Gay of a Certain Age - Narratus Interuptus

As a gay of a certain age, I've certainly had my share of adventurous sexcapades.
I didn't come out to myself & others until I was 28 years old, and soon after I was making up
for lost time.  Every weekend seemed like prom night, and since I was young(ish) & vanilla was my flavor of choice, finding someone to bounce jangly parts with wasn't very difficult.  In the past ten years, or so, my adventures have slowed down drastically and seem as likely as The Wizard of Oz being shown on Network T.V.  I nailed a cardboard sign that says "Special" that I twirl whenever I manage to have someone in the bedroom.  The drop in my adventures can be attributed to a few things including, self body image, lack of interest in the pursuit, really good T.V. shows, a great relationship with my hands... But, I would say the biggest reason is that I've stopped being a Story Whore.

I used to be a prolific Story Whore.  That is, if I was not having a good sexual experience I would stay in it so that I'd have a story for the brunch table the next day.  So, if my sex life wasn't great, brunch with friends would be, because who doesn't love a story about sex gone terribly wrong over a protein scramble with avocado?  I used to enjoy reliving the awkward experience, like the time a guy I confessed to that I liked toys (i.e. collectible vinyl figures) invited me to his place where he had toys to show me.  His were building blocks with baby Muppets on them.  He also had rubber sheets.  Also, our sex consisted of him blowing me for 90 minutes, to where I was less erect and more puffy & swollen, followed by a request for me to leave my mark on him.  Apparently, peeing on him is where I reached my cut-off.

I'd never set out to have a crazy or lousy sex experience, but when it started going south in the south, instead of leaving I'd buck up because, I think I had convinced myself that it was my duty.  It started happening before Carrie and her friends sat around sharing their sex stories on HBO, but I will say my high tide of Story Whoring was during the run of SEX AND THE CITY.  Whether we meant to be or not, we gay folk were the model the NY foursome who found themselves in many different sexuations.  I suppose that the fun spirit of the show made it more appealing for me.  Why wouldn't I stick around and see how the drunk groom to be, who somehow stumbled into a gay bar in South Beach and wanted me to plow him the weekend of his wedding, would end up? (The ending includes the quote, "Stacy's gonna kill me," at 7:00 am, as he awoke.)  It had to be better than returning to my hotel room alone, right?

I'm not sure when it happened, but I do remember being in the throws of shallow passion and the guy I was with started doing this weird thing that was very much like a blow fish and I consciously told myself, "Leave. Fight the curiosity and leave.  No more."  And with that, I lightly moved his pucker off of me and made a polite excuse and left.  I did not promise to call him later.  I just said, "thank you." and left.  Now, my few sexual encounters are not as easy to come by because of age, and less time spent looking for it in obvious places, but mostly because I'm not as likely to accept just anything.  I no longer think that bad sex is better than no sex.  Bad sex for me is not a matter of judging someone for an odd bit that they are into, or a weird move they are trying out, it's simply a matter of how well we are connecting.  If we're not connecting, being present with each other or I feel like I'm just a handy hole, it's bad sex.  Having someone want to spread orange marmalade on me while wearing a metalic jock and a Mexican wrestling mask is not necessarily a deal breaker, if we're both into it and connecting.

So, I'm still up for an exciting one night stand or friendly sex encounters while I'm single, I'm just not going to go through the motions waiting for the amusing hook, especially because there isn't always one.  I have no problem cutting it short and heading home, or showing them the door.  Now at brunch, my stories of personal empowerment don't get the same reception as my regular bad sex stories did, but my gluten-free french toast tastes a little better.

He Don't Even Know! - All that Chaz

Say Hello, to my "boyfriend", 

whom I think is a Chaz.

Chaz is very silly and loves a good laugh, 

I imagine, one time, 

that we were at an electrician friend's 

Welcome Home From Narnia party

when this very annoyingly flirty 

and drunk set decorator guy

was shamelessly throwing himself at Chaz.

I didn't feel threatened at all, 

mostly because Chaz never gives me any reason to fret.

The set decorator made it clear that he had designs on Chaz's crotch.

I turned to Chaz and said, "Go ahead, show him your nuts."

Set decorator's eyes widened with anticipation.

Chaz promptly stuck his fingers in his own ears

and twisted them as he stuck his tongue out

and crossed his eyes.

I did a spit take on Set Decorator,

and yelled, "You're nuts!"

Set Decorator was turned off on so many levels.

Chaz took his fingers out of his ears, 

but left his tongue out as he licked the tip of my nose

and pulled me into a hug.

We never did see that Narnia movie...

This Is Why I Am Single - Me vs Me

Here's a nice photo of me at some street event, probably in 1999.
Dang, I had abs.
This is back when I had a job as a temp and had a friend who was a writing and a work-out partner.
I would work until 6:00, then head to his place where we would write until 8 or 8:30, then head to the gym, then get get a lite dinner.  I usually got home and in bed by 11:00 and started all over again.  Looking back, I think that steady schedule really helped me keep things in perspective and goals in sight.  Maybe a year or so later, our differences became more apparent so we stopped writing together and eventually stopped working out together.  That, coupled with me getting hired full-time, making me able to afford lunches and dinners that I couldn't have as a temp, led me down the road to Chunky Town.
I was still working out, but other things got in the way, like acting, networking, socializing , T.V. watching and shoe cleaning.  When I look at photos from that period, with my 2015 vision, I still looked pretty good, even if then, I thought I was fat.
Currently, I'm not  a gym goer (I still pay my monthly dues, which I call my Fat Tax), and I'm actually fat.  Not the exaggerated Hollywood - HaHa Funny Fat Guy fat, but the Dr. BlueEyes saying, "You need to lose 40 pounds," fat.  If you looked at me walking down the street, you might think you're seeing an anthropomorphic avocado strolling along, but you probably wouldn't think, "Wow, that guy is fat!". Granted, the fact that not doing crunches in a long while has me walking with my stomach out, as if it were Toucan Sam's snout sniffing for Fruit loops, which enhances the belly image, but if I suck it in, it ain't so bad.  Therein lies the danger. I can rationalize that it's not great, but it's not that bad.  But it is.
So here I am, late forties and looking at a pic of myself in good shape wondering what went wrong.
I find myself very easily thinking, "No wonder nobody wants to date me! I'm a chunky schlub."

Now, I have the pic on a vision board I see every day to tell myself I can get back to that.
And that is going to help me get back to that!  
Isn't it?
Or am I sabotaging myself by competing with a me that is 15 years younger and in a situation that really lent itself to staying thin?  Seriously, would I have chosen to eat a can of kidney beans or tuna for lunch if I could have afforded more?  I'm not saying that I can't get in better shape, or that I can't buckle down and set up a strict schedule that has me going to work, then to the gym, then to bed.  I'm not saying I can't make better food choices.  I'm just wondering if I'm giving up before I start because I'm trying to literally be 15 years younger!  My heart & spirit say, "You can do it!', but my head says, "Dude, don't even!" and the head has my lowered metabolism, aching back, growling stomach and X-Box cheering it on very loudly.
Somewhere in between the spirit and the head, I need to find what it is that'll get me back into being interested in being fit again, along with realistically living the life I enjoying living.  I realize I'm not the schlub I get to thinking I am, and I know I'm attractive to some guys, but I do desire some more confidence in that area.  So, when I do get back into the fitness fray, I will be competing with my current self and not the self that I can no longer, realistically be.
Who knows, maybe when I'm in better shape and finally have the confidence to approach that guy I couldn't have before, it'll turn out he was really attracted to the schlubby me.
At least I'll be healthier...

Nice Eggs!

He Don't Even Know - The Provider

This is my "boyfriend", "Dom".

My favorite thing to imagine 

about him is illustrated in this photo.

See the cash he has in a band around his arm?

Well, whenever we go swimming,

he wants to be sure that

I never do without,
so, he always carries cash!

This particularly hot evening,

he jumped out of the pool 

and into the street as soon as he heard the ice cream truck

(which was playing our song "Music Box Dancer" on the loud speaker)
to get me a Creamsicle!
He knows I love the creamy middle.
He's so sweet!

Gay of a Certain Age - Mail

As a gay of a certain age,  I remember the days before email.  Today, I can rest assured that my two email accounts will be chock full of stuff for me to sort through.  I dare not put it off, else the task becomes too daunting because letting your email go for two or three days could leave you sorting through 300 or 400 messages to find the ones that actually mean anything to you.

In the old days, you had only one chance a day.  If my box didn't have anything in it by 11:00 AM, I knew I was going to have a lonely rest of the day.  I felt like this particularly in the summer of 1985, when I was shipped off to Galveston, Texas to babysit my sister's two baby daughters while she worked.  I became anxious and looked forward to the daily 2:00 PM mailbox check.  Did I get a letter from my mom?  Did I get a post card from a vacationing high school buddy?  Was there a sale at Penny's?   It was an excitement that built as the day wore on and I could barely stand to sit through all of Santa Barbara with out jumping out of my skin.  I couldn't worry about whether or not Gina was gonna pull the plug on C.C.'s life support, I had to worry about whether or not the cast of Miami Vice responded to my fan letter!  I didn't particularly care for that show, but their fan mail address was easy to find and I wanted someone to write to me!  I honestly didn't know who was Crocker or who was Stubbs.  On days when there was no mail, I was truly let down.  On days when there was a colorful advertisement or coupon I'd be content and stare at it for a few minutes, taking in the comfort it brought me.  When there was something in the mail addressed directly to me, I would dance around like Snoopy.  I guess being in a strange city, away from everyone you know with no one to hang out with but a one and a two year-old, will do that to you.  I loved getting something in the mail- and I swear that is the only reason I subscribed to the International Male catalog.  I swear!

Today, even though I may go a day or two without checking my physical mailbox, I still enjoy receiving stuff in the mail.  That is why I still send some handcrafted cards through the post office, now and then.  I like sending a little happy surprise addressed directly to someone I love & care about, hoping it'll give them a little thrill.

I must confess that the flood of email every day, and the trickle of physical mail that comes has made me a little blasé about what's in my box.  Fliers for stores I don't shop at, special offers for cable in Spanish and unneeded insurance offers don't thrill me, although I do get a thrill anytime I get a chance to recycle!  I guess I don't appreciate the junk as much as I used to because it's not "just for me."   I think I just dislike the incincerity of it all.  Every time I get a piece of mail like the one above I think, "If I'm so valued, why don't you know my name?"  Still my every day is buoyed by the chance that I will open that box and find a new International Male catalog waiting just for me!

Too Busy For Love! - Chico's Angels Easter

I would love to go out with you,

thank you for asking, 

but I'm just too busy!

I couldn't even possibly think about a date, 

what with rehearsing and performing 

in CHICO'S ANGELS this week until Sunday.

We're doing 7 shows in 5 days all of which are sold out,

and I don't know how I'm going to do my full time job in the day,

 then rush to the theater to do the show right after!

Of course...

seeing this guy all through it helps...

(Even though he, Duke Shoman, cut off two of my lines & gags last night!)

Also, there's always the hope of snagging some nice, hot

"Stage Door Johnny" with LTR potential after the show...

But how can I be sure he's into me, the person, Danny,

and not my not-clownish-at-all, glamorous and notably trampy character, Frieda Laye?

I guess the ideal is take 'em all and sort 'em out later!

Let's be honest folks, at this point,

 I'll take any kind of attention that comes my way.

Well, not that Kardashian type of attention.

Come to think of it, there are so many different kinds of attention, 

I'd explain them all to you, 

but I'm too busy!