January 8th, 1981

Quiet day at home. Reading. Sleeping. Andy calls late in the day and I meet him at Boots for a drink. He’s in his three piece business suit and we sit at the bar and talk about his latest sexual activities. That’s usually all Andy really ever talks about. I listen and really don’t mind. Some of the stories are good. A friend of his arrives, an older guy (who Andy promptly tells me is into scat) and they begin an animated conversation. Andy is suddenly aware of a guy standing behind me who is cruising him. I don’t tell Andy that I’ve seen this guy all over the Village and just yesterday he cruised me half to death at the La Parisienne deli and even stood outside in the freezing cold and waited for me to come out of the store. Andy stood at the bar and made out with the pathetic creature (who, it seems, is a recent arrival from D.C.) and left me alone to carry on a half-assed conversation with the elderly scat freak. I quickly put my coat on and headed for Ty’s. What the hell. I’m already out. Ty’s is nearly empty. Russ is tending bar and I have one beer, stand in the corner and leave as soon as I finish it. I head down the street to Ramrod. An act of endurance in this godawful cold. Perhaps I’ll find some menacing Master lurking in the corner there. After reading The Leatherman’s Handbook I feel as if I have a keener sense of looking for a Master. This Levi butch fluff about the bar is not what I’m looking for. “Just what are you looking for, Laredo?” I see a mean looking fucker at the end of the bar. Black cowboy hat. Leather pants, leather vest open on a hairy chest. Glaring at the crowd, holding his beer can in his fist like a weapon. I stand next to him and assume as humble a stance as I can. Yes, dear Aunt Doris, I actually stood there and bowed my head, hoping he would get the idea. Oh, who knows, I finally got tired of the whole thing, and when he went to the bathroom, someone else took his place at the bar and I ware relieved to be able to belly up to the bar and light a cigarette. I left after one beer there and headed back up the street to home. Passing Trilogy I stopped in for a beer. Such a difference in ambience. This place could really pass for a D.C. bar. Well dressed pretty boys with bracelets and gold chains and smelling like the cologne counter at Bloomingdales. I am not comfortable here, and leave after one beer. This time, really, for him.

When I got in the apartment, the phone was ringing. It was Jerry! He is home sick with a sinus infection, swollen gland et al. I virtually invited myself over, and was there within the hour with Haagen Dazs ice cream and a dozen red roses. He was lying on the sofa in his robe and we spent the evening cuddled on the sofa like lovers watching television. His roommate was there and his presence even added to the casual, relaxed feeling. We eat ice cream and snuggle and occasionally one of his cats would leap up in the midst of us purring loudly. I was purring loudly last night myself. With the icy wind raging outside, I felt so safe and secure lying in this sexy man’s arms. In bed, I play the topman with a passion and he loves it. Sex is warm and good and I know that tonight I will spend the night. We sleep well together and I do not leave until nearly noon. When I do leave, it is a healthy kiss, see you later. None of my usual Shirley Bassey crap. I stand in the hallway and listen to my heart. “Are you still there?” Somewhere, beneath all the scar tissue, I know it is. Learning to love your scar tissue: a guide to survival on Christopher Street.