February 12th, 1981
A week speeds by and I haven’t written. The visit home broke the continuity that was developing. The wild week of carousing has faded into a quiet. I’ve been really involved with working and coming home at night mentally tired and content to have a few beers and lie in front of the television in front of the flickering colors as if it were a fireplace. Last week I had an unexpected phone call from Doug, the number I had met at Boots a few weeks ago who intrigued me with his motorcycle masculinity. He came over on Sunday for a day and night of wanton sexuality. He is everything I had expected. Most of his sexual experiences have been heterosexual. He lacks the affectations of gay men socialized with a consciousness of being gay. There is an attraction for me to this, but it may be superficial. I am impatient with heterosexuals in general. The insularity of life in a gay ghetto causes a certain impatience with the straight world. Gay people and gay community are so much better than straight.
Work is fabulous. I am completely in love with the job and the people. I am, in fact, completely in love with my entire life right now. A basic contentment filters through my days. A peace. A happiness. I feel good about my job, my apartment, my friends, my family, my future.