March 31st, 1976

Weeks ago I met a man one late night at the Eagle. I was standing across the room from him. A fuck-god from my mythology. My visions of this man are exquisite. Stocky, sturdy body. Muscular. Husky, masculine. 

Sitting at the bar looking at me. Dark swarthy mustache. We cruised for an eternity and when he finally stood to walk toward me my body juiced and flashed and ran like warm water. He was gorgeous. We spoke and he said he had to leave but would like to call me some time. He asked my name. He said he would get my number from the phone book and call. I told him that my number was unlisted. (I just remembered when I lived on 18th street and had my phone listed sender “Jimmie Neck”)– So, he told me to call him. His name was Bill Callahan in Arlington. The very next night I called. Information had absolutely no such name listed in Arlington. So, I forgot about that delicious man.

I am so intrigued at my emotional experience for him. Or should I say for men like him. The lust I feel. The passions. Movie romance visceral desire and want. No one has ever aroused this spot in me since Richard. All my relationships have been so brief and eventually unsatisfying.

Last Sunday night Allen and I were at the Georgetown Grill late at night and he walked in. Everything started up inside of me again. I was still going strong from a black beauty I had taken that afternoon and I really wanted him badly. He came and sat at the table directly across from me and started smiling. This sexed, rugged beautiful smile with bright white teeth. After a brief, typical…