Thursday, June 02, 2005
LET'S GO TO THE SEX PARTY (Part 2)
Our host A is a trim, tanned fellow, balding on top with a small white beard. He is 54, and he is in great shape, with smooth, supple muscles and a well-proportioned body. I saw his website where he seeks private dates, women preferred but he is definitely bi. Or as he puts it rather succinctly, he likes fucking and getting fucked. He has also posed for a gay male calendar of guys over 50. I have never been attracted to men around my age, but here's one I would go for if I weren't with my current partner.
At the start of the evening as we converse together, A and I take a trip down memory lane. He lives around the corner from where the classic dyke bar in San Francisco used to be, Maud's, it was called. It closed down a while ago, but in the late 60s and 70s it was quite the hangout. I became a really good pool player at Maud's, A became a really good connoisseur of dykes in the place. He told me he hung there a lot, chatting up the women, and often succeeding in picking them up. I can visualize him twenty or thirty years ago, and I can see him connecting with a dyke or two. He's open, interesting, with a well-developed female side but not a swishy type at all. For a bi man, this is important, at least to me. He is nearly a 50-50, like my own partner D.
A says that every time he took home a dyke, he had what he claims was the best sex of his life. Those dykes, don't they ever know how to do a guy good. He says this as he fixes me with a look. I suspected when I visited his website that he and I might connect. He is into thin thin women who are fit. I am lean and leaner with some muscles. I sense at some point he is probably going to want to leap on me. I am ready.
Other people start arriving, until we land a group of about 12-15. The flavor is very definitely bi to gay, as far as the guys are concerned. A couple of the guys are just too gay for words, I already start crossing some of them off my Fuck List.
The women are a definite disappointment, to me at least. The first one to arrive is M, and she is huge. I do a doubletake though when she introduces herself, her name sounds like a play on Minnie Mouse. There is nothing minimal about her though, she is one big girl with large pale rolls of fat that seem to cascade everywhere, all at once. She is amiable enough, and she is a regular apparently, and she does get action. Another woman arrives, L, and she is even bigger. My heart sinks, being the lean little squeak that I am. Big people scare me, it's a survival mechanism I suppose. And they probably take one look at me and figure, God, can someone feed this poor child once in a while? So, it is clear to me that I am NOT going to be here for the women. And they are NOT here for me. So, now that we all agree on that conclusion, in a moment of shared silence, the three of us head for the men, in unison.
More newcomers arrive, from Berkeley. The ethnic contingent. A good-looking older mixed black guy, and two younger fellows, one of them very Indian-looking. He makes eye contact with my partner D the minute he comes in the room. Given their druthers, they would soon be making a beeline for one another.
Unfortunately, the kid makes a comment that he's a cigarette smoker, and this sends our host A around the bend. A hates cigarette smokers, although he will let pot people smoke outside on the balcony. The kid says he can do that too, no problem. A is having none of it. Then the kid says he won't smoke at all, even outside. Doesn't matter, A asks him to leave, politely but very firmly. His invite for the party mentions that cigarette smokers are not welcome at his parties. I guess he means it. So the crestfallen young man exits, one of his companions offers to drive him home. Or somewhere else. The companion never returns either.
My partner D is crestfallen too. "Oh well, bye bye!" he waves humorously to the young Indian man as he is escorted out the door.
Was A too harsh about the smoking? Several people I have told this to think so. But his invite clearly spells out that cigarette smokers are not welcome. And we all know how cigarette smoke lingers on a person's body long after the butts are stubbed out. A must be one of those people who is ultra sensitive to obnoxious smells like that, and frankly I don't blame him for what he did. After all, when you host your own party, you get to make calls like that.
TO BE CONTINUED
At the start of the evening as we converse together, A and I take a trip down memory lane. He lives around the corner from where the classic dyke bar in San Francisco used to be, Maud's, it was called. It closed down a while ago, but in the late 60s and 70s it was quite the hangout. I became a really good pool player at Maud's, A became a really good connoisseur of dykes in the place. He told me he hung there a lot, chatting up the women, and often succeeding in picking them up. I can visualize him twenty or thirty years ago, and I can see him connecting with a dyke or two. He's open, interesting, with a well-developed female side but not a swishy type at all. For a bi man, this is important, at least to me. He is nearly a 50-50, like my own partner D.
A says that every time he took home a dyke, he had what he claims was the best sex of his life. Those dykes, don't they ever know how to do a guy good. He says this as he fixes me with a look. I suspected when I visited his website that he and I might connect. He is into thin thin women who are fit. I am lean and leaner with some muscles. I sense at some point he is probably going to want to leap on me. I am ready.
Other people start arriving, until we land a group of about 12-15. The flavor is very definitely bi to gay, as far as the guys are concerned. A couple of the guys are just too gay for words, I already start crossing some of them off my Fuck List.
The women are a definite disappointment, to me at least. The first one to arrive is M, and she is huge. I do a doubletake though when she introduces herself, her name sounds like a play on Minnie Mouse. There is nothing minimal about her though, she is one big girl with large pale rolls of fat that seem to cascade everywhere, all at once. She is amiable enough, and she is a regular apparently, and she does get action. Another woman arrives, L, and she is even bigger. My heart sinks, being the lean little squeak that I am. Big people scare me, it's a survival mechanism I suppose. And they probably take one look at me and figure, God, can someone feed this poor child once in a while? So, it is clear to me that I am NOT going to be here for the women. And they are NOT here for me. So, now that we all agree on that conclusion, in a moment of shared silence, the three of us head for the men, in unison.
More newcomers arrive, from Berkeley. The ethnic contingent. A good-looking older mixed black guy, and two younger fellows, one of them very Indian-looking. He makes eye contact with my partner D the minute he comes in the room. Given their druthers, they would soon be making a beeline for one another.
Unfortunately, the kid makes a comment that he's a cigarette smoker, and this sends our host A around the bend. A hates cigarette smokers, although he will let pot people smoke outside on the balcony. The kid says he can do that too, no problem. A is having none of it. Then the kid says he won't smoke at all, even outside. Doesn't matter, A asks him to leave, politely but very firmly. His invite for the party mentions that cigarette smokers are not welcome at his parties. I guess he means it. So the crestfallen young man exits, one of his companions offers to drive him home. Or somewhere else. The companion never returns either.
My partner D is crestfallen too. "Oh well, bye bye!" he waves humorously to the young Indian man as he is escorted out the door.
Was A too harsh about the smoking? Several people I have told this to think so. But his invite clearly spells out that cigarette smokers are not welcome. And we all know how cigarette smoke lingers on a person's body long after the butts are stubbed out. A must be one of those people who is ultra sensitive to obnoxious smells like that, and frankly I don't blame him for what he did. After all, when you host your own party, you get to make calls like that.
TO BE CONTINUED
