God, all this fuckin feeling is exfuckinsausting.
Got an invite on one of the homo sites from a very impressively hung young black fella --he sent pix--in Hawaii who is coming to town next week with three other military buddies and wants to know if a hot (grrrrrrr) dude like me is interesting in partying with the group...
Back in 1992 I was going out with four black guys...at the same time, but one at a time. Was doing my bit for racial integration. :)) Had more energy then, too! Whatever the sad history that shaped them, there is hardly a creature on earth more beautiful than a beautiful African-American man. A weekly fuckbuddy named Nick, a big handsome footballplayer sized guy who took me to his pastor-brother's church in Oakland for Christmas. Talk about standing out. (He left to use the bathroom while we were out at dinner in the Castro and the two queens at the table next to us breathlessly said to me, as soon as he was gone, "Jesus, where did you find HIM?!!) A smaller and wiry Mr. Ropes and Chains from San Jose whom I met while he was bartending at The Mint. Funny thing: he came to our first date dressed in leather, with cuffs and a T-shirt from a pretty heavy leather magazine. But he was shocked when I tied him to the tree in the backyard. Apparently, like a lot of women, he was totally blind to the semiotics of dressing for a date. He wanted take me to the altar and run my life after four dates, so that sorta ended that. Forget his name now...ah, yes. Jimmy. A colleague in the HIV and substance abuse field, Tim, (long deceased from HIV) handsome and smart, part black, part AmerIndian, but he turned out to be a shapeshifter shaman --at least in his own mind--who responded to my admiration for Mission Dolores by comparing it to a concentration camp*. And good old T, my ex**, with whom I created a scandal and had to resign my job, with whom I lived for over eight years and who remains, almost twenty years later, my irascible but reliable friend.
*This before I learned of the sad fate of St. Peter the Aleut, tortured to death right there.
**I don't quite name B among my ex's --he's more of a y--because things never quite settled long enough in our three year adventure to know who we actually were to each other and what the words really meant. As he told me long ago, "I like ambiguity." And one of our first email exchanges included my saying that "I'm too old to be vague." His response, prophetically, was "And I'm too vague to be old." Funny fella.
But like I said, this is tiring. Now, off to the gym.
PS Well, back from the gym. Got backed up against the water fountain by a very handsome guy with a Southern accent and silver stache and killer smile, found myself staring right into his green eyes. "Hope ya don't mind me bein' pushy. I'm kinda thirsty". Nice to play with that kind of male energy. The man knows how to flirt :)