Discover more from The Last Hundred Miles
January 24th, 1981
Another wonderful date with Jerry Thursday night. That man knocks me out. He’s so damned good-looking and sexy and funny and bright and warm and sex is some of the best I can ever remember. And I have a full-fledged crush when I am attempting to the best of my ability to keep under control. Jerry is not the type of romantic swooning and although my inner world is crying romance, I’m taking my cues from him and taking this slowly. Jerry is not the type to declare love after a few hot dates. I am. Just when do reasonable people decide that they are in love?
What you should do Larry is straighten up this apartment real fast and shower and dress and put in your new contacts and hit Ty’s about 2:00 AM when the going gets good and bring a hot number home and have sex. You know you like Jerry and want to pursue it, but it’s just not good for you to sit around and wait for love to blossom. One-night sex has it’s own brand of passion. Don’t deny yourself that. And who knows? You just might have something hot. Jerry’s hot when you’re with him, but it leaves you hanging in mid-air emotionally between dates. Don’t give up on the notion that something might develop between you and Jerry, but don’t sit around the house and deny your emotional needs while you wait. A good roll in the hay never hurts. Oh, it’s Saturday night and I’m just plain tired and don’t feel like standing around a bar. Oh, for gods sake, go out for one drink. Get out, it’s bad to stay holed up in this apartment. It does you good to get out and have people around you.
The ongoing dialogue of living alone and being single.
I sure am tired of being single.
Oh shut up, you’re just starting to enjoy it.
Voyeurism: In the apartment across me the blinds are half-pulled and I watch the bottom half of a man in the process of dressing. Green underwear and a red flannel shirt and white socks. A gay man, getting ready to hit the bars on a Saturday night? He sits with his back to met on the bed and I see him light a cigarette. He reads the television section from the Sunday Times. Is he staying in and wondering what to watch on TV? He reclines on the bed with his hands behind his head; if I had binoculars, this would be a great crotch shot. He just took off his flannel shirt and socks and dropped the green shorts about his ankles and stepped out of them. Then he walked toward the window and I saw a big bosemed woman stand and stare out at the dark courtyard.
I think I will wash the dishes.
Emotional need trivializes my life.