December 13th, 1977
Just got home from a date with John. What a nice man and how good I feel with him– and even afterward, alone. I carry his high into my privacy.
John and I met and tricked a couple of weeks ago and it was a very intense, warm evening. He has only just begun to live an actively gay life. He was divorced three weeks ago after 20 years of marriage and two children. He is exuberant with his new world. There is a vitality to his obvious enjoyment that is contagious. We go out dancing to the Lost and Found and it is so apparent what a good time he is having. I like being with him– he carries me away from my moodiness. He has that trusting capability to enjoy that is usually reserved for the young. Before the heart has formed scar tissue to protect it from wear.
John drives all the way into the city from Bethesda to take me to his apartment for dinner. He shows up at the door looking as sexy as ever– with a Hanukkah present for me– a Dolly Parton album. We have a beer and we listen to the music– when we drive up Wisconsin Avenue through a mild winter evening with a clear deep blue sky lit with stars at a silvery sliver of a half-moon. John lives deep in an chic Bethesda. A minor suburban haven for the affluent Washington. Less socially prominent than Georgetown. But solidly respectable. John lives in an absolutely incredible high-rise. Sprawling huge hallways with a thousand twists and thick white carpeting. Shiny chrome and glass tables and a deep rust colored loveseat. Perfect for snuggling in candlelight. His apartment is an efficiency with the vague Holiday Inn quality of a high-rise which his personality combats exquisitely. One wall features a haunting portrait of a man which John painted years ago. His first and only attempt at art he says. And the painting is wonderful. He also has marvelous lithographs and pottery from Israel. John lived there a few years ago on a kibbutz with his wife and children. He drove a tractor and picked fruit all day long and loved the land– the blue sky and the endless dessert.
He made dinner for me tonight. Spaghetti and salad and wine and a joint that knocked me out. Trying not to feel crazy. A chronic problem now it seems with the holidays settling around me like death. Eating half a valium in the bathroom just to calm down for sex and then getting crazy wondering if I would OD. Larry, the OD king.
Good sex and fantasies floating so vividly that it required a certain amount of surrender to allow them. I moan and writhe with my fantasies and soon they begin to fade and I find myself back in the room with John. Just this warm, sexy, giving, loving man. Through the candlelight, I wonder what I have been for him.
Later, we become ourselves. I go to the bathroom to wash the cum from my stomach. In the other room I hear him walking around naked, lighting a cigarette. We change rooms. He goes into the bathroom and I proceed to put my clothes on. The room is still soft and warm with the candlelight and the freshness of lovemaking. We hug each other in the middle of the room.
He drives me home and it is good to be back in my own life again. The beauty with John is that my romantic feelings which are surfacing do not threaten me with a loss of identity. I just don’t feel that it’s logical for a man who has just gotten his freedom to try and take mine away. I trust him and I appreciate his liking me.