Discover more from The Last Hundred Miles
June 5th, 1982
A couple of weeks ago I answered an ad in the Voice personals:
GWM. 36, handsome Ital.
Seeks similar husky man
interested in the arts
It was an anxious endeavor. I spent most of a day at work composing a short answer. I was both intimidated and embarrassed. Tonight, in the pouring rain, I met him for a movie and afterward, he took me to dinner. A short, fat, unattractive man who was crippled (limped badly) and had bad breath. He was pathetic and liked me very much. I felt like Bettie Davis in Of Human Bondage. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I took the action— went on the date. I am in charge of action— not results.
Emboldened by my effort, I answered another ad just this week from New York Native— a man who lives in New Brunswick, NJ— 6’3— 215 pounds— seeking someone who is nurturing and unafraid of commitment. I responded with quite a brave note on my Missouri heritage and my basic needs for love and commitment. Embarrassed by such admissions to a stranger, I quickly went to the Post Office and mailed it before I could change my mind.
When I got home tonight from my “date”— Allan told me that “Jack” had called from New Brunswick. It was too late to return his call then— but I will call him tomorrow.
A big guy looking for someone who is “nurturing and unafraid of commitment.” I read that as a top man looking for a bottom. God, do I need a Top Man in my life.
Allan and I went out tonight— briefly to a 10th Anniversary dance at PS3 for Now Group that was thinning out and nearly over by the time we arrived. Then we walked up Christopher Street— jammed with the usual Saturday night Bridge and Tunnel crowd— to Boots. Standing at the bar, I felt the man behind me press his leg against my ass. Then I felt his hard on his knee. I totally ignored him and continued to talk with Allan about Broadway plays. Soon he was feeling and rubbing and playing with my ass— pressed tight against my white Levi’s. When All and I decided to leave— I turned to him and said “Thanks. That felt great. I’ve got to leave— but tonight I’m going to jack off and think about you.” He took my hand and pressed it into his lap— a long, hard thick bulge. “And I’ll be thinking about you”— He said— “You’re beautiful.” He was a real redneck biker type— beard, white T-shirt, baseball hat.
Now I am home and about to snuggle up with this wonderful dog and go to sleep. And I will not masturbate to a fantasy of a man on a barstool with a baseball hat who made me feel like a bottom— I will wait for my lover— he may be named Jack— or maybe not. But I know with such clarity and conviction that I need a Top Man to love— and that my Higher Power is amazing and preparing answers to all my dreams and needs.