May 24th, 1977

My Sunday night trick just called. I’ve lost any memory of his face. Just vague characteristics. Stocky, dark hair– swarthy mustache. In bed he immediately had me go down on him. Nice smile. But no face.

So, a piddling telephone conversation with lots of silent spots. I ask him over tonight. He says he’s exhausted– been out all day. It finally boils down to my nearly coaxing him over. He says he may call later tonight. It’s a good thing I’ve learned not to get excited anymore.

—-

Gene was never aggressive enough with me.