeled me until I squatted, and then until my hands were needed to keep my face off the floor. Usually a "top" during our sexual escapades, he said my energy was alluring and he agreed to be a "bottom" for me. It was flattering. Coming from a faraway country where buying sex was legal and homosexuality was legal since 1871, he was stymied by the USA's restrictions and homophobia. (His American roommate tolerated him being gay but forbade him to have sex in the apartment).
An Iraqi guy—born on the Arabian Peninsula—preferred the desolate rooftop of his building. He ignored the teachings of Islam that condemned anal sex and homosexuality, but he could not allow himself to do those "sinful" things in his home. He did not consider himself gay or bisexual; sex with men was his so-called pastime. As long as he was the "top", he felt secure that he wasn't really gay. I didn't care. I was grateful for the (rough) sex from a virile Arab who took care of his body.
An Iraqi guy—born on the Arabian Peninsula—preferred the desolate rooftop of his building. He ignored the teachings of Islam that condemned anal sex and homosexuality, but he could not allow himself to do those "sinful" things in his home. He did not consider himself gay or bisexual; sex with men was his so-called pastime. As long as he was the "top", he felt secure that he wasn't really gay. I didn't care. I was grateful for the (rough) sex from a virile Arab who took care of his body.
A "horse hung" Moroccan named Mikey left his monarchial homeland to become an acrobatic clown for Cirque de Soleil.
Luckily, I met him online when he temporarily lived in Queens, while his troupe performed in NYC. He invited me over. Greeting me in the doorway of his apartment, he showed his flaccid penis, stroked it so it grew quickly, and explained that we had to use another area until his roommate departed. Awed by what I saw, I didn't care where we went. He banged me in his building's basement...
They weren't the only guys to steer me away from roommates, family, and neighbors. It seemed commonplace. Jocks, brutes, bartenders, geeks—of all races—acted the same.
After chatting endlessly online (or by texts) and then having a public meet-up, some guys were coldly done with me after their seduction. Seen below, a nicely-spoken, muscled, and hung Haitian man...
...until his cellphone beeped, telling him that his roommate finally left. Then, we went inside and finished there. His athleticism and North African intensity were amazing! We certainly had fun... which seems important when you're with a clown, ha ha! Soon, he relocated elsewhere.
After chatting endlessly online (or by texts) and then having a public meet-up, some guys were coldly done with me after their seduction. Seen below, a nicely-spoken, muscled, and hung Haitian man...
...(who grew up fearfully in an anti-gay Creole culture) drove from Forest Hills, whipped out his hefty 8", frottaged, fingered, and f*cked. An hour's worth! We made great, messy cumshots. Later, he texted me that he couldn't meet me again because he was "getting too much into it" with me, didn't want to be gay, and wanted to focus on female relationships. How would that make YOU feel?
Culture-induced shame about being gay stalled a young church-going guy. Online, he forewarned me, but his cuteness outweighed it.
Oral sex was great. But after he got his condom and lube on, he couldn't get himself to actually penetrate me... because it would be sinful. He had me lay on my stomach with my legs together and my butt clenched, and he pistoned his cock between them. He achieved an orgasm. I caressed his arms, back, and buttocks while he reached under me and stroked me until I ejaculated. Then, he licked his fingers. (I guess that part wasn't sinful). He slid his sizable schlong into his shorts and went to pray for help.
When it came to sex, I realized that not everyone could be as focused on lovemaking as I was: some needed to "block or calm" their worried/guilt-ridden minds. A drink or two was fine with me, but I wasn't interested in endless alcohol (which didn't make me feel "desired")...
... or shots of tequila, drugs, marijuana, or poppers... just to get into the mood.
Here I was, trying to make a revved-up moment worth remembering, but the guys clouded their minds so I wouldn't be a memory of theirs!
Obviously, I was happy when I finally met someone with chemistry… and their own apartment! Darryl, a big-dicked Chinese guy (with tight physique from soccer) invited me to his place to watch porn and stroke each other. His length and 6.5" girth was a handful. He resided in a high-rise in Long Island City, close to the city-bound subway station. It was only 15 miles away, but NYC's inefficient train/subway required one hour to get there.
Darryl was impressed that I accommodated his circumference.
He was also pleased that I didn't dislike him because of the large scar on his stomach. His curvy backside and toned thighs were fun to handle. His ejaculations were prefaced by moans and gasps in Cantonese. After a few visits, I tried for more—and those times provided sensational sex. Unfortunately, his workload at Citibank tripled and he became less available. (A scam in the finance job sector is to avoid paying overtime by making all employees "salaried managers").
Seen below, Abee was a short and well-endowed Middle Eastern bartender who invited me to his apartment on his days off for foreplay fun.
Whenever he approached an orgasm, he grunted and yelled in his native language, which was exhilarating. It looked like this.
Whenever he approached an orgasm, he grunted and yelled in his native language, which was exhilarating. It looked like this.
We explored every action except sex. He eventually told me that he had a boyfriend who permitted him to do things with other men, except sex.
Seen below, Berry was a slim, effeminate Jamaican, who was born on that island-nation and coincidentally lived in Jamaica, Queens.
Seen below, Berry was a slim, effeminate Jamaican, who was born on that island-nation and coincidentally lived in Jamaica, Queens.
He loved massaging me with oils. He was talented. His "happy endings" (a.k.a. "release") for me always caused an orgasmic mess. One evening, he was able to make me shoot twice! His Caribbean "heat" was awesome, but he desired nothing further.
It flattered me that several cute guys were so impressed with me that they routinely took long bus/train rides from Rego Park (9 miles away = 60 minutes by bus), Flushing (5 = 40), Astoria (12 = 60 min by rail), Woodside (13 = 35 min by car), Queens Village (4.5 = 40 min by bus), and College Point (6 = 60 min by bus)—whenever I had my place to myself. I knew that I was doing some things right! Those "closeted", "DL", "cum and go" guys expressed, "Wow that was awesome, call me again!" attitudes.
A Spaniard of similar age, but much more experience, visited my area for one week: "house/cat sitting" for a friend. We met because I held a FedEx package for him, when he wasn't home. His Mediterranean mellowness was delighted with my outgoing personality, which he hadn't expected under my "job clothes". But he knew not to "judge a book by its cover" and admitted that he was encouraged by my flirty comments, eye contact, limberness, and shoe size. We swapped phone numbers, and he invited himself to my home for sex, jokingly saying "Your package is outside! It'd be hot if you're naked when I come in." He was impressed by the fact that I really wanted to "please my partner". Of course I did; it's the Golden Rule. Considering his skills, I aways took that as a great compliment. During that week, we spent many hours together. We talked about our "distant" families (It might be true that his mother lives in the Principality of Asturias...
*If you want to hear how sexy Caribbean accents are, go here:
Sadly, much of NYC's "gay scene" is racist, but not me. When the chemistry was right, I was happily entwined with black men. (They called "the swirl" or "swirling"). Some guys were impressed with that, and it increased their passion.
One drove from the neighboring borough to give his 7 inches a birthday treat in his car. Another with dregs piled on his head loved my deep-throat skills, but he never reciprocated.
For a couple of weeks, an amazing guy did work nearby refurbishing an apartment, but he ended his days coming to me for robustly-alternating rimming and banging. It was thrilling how he loved being inside me. He often said, "I can't get enough of your ass." I said the same about his probing tongue and long size. He also had a nice attitude.
It flattered me that several cute guys were so impressed with me that they routinely took long bus/train rides from Rego Park (9 miles away = 60 minutes by bus), Flushing (5 = 40), Astoria (12 = 60 min by rail), Woodside (13 = 35 min by car), Queens Village (4.5 = 40 min by bus), and College Point (6 = 60 min by bus)—whenever I had my place to myself. I knew that I was doing some things right! Those "closeted", "DL", "cum and go" guys expressed, "Wow that was awesome, call me again!" attitudes.
A Spaniard of similar age, but much more experience, visited my area for one week: "house/cat sitting" for a friend. We met because I held a FedEx package for him, when he wasn't home. His Mediterranean mellowness was delighted with my outgoing personality, which he hadn't expected under my "job clothes". But he knew not to "judge a book by its cover" and admitted that he was encouraged by my flirty comments, eye contact, limberness, and shoe size. We swapped phone numbers, and he invited himself to my home for sex, jokingly saying "Your package is outside! It'd be hot if you're naked when I come in." He was impressed by the fact that I really wanted to "please my partner". Of course I did; it's the Golden Rule. Considering his skills, I aways took that as a great compliment. During that week, we spent many hours together. We talked about our "distant" families (It might be true that his mother lives in the Principality of Asturias...
...part of the Kingdom of Spain). To reciprocate, I described my ancestry. He asked if I had any "Spanish" in me? Cutely, I replied, "If it's your penis, then yes." That won me an exhilarating banging. In quieter moments, he also saved me from feeling discouraged and unwanted. He reminded me that "One Good Deed Deserves Another". With regard to "men", he advised me, "Don't chase them; attract them." On our last evening before he returned to the city, it began raining. My last good deed for him was giving him my umbrella. His great smile (below) and appreciation warmed me.
(A year later, I encountered him at a Hell's Kitchen gay bar, and he quickly remembered how I felt "between his lips and legs". He connected me with other guys in Manhattan and bragged about me. With his endorsement, some guys started paying attention to me.
One guy actually said, "Are you looking to come to my place now? I'd be up for it."
Brazenly, another said, "My boyfriend and I are free tomorrow and Sunday. I'm the only one available tonight. I'm Kevin, by the way.") Kevin sent me his photo as a reminder.
Just like finding jobs in NYC, you get accepted when someone on the inside endorses you... otherwise you get ignored. That culture forces "applicants" to do "whatever it takes" to get in. Alas, my work schedule and faraway home deterred invitations from them.
While I was new at some of my efforts, I've always been a fast learner who is open to trying new things. I realized—through enthusiastic feedback—that I
had a knack for things "in the sack"! I'm not a bodybuilder, but my lips, tongue, hands, resilience, and both parts below my waist are very desirable. I can do certain things. I can keep up the pace and go for quite a long time. I can repeat it, after a restful moment of cuddling. I intuitively know what to do (twist, move, squeeze, speed up/slow down) to keep my partner in ecstasy. I can nicely accommodate a range sizes and girths. I'm vocal, and that turns guys on, too. And I "get into it". I surprised many guys—and earned "regular" playmates.
Seen below, JD was a doctor from the desserts of Nevada (2,500 miles away) who occasionally travelled to NYC. During his visits to Manhattan, he rode the train to Queens to have sex with me. That was a compliment!
I got compliments from both gay and straight guys. Yes, sadly, there were guys who—after sex—told me that they were "actually heterosexual". Some had girlfriends and wanted to keep me "on the side".
One slim guy, named Sterling, liked my profile and our clever online convo. He invited himself to my place but prefaced it by saying, "If I stopped by at 10pm, we could do a quick Meet & Greet and jack off. I'm not into giving oral, but I'll give a little if I really like you. I don't f*ck on the first meeting. Keeps it safer." However, my kissing, enthusiasm, precum, and vibes revved his libido, and we had hours of hip-smacking sex.
Our schedules prevented us from reuniting for two weeks. By then, he was dating a guy. As consolation, he texted me, "You're the first ass I'd contact if I become single. Would love to have your stunning ass on my c*ck again. Hearing you moan is a pleasure."
I got compliments from both gay and straight guys. Yes, sadly, there were guys who—after sex—told me that they were "actually heterosexual". Some had girlfriends and wanted to keep me "on the side".
Trying to entice me, one guy texted this: "I'm not 100% into my relationship, and you would definitely get f*cked if you came to my place tonight."
Another messaged, "I mentioned to my girlfriend about having an open relationship. You're the first ass I'd contact if she agreed." He denied bisexuality but claimed to be a "grab life by the seat of the pants" type of guy.
If they had girlfriend relationships, I didn't want to be involved.
A bisexual Jewish high school senior (below) drove 40 minutes from Howard Beach. Thanks to his varsity training, the teen had GREAT stamina, and we went for a long time. He said that he could continue longer with girls, but I brought him to a climax sooner because my buttocks was tighter than their anatomies. He wanted to have anal sex with his girls, but they didn't let him. So, he sought boys. At that time, Judaism preached prohibitive policies against homosexuality, so he removed his Star of David pendant during sex with me. Rationalizing his two-sided urges, he labelled himself, "A Hetero for the streets and a Homo for the sheets".
One muscular Dominican hunk wore red briefs, was an ambulance driver, and was a glorious bottom (most are tops).
But he was petrified of STDs. The first time I came inside him, he wanted me to linger there. As I started to "soften", I pulled out, but he squeezed me and his tight cheeks pulled the condom off me. Semen dripped on my bed, and he freaked out thinking terrible things. He worried for the girlfriend that he suddenly mentioned. I dutifully went with him for STD testing, and we were clean. A week later, he wanted to try again, and I declined.
*I made a habit of displaying my clean STD test results, and I liked guys who did the same.
A transplant from Vietnam traveled to me by bus, but in the middle of our lovemaking, he constantly thought of his guilt-inspiring parents, and it ruined the rhythm. Most Vietnamese are Buddhist, but a large percentage are Roman Catholic—a religion that condemned homosexuality. Another misfire was a Catholic Venezuelan who froze when thinking of his "sin against God". In his country, he legally bought sex from women (which is against churchly doctrine) yet he feared his gay desires as sins.
Initially, we had great sex sessions, but then he changed our nights to only giving side-by-side handjobs, which he felt less guilty about. I was amazed that he continued to ride the bus 30 minutes to get to me (and I always offered sex) but only desired a "bate buddy". His fetish was edging (orgasm control) to stop/go and see how long we could elongate the experience. I found pleasure in it, and my unexpected endurance excited him.
I got lucky (literally, ha ha!) with a young Colombian named Rodrigo. After relocating from the southern hemisphere, he lived near me on a cul-de-sac. He told me that he didn’t “click” with everyone, but he was desired by many. We shared a scintillating chemistry. He said that it was fortunate for me. I loved hearing him speak: my Latin Lover rolled his R's in sexy way. It also helped that I enjoyed hearing about his native heritage.
I was hugely rewarded. Rodrigo had a thick "rod".
He phoned me weekly. Colombian men are passionate lovers... and often impulsive. Regardless of how late at night it was, whenever he summoned me for a "booty call", I pulled on running shorts and a hoodie and hurried as if "on call"...
... until he moved to neighboring borough of Brooklyn. Stupidly, NYC's subway only has ONE route between Queens and a tiny section of Brooklyn (seen below). He didn't live in that section. Getting to his area required 1.5 hours of travel!
(NYC subways were uncaringly built as a "drainage system" to funnel workers to Manhattan; they weren't built to help residents travel between boroughs... and they remain that way, despite Brooklyn and Queens being 8th and 10th most-populated counties. [The USA has 3,000 counties]).
A physically-fit Filipino (below) "locked eyes" with me on the bus; he worked at a local bank and was returning from the gym. Thinking I was cute, he flirted and said I had a wonderful aura. He spontaneously invited me to join him in Manhattan. I agreed. He treated me to dinner, acted flirty in Bryant Park, and meandered aimlessly with me. Suddenly, his mother telephoned him incessantly. Having to go to her, he gave me a Goodnight Kiss to end our date. It became a series of long, passionate ones. He made sure that I grasped his hardon, too.
I started "seeing" a Hispanic college kid, who was an energetic "top" and conveniently lived a few
blocks from me. I had waited a decade to have a sex partner within walking distance! Our chemistry was really great, and he provided a majority of my fun memories, that year. Self-admittedly, he was always horny. Who could blame us for taking advantage of that?
He also provided me with a threeway. 10 years after my college classmates had them, I had my first. On a whim, he invited someone whom he met online to meet at my home. I was surprised when my doorbell rang! A Latino stood smiling.
We proceeded. The voyeuristic third guy only intended to get inside the room, get undressed, get hard, and "get off" from watching us. Acting like an exhibitionist, my playmate was fine with it. However, I liked the third guy's "equipment", so I coaxed him to do more than that. He kissed us, swapped oral, rimmed me superbly, and watched us while stroking himself (and us). After a fun finish, he left. Alas, he wasn't invited again because my playmate said, "I'm fearful that you'll like him more than me... and I also don't want to share." He intended to interact with both of us separately. None of my coercion recreated that threesome.
He also provided me with a threeway. 10 years after my college classmates had them, I had my first. On a whim, he invited someone whom he met online to meet at my home. I was surprised when my doorbell rang! A Latino stood smiling.
We proceeded. The voyeuristic third guy only intended to get inside the room, get undressed, get hard, and "get off" from watching us. Acting like an exhibitionist, my playmate was fine with it. However, I liked the third guy's "equipment", so I coaxed him to do more than that. He kissed us, swapped oral, rimmed me superbly, and watched us while stroking himself (and us). After a fun finish, he left. Alas, he wasn't invited again because my playmate said, "I'm fearful that you'll like him more than me... and I also don't want to share." He intended to interact with both of us separately. None of my coercion recreated that threesome.
However, whenever he and I had sex, it was magical. It felt as if his stout-yet-thick penis was shaped perfectly to fit inside me. Each thrust stimulated both of us. It was unbelievable!
With sophomoric vivacity, he visited me for early morning romps, after-class quickies, and midnight exercises. If I helped with his homework, he rewarded me intensely! Sometimes he arrived and carried me away—right from my front door to my sofa. His sexual appetite was awesome and spur-of-the-moment (including second rounds): showering together, screwing on the floor while watching a movie, standing sex, and on the furniture! One time, we ran out of lube, so he used hand lotion cream. Such exuberance!
We were never "exclusive" (monogamous) and didn't consider ourselves as boyfriends. He and I were not jealous when we slept with other guys. But when I did, he sometimes he offered to have sex with me afterwards—to prove that he was still better. We also conversed about life as partly-closeted gay guys. We were both stunned by how guys typically agreed to meet guys. Ask a guy for dinner, and he'll probably say No. Ask a guy for sex, and he'll probably say Yes. Be famous and ask a guy for dinner, and he'll say Yes.
My playmate belonged to a conservative Latin American Catholic, obligation/guilt-driven family, and he was afraid to be himself amongst his own family, whom
he loved. He was closeted at school, too. I made breakthroughs with him. I encouraged him to be at peace with
himself, to respect himself, and to then be himself. I shared my life
experiences, that sometimes, you have to let the layers fall away, before you can live an
easier life that you love. We made each other's barren Christmases more special that year. I couldn't afford any kind of real or fake tree but I stood near the Christmas tree stands on the street corner and inhaled the pine scent to remind me of festive memories.
[Meanwhile, my former church mailed me envelopes asking for donations. I knew that my former Pastor was celebrating elegantly in his refurbished home...
ignoring me—the young guy who did so much for him—with a "cold shoulder" and an uncharitable heart. He was aware of my destitute situation, but I never received any of the Care Packages or support that my affluent church gave away!]
I suppose the gift I got was being online to meet an "equally outcast" f*ck-buddy (passing through from Philadelphia, on his way to Boston), who drove to me on Christmas Eve and pounded my rear-end beautifully... while both of our families celebrated without us. In exchange for letting him sleep overnight, he used his "morning wood" to ram me in the shower as "bonus sex" before he drove away.
Being Catholic, my "regular" teenage playmate was obligated to stay at home with his family during most of the holidays, and he only resumed visiting me afterwards. I missed him during that week when others were merrily busy with festivity. I was elated to start the new year with him (in me)!
[Meanwhile, my former church mailed me envelopes asking for donations. I knew that my former Pastor was celebrating elegantly in his refurbished home...
ignoring me—the young guy who did so much for him—with a "cold shoulder" and an uncharitable heart. He was aware of my destitute situation, but I never received any of the Care Packages or support that my affluent church gave away!]
I suppose the gift I got was being online to meet an "equally outcast" f*ck-buddy (passing through from Philadelphia, on his way to Boston), who drove to me on Christmas Eve and pounded my rear-end beautifully... while both of our families celebrated without us. In exchange for letting him sleep overnight, he used his "morning wood" to ram me in the shower as "bonus sex" before he drove away.
Being Catholic, my "regular" teenage playmate was obligated to stay at home with his family during most of the holidays, and he only resumed visiting me afterwards. I missed him during that week when others were merrily busy with festivity. I was elated to start the new year with him (in me)!
His sturdy shoulders often upheld my legs...
...but he also lent a "shoulder to cry on". Being a good listener, he also enjoyed my mature advice. We discussed my poor luck finding good men. Was it me? He asked if I discriminated against a guy because of his zodiac sign? No. Hair color? (his "type" was dark) No. Facial features? (because he liked a certain kind of smile and prominent cheekbones) No. Religion? Race? Height? Penis size? Muscle size? Waist size? No. If he had ear piercings? No. Whether or not he had long eyelashes? No. How effeminate he was? Not really. Did he have to be a good dancer? No. Did he have to pay for me during dates? No. Did he need to drive a nice car? No. Live in a fancy home? No (but that might come with a big bed, ha ha!). Did he need to know the latest Brittany Spears song? No. Did he have to dress a certain way? Other than wearing things that looked good on him, No. Did it matter if his penis curved up or to the side or stood straight out? No. Did he need low-hangers? No: I have my own. Did it matter if he was "out" to his family? No. Did it matter if he snored? No. Did it matter if he was vegan? No. Did it matter if he was several years older or younger than me? (because he wouldn't be with anyone over 30-years-old) No. I told him that it mostly depended on the chemistry/energy between us. My sex-buddy declared me to be "open to possibilities and opportunities", saying that I was much less bigoted than his friends, who had so many requirements for every aspect of a person. Thus, I "should be a world traveler having immense fun!"
Thanks. The people with longer checklists of requirements/discrimination were getting more action than me. That seemed absurd!
[Two years later, I was happy when he encountered me in my next neighborhood and told me how well he was doing. He followed my advice and "came out" to his family, who initially shunned him, and he lived at a friend’s house for a while, in exile. He continued being nice to them, and his parents slowly accepted him. As soon as he "came out" to his friends at school, many told him that they already knew/guessed that he was gay! He became a leader in his college’s Gay Awareness Club, making gay friends, and getting invited on dates "out in the open". He got involved volunteering at Gay Clinics in Manhattan, went to gay clubs where Go-Go Boys danced on the bars, and marched in Pride Parades. He started dating a Hispanic boy who was a nice romantic/sexual fit... although he still missed our mutual excitement. Spontaneously, he asked if we could reunite and have sex together "one last time". To persuade me, he unzipped his pants to show his precum wetness, and he flexed his tongue, biceps, and penis. Honestly, his prowess and erection were tempting, but I considered his newfound boyfriend and said it wasn't a good idea. He "fell out of touch" with me. Nonetheless, I was happy that I took the time to do good deeds that magnified someone's life. He said that he always remembered me!]
Thanks. The people with longer checklists of requirements/discrimination were getting more action than me. That seemed absurd!
[Two years later, I was happy when he encountered me in my next neighborhood and told me how well he was doing. He followed my advice and "came out" to his family, who initially shunned him, and he lived at a friend’s house for a while, in exile. He continued being nice to them, and his parents slowly accepted him. As soon as he "came out" to his friends at school, many told him that they already knew/guessed that he was gay! He became a leader in his college’s Gay Awareness Club, making gay friends, and getting invited on dates "out in the open". He got involved volunteering at Gay Clinics in Manhattan, went to gay clubs where Go-Go Boys danced on the bars, and marched in Pride Parades. He started dating a Hispanic boy who was a nice romantic/sexual fit... although he still missed our mutual excitement. Spontaneously, he asked if we could reunite and have sex together "one last time". To persuade me, he unzipped his pants to show his precum wetness, and he flexed his tongue, biceps, and penis. Honestly, his prowess and erection were tempting, but I considered his newfound boyfriend and said it wasn't a good idea. He "fell out of touch" with me. Nonetheless, I was happy that I took the time to do good deeds that magnified someone's life. He said that he always remembered me!]
That winter, Geraldine started having boyfriend troubles… over and over again with different adorable men. She began staying home at night, complaining that nothing went right for her, and that there weren’t any good men on the planet. She wanted to tell me all her problems. I couldn't handle her complaining, in addition to the landlady's complaining, and my coworkers' & customers' complaining. None of their problems were as bad as mine, anyway.
It all coincided with a bitterly frigid wintertime, and the stereotypical situation of our cheap/scheming landlord keeping the only thermostat (for all 3 apartments) locked so we couldn't raise the temperature. The thermostat was set to conserve heat and save him money—only turning on at 7pm, barely getting enough heat to the rooms, and turning off at midnight, during “sleep time when we wouldn’t need it”. Geraldine and I came home to cold rooms, since our calls to the landlord achieved nothing. She complained to me about what she was paying for... while our millionaire landlord lived in luxury. That winter was so cold that the touch-screens at the outdoor ATM and MetroCard machines failed to work!
Let me assure you that I know what it's like to feel cold. During those wintery evenings, as sunsets began at 4:30, I felt (and dreaded) the freezing air seeping into our poorly-insulated apartment. I bundled myself in layers of sweaters, socks, and blankets, while drinking hot water and searching online for jobs that I preferred to be at.
It all created the perfect misery for Geraldine to nurse her troubles. She got drunk often, left our refrigerator open overnight, and left spilled food in the kitchen several times. A mouse was soon caught in one of my traps. Another mouse dragged a glue trap under a radiator and died, eventually emitting a disgusting odor. When I asked her to be more responsible, she told me, "it's no big deal, compared to having no heat".
It all created the perfect misery for Geraldine to nurse her troubles. She got drunk often, left our refrigerator open overnight, and left spilled food in the kitchen several times. A mouse was soon caught in one of my traps. Another mouse dragged a glue trap under a radiator and died, eventually emitting a disgusting odor. When I asked her to be more responsible, she told me, "it's no big deal, compared to having no heat".
She also got envious of any vocal noises coming from my bedroom—especially from a tantalizing and toned "bottom" named John (seen below). (Having sex with a cute volleyball coach like John created heat in my room, ha ha!) Her attitude got worse. John eventually became reluctant to come to my home, if it caused problems with my roommate.
I couldn't believe that Geraldine was envious: she obviously didn't recall the REST of my life! John could not host, so I eventually watched his sexy ass and legs leave my apartment for the last time.
I couldn't believe that Geraldine was envious: she obviously didn't recall the REST of my life! John could not host, so I eventually watched his sexy ass and legs leave my apartment for the last time.
Nonetheless, someone in Heaven must’ve been listening to her plight (they forgot mine long ago),
because the Universe rewarded her by winning a contest to appear on a
“Celebrity Dating Episode” on the "Regis and Kelly Dating the Stars TV Show"!!! Such luck! Right next to me!
I was amazed that—all
around me—people’s lives were having miracles. My lucky ticket must have been lost. On the morning of Geraldine's "live episode", a Town Car picked her up. Those are the pictures below...
...and I watched her on television where she competed against other attractive girls for a date with a Celebrity Chef. Geraldine went through the questionnaire and several tests.
She won!!! The bitter-minded, snippy, unsatisfied girl won. My college-age "friend with benefits" texted me in disbelief: he was equally flabbergasted, after watching the show.
While I sat at home eating my usual rice and beans, I watched Geraldine in the next episode, too. She had a glorious date with the chef, and he cooked dessert for her. In the end, she dumped him, complaining about him, just like she found flaws in every man. A person like her—who unappreciatively dissected men—won a dating contest, which she ALSO rejected… while living alongside a young man who LONGED for a date! It was unbelievable! She wanted to continue telling me all her problems, but I told her that she was wrong to be so ungrateful. I told her that she made herself unhappy by discarding "Life's gifts"—always wanting perfection.
A few weeks later, Geraldine announced that she was moving back in with her parents. (Yeah, I'm sure THAT helped her mature herself).
...and I watched her on television where she competed against other attractive girls for a date with a Celebrity Chef. Geraldine went through the questionnaire and several tests.
She won!!! The bitter-minded, snippy, unsatisfied girl won. My college-age "friend with benefits" texted me in disbelief: he was equally flabbergasted, after watching the show.
While I sat at home eating my usual rice and beans, I watched Geraldine in the next episode, too. She had a glorious date with the chef, and he cooked dessert for her. In the end, she dumped him, complaining about him, just like she found flaws in every man. A person like her—who unappreciatively dissected men—won a dating contest, which she ALSO rejected… while living alongside a young man who LONGED for a date! It was unbelievable! She wanted to continue telling me all her problems, but I told her that she was wrong to be so ungrateful. I told her that she made herself unhappy by discarding "Life's gifts"—always wanting perfection.
A few weeks later, Geraldine announced that she was moving back in with her parents. (Yeah, I'm sure THAT helped her mature herself).
For the next roommate search, I used
Roomates.com. If you think that I luckily got a roomie like this...
you're wrong. Maybe if I lived in a gayborhood like Hell's Kitchen, I would've.
Of all the prospectives, only a businessman named Ron, in his late 50s, seemed the best one. I didn't have the luxury of time to keep searching. His résumé (executive of a Chicago title insurance company) and references were top-of-the-line. His company transferred him to NYC, and he found an apartment in New Jersey, but his company was transferring his duties to Long Island, so he wanted a temporary home closer to LI and the city. My Bayside apartment, 2 blocks from the recessed/quiet LIRR train station was perfect! In his polished correspondence, Ron asked to meet—coincidentally at a favored NYC restaurant of mine that featured live jazz. Ron was well-dressed, also loved martinis, and with a Tennessean drawl, he gave me his life story.
Born in Tennessee, he considered himself to be a "southern gentleman". Alas, Tennessee still allowed someone to be fired from their job because they were homosexual. So, he relocated.
you're wrong. Maybe if I lived in a gayborhood like Hell's Kitchen, I would've.
Of all the prospectives, only a businessman named Ron, in his late 50s, seemed the best one. I didn't have the luxury of time to keep searching. His résumé (executive of a Chicago title insurance company) and references were top-of-the-line. His company transferred him to NYC, and he found an apartment in New Jersey, but his company was transferring his duties to Long Island, so he wanted a temporary home closer to LI and the city. My Bayside apartment, 2 blocks from the recessed/quiet LIRR train station was perfect! In his polished correspondence, Ron asked to meet—coincidentally at a favored NYC restaurant of mine that featured live jazz. Ron was well-dressed, also loved martinis, and with a Tennessean drawl, he gave me his life story.
Born in Tennessee, he considered himself to be a "southern gentleman". Alas, Tennessee still allowed someone to be fired from their job because they were homosexual. So, he relocated.
Ron was an openly gay man. He ended a 10-year relationship
with another man, who left him for a mutual friend because Ron worked
constantly. Ron then invested his
time and money making his elderly mother’s last years in Florida beautiful. He financially overextended himself by building her a "dream home". It was
destroyed by the 3 hurricanes of that year. As is typical of American "storm insurance" companies, his failed to fully pay him back (and they lobbied the authorities to reclassify the hurricanes as lesser storms, so they didn't have to pay hurricane insurance). Ron never collected his losses, and then his mother’s health
deteriorated. More money went to
medical expenses, until she died. So, Ron took a "leap of faith" with his company for more prospective business in The Big Apple. He wanted to leave New Jersey, because his area was much worse than the realtor described: it was a ghetto.
Ron impressed my landlord and made two visits to Bayside to get "a feel" for the
neighborhood.
Geraldine squabbled with me about having him walk around the apartment while she was still there. I couldn't wait for her to leave. I needed the rent to be paid… thus needing roommates. I was exasperated with such a challenged income, but I didn't have enough money to move out or live alone.
That week, I read a friend's Facebook post, and I saw that there WAS success in the world. I wanted his type of good fortune! Here is what he wrote: "It's my 2-year anniversary of moving to NYC. It gave me many opportunities. I attended a Gay Pride kickoff party (where I saw Cher), celebrated my birthday at Marquee where Deborah Cox performed, and saw Beyonce in Brooklyn. I saw seven Broadway shows, and I was blessed to take my mom to see Wicked for Mother’s Day! Countless friends visit me, which I cherish greatly. I started dating a great guy! I took several trips: Atlanta, Miami, Washington DC, Cincinnati, New Orleans, Indianapolis, Boston, and a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Rio de Janeiro for Carnival! I was on the cover of Next magazine, pictured in Time Out NY, and was featured in BLEEP magazine as one of their “People To Watch”. Out of nowhere, I was scouted and contacted by a casting agent. I'm still working for the same company that took a chance on me, and I couldn’t be happier! I can honestly say that I am truly blessed to get up and work with the people I do. I love the experiences that my life provides me! I always wanted to move to NYC but never actually thought I would. I showed up with no friends, no money, no apartment... nothing but a job. I made it here! If you can dream it, you can do it!!"
Shortly after that, our bathroom sink got clogged. My landlord summoned a plumber who told me that my landlord cheaply used a pipe that was too small for the drain. It was another reminder that I was "working for my landlord" in exchange for crappy conditions... like much of NYC.
Eventually, Ron learned about my other troubles. While he still had some money, he took me out to an upscale gay piano bar, The Townhouse, as a Thank-You.
Nowadays, it has a semi-younger clientele... but not then. As I entered, the mostly-older men turned to admire me. I nestled myself at the bar, ordered a martini, and quickly realized that I attracted a good amount of attention... even from the pianist! Ron took it upon himself to keep everyone away from me, announcing a lie that I had a boyfriend. "Don't let that stop you, sweetie!" a guy told me. Another said, "Maybe I can make you give him up". I was bluntly propositioned in the restroom, too.
That's why young men like Danny (below),
adore "sugar daddies" who erase their financial and worldly concerns. But that didn't happen for me.
Ron did find a job, then lost it, found another... and left it when the CFO shot the VP (it was in the news), and then found another… before getting fired. Understandably, Ron's temperament soured and his frustration built. I wondered how I could get 3 different unhappy roommates in a row?! Not to mention bad jobs, bosses, landlord, a slow lawyer, nobody to help me, a worsening financial situation, a meager social life, and a loss of all the dreams I sought. Nonetheless, I did my best to improve Ron's bad moods (certainly not the interaction I expected). To avoid spending money, we spent our shared time together trying to imagine better situations.
With all the troubles "weighing on my shoulders", I remember hitting my lowest point. I cashed my paycheck to pay my
attorney’s monthly fee, and I had barely enough to buy another MetroCard for the bus. My loose change permitted a TREAT for me to avoid buying $1 boxes of pasta… and instead to buy a $1
menu item from McDonalds. (I took extra ketchup to flavor the next day’s lunch/dinner box of pasta). I
actually started crying while sitting there. Things hadn't gotten much better. I thought there was no hope.
Geraldine squabbled with me about having him walk around the apartment while she was still there. I couldn't wait for her to leave. I needed the rent to be paid… thus needing roommates. I was exasperated with such a challenged income, but I didn't have enough money to move out or live alone.
That week, I read a friend's Facebook post, and I saw that there WAS success in the world. I wanted his type of good fortune! Here is what he wrote: "It's my 2-year anniversary of moving to NYC. It gave me many opportunities. I attended a Gay Pride kickoff party (where I saw Cher), celebrated my birthday at Marquee where Deborah Cox performed, and saw Beyonce in Brooklyn. I saw seven Broadway shows, and I was blessed to take my mom to see Wicked for Mother’s Day! Countless friends visit me, which I cherish greatly. I started dating a great guy! I took several trips: Atlanta, Miami, Washington DC, Cincinnati, New Orleans, Indianapolis, Boston, and a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Rio de Janeiro for Carnival! I was on the cover of Next magazine, pictured in Time Out NY, and was featured in BLEEP magazine as one of their “People To Watch”. Out of nowhere, I was scouted and contacted by a casting agent. I'm still working for the same company that took a chance on me, and I couldn’t be happier! I can honestly say that I am truly blessed to get up and work with the people I do. I love the experiences that my life provides me! I always wanted to move to NYC but never actually thought I would. I showed up with no friends, no money, no apartment... nothing but a job. I made it here! If you can dream it, you can do it!!"
Yes, I wanted that kind of good fortune. But no.
When it was time for Ron to move in, he suddenly called me with terrible news. His job was laying him off! But he already paid me for the apartment and was expected to leave his current one. What a fiasco! He still wanted to move in, and he would begin job-seeking immediately. My heart went out to him, and I felt like a therapist for the three loooooonnng phone calls I spent with him, fortifying the older man with all kinds of encouragement. Ron thanked me profusely, calling me an angel sent to lend a hand, and he assured me of the prosperous times ahead: the fun it would be to swap recipes and explore the city together. (That's him below).
With his résumé, I assumed that he would get a job quickly. Besides, there wasn't enough time to find another replacement roommate, and Ron needed a place to live. So, I realized that Life was going to make me "work some more", to get my newest roommate moved in. Thus, I did another good deed.
It would've been great if the movers looked like this...
but they were far from it. Ha ha!
On "moving day"—which consumed my entire day off—I exhaustively traveled to Ron's apartment in New Jersey, via 3 trains, to help him finish packing.
When it was time for Ron to move in, he suddenly called me with terrible news. His job was laying him off! But he already paid me for the apartment and was expected to leave his current one. What a fiasco! He still wanted to move in, and he would begin job-seeking immediately. My heart went out to him, and I felt like a therapist for the three loooooonnng phone calls I spent with him, fortifying the older man with all kinds of encouragement. Ron thanked me profusely, calling me an angel sent to lend a hand, and he assured me of the prosperous times ahead: the fun it would be to swap recipes and explore the city together. (That's him below).
With his résumé, I assumed that he would get a job quickly. Besides, there wasn't enough time to find another replacement roommate, and Ron needed a place to live. So, I realized that Life was going to make me "work some more", to get my newest roommate moved in. Thus, I did another good deed.
It would've been great if the movers looked like this...
On "moving day"—which consumed my entire day off—I exhaustively traveled to Ron's apartment in New Jersey, via 3 trains, to help him finish packing.
Ron possessed too much stuff—as you see below—and he was persnickety about how everything should be done! He brought all kinds of unnecessary paraphernalia. What had I gotten myself into?!
Several hours later, I took all 3 trains back, ahead of the moving van. Feeling worn out, I still made sure that his dozens of labeled boxes got moved in, unpacked, and things stored away.
It was exhausting trying to maintain the ability to pay my rent!
It was exhausting trying to maintain the ability to pay my rent!
(A week after he moved in, Ron told me that I exhibited the subconscious habit of clenching my fingers and toes. Alas, his uncontrolled behavior and my landlord's miserly swindling didn't relieve my over-stressed life).
Shortly after that, our bathroom sink got clogged. My landlord summoned a plumber who told me that my landlord cheaply used a pipe that was too small for the drain. It was another reminder that I was "working for my landlord" in exchange for crappy conditions... like much of NYC.
Eventually, Ron learned about my other troubles. While he still had some money, he took me out to an upscale gay piano bar, The Townhouse, as a Thank-You.
Nowadays, it has a semi-younger clientele... but not then. As I entered, the mostly-older men turned to admire me. I nestled myself at the bar, ordered a martini, and quickly realized that I attracted a good amount of attention... even from the pianist! Ron took it upon himself to keep everyone away from me, announcing a lie that I had a boyfriend. "Don't let that stop you, sweetie!" a guy told me. Another said, "Maybe I can make you give him up". I was bluntly propositioned in the restroom, too.
That's why young men like Danny (below),
adore "sugar daddies" who erase their financial and worldly concerns. But that didn't happen for me.
Ron did find a job, then lost it, found another... and left it when the CFO shot the VP (it was in the news), and then found another… before getting fired. Understandably, Ron's temperament soured and his frustration built. I wondered how I could get 3 different unhappy roommates in a row?! Not to mention bad jobs, bosses, landlord, a slow lawyer, nobody to help me, a worsening financial situation, a meager social life, and a loss of all the dreams I sought. Nonetheless, I did my best to improve Ron's bad moods (certainly not the interaction I expected). To avoid spending money, we spent our shared time together trying to imagine better situations.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Don't be shy: leave your comments :)