Half Out - Half In

Shit has hit the fan!

2007-04-19T19:10:00.000-07:00

Man alive! The shit has really hit the fan! For the past week - since my last post - I've been busier than a fifty-cents whore in a $5.00 whore house!

And without any of the benefits!

Sorry I couldn't get part II of R&H edited and posted.

Really, I'm late for an appointment now! It's 7:10pm - I called and told him I'd be late. Now for a quick 15 minute drive.

After that another appointment at 8:00pm.

Damn! I've been so F-ing tired this whole week!

Excuse the not posting, PLEASE!

Later,

Gray

Religion vs. Homosexuality (Part I)

2007-04-13T12:45:00.000-07:00

[Note: Part I, of this two-part post, is about personal feelings. Part II is about how religious works view homosexuality.]

Preface:

I know that I have been delaying posting on this subject. Honestly, I do not know how many times I have written, deleted and rewritten this post! It's not that I wanted to do a scholarly text on the subject; I just wanted to write some deeply held opinions without being hateful and I wanted to back up my opinions with some facts. I honestly feel that this could be better written if I just let my emotions loose. But, I want to keep this as emotion-free as I can. After all, I am a Christian man who no longer believes in any one special denomination; so, I simply want to write from that perspective. OK. Here it is. It is not the way that I really want it; but if I do not post it now, it will be months before it is done OR it could be a book with many chapters instead of just these two parts. Your comments are welcome but, please, do not be too harsh. I do not claim to be a theologian or a religious scholar.

---------------

There has been much written on many gay-oriented blogs about how people use religion to try to convince homosexuals that the homosexual "life style" is an abomination and, therefore, that the individual homosexual will go to hell.

After reading The Underground Notes' post in particular, I became so irate that I stopped blogging for awhile. I wanted to consider how to properly respond (without emotion and without hatred but with facts). In order to do so, I decided to research the subject from two points of view: the conservatives' and the liberals'. So this post is to offer what I have found. First, however, allow me to offer my personal point of view on the subject.

I guess that what galls me the most (when it comes to religion and homosexuality) is the hypocrisy of many Christians. Judaism and Islam do not recognize Jesus Christ as the Son of God and therefore do not consider His teachings as the Son (although Islam does recognize Him as a prophet). On the other hand, Christians (supposedly) follow the teachings of Christ. Why then do they, above all religious people, "cast stones" at homosexuals? Are they without sin?

I write this now as I scream it in my head: Right wing religious zealots who castigate and shun homosexuals can only blame themselves for pushing homosexuals away from God, Jesus Christ, Mohammad, The Bible, The Koran, The Tana'ch (or The Torah) and religion - all religions! If anyone claims to be a "religious person" while condemning another of God's children then THAT person will have to answer to God for showing such intolerance and for having such an unforgiving attitude!

Allow me, as a religious person and a Christian, to say: May God forgive them. They will all need that prayer from everyone they know at "THAT PARTICULAR TIME" (i.e. after death, facing God and answering for their own sins). OK. Enough of that. Suffice it to say that my religious upbringing was (very, very apparently) quite different from the "better than you" stone-throwers!

Here is something for the Christians (and other religious folks) who insist that they just cannot forgive a person for being homosexual that I must interject before I move on. Presentation Ministries writes (on its website), "Why do we refuse to forgive? Are we controlling those who have hurt us by punishing them and thereby protecting ourselves from further harm? Not really. When we try to manipulate others through unforgiveness, they rebel. Our enemies suffer minimally from our unforgiveness compared with the damage we do to ourselves. The verdict we pass on others is passed on us (Mt 7:2). Unforgiveness is a fatal poison which cuts us off from forgiveness (Mt 6:12,15), healing (Sir 28:3) [Blogger's Note: in Apocrypha - Part VI], prayer (Mk 11:24-25), and worship (Mt 5:23-24).

The ministry finishes by saying, "Then, when we are separated from these graces, we are handed over to torturers (Mt 18:34). These torturers are not people, but worse. They are such experiences as fear, depression, frustration, anxiety, self-hatred, and loneliness. As these and other torturers work us over, we deteriorate to a level of existence which is characterized by fruitless, compulsive, escapist activities."

All well and good. However, I wonder if forgiveness is even necessary. God, after all is the Omnipotent One - is he not? Is He imperfect? Does He make mistakes? After creating the universe, the world, all creatures, and mankind did he not say that it was good? If religious zealots are to be believed and homosexuality is wrong, then they are saying God is wrong (i.e. He is imperfect) for allowing homosexuals to be born.

Oh, that's right - according to some - homosexuals choose to become homosexuals. Can any of God's creations be so stupid that they would actually believe that? Would anyone choose a life that is so frowned upon? A life of ridicule and hatred for his or her very existence? I doubt it! I know that I did not choose to be homosexual any more than a heterosexual chooses to be heterosexual. God has allowed mankind to make its own decisions - right or wrong - and those who choose to believe that God is imperfect for allowing homosexuals to be born will have to answer to Him.

Another blogger (in Debriefing The Boys' post) describes his best friend (a professed Christian) saying that, "He thinks it's our duty as Christians to strive to bring the world back into line with what it was originally meant to be. He can't understand how homosexuality could be a part of that original perfect plan." I must ask, just who on God's earth ever said that homosexuality was not a part of God's plan - the "original perfect plan"?

Perhaps Christians, Muslims, Jews and others should be more concerned with whether their intolerance and even, in some cases, hatred of homosexuals and homosexuality is part of God's "original perfect plan."

[Note: Part II, also written, deleted and rewritten countless times, will be posted within the next 48 hours - I need to check it and/or rewrite it again!]

Happy Easter!

2007-04-07T22:34:00.000-07:00

Happy Easter, everybody!

Don't eat too many eggs....

...or, too many chocolate bunnies!

What am I up to?

2007-04-06T16:20:00.000-07:00

I know that I have not posted for a little while - again! But I am not going to apologize for that because, quite frankly, I've been busy. Swamped, actually.

I sure have not done my body any favors. As you all know: when you burn the candles at both ends.... something has got to give! You're right. I've screwed myself again by overdoing it. So now, with one hour of sleep last night and 4 hours of sleep the night before, I am burnt-out and, of course, have a new - hopefully minor - infection (this one in the urinary tract).

Why there? Well, when I am swamped I forget to eat and drink. Naturally, when anyone does that, the old kidneys don't get flushed out - not to mention the low blood sugar! :( Yes. Yes. I know that I am old enough to know better. Unfortunately though, it still happens from time to time.

I'll be posting again right after Easter. I have two posts on "Religion and Homosexuality" that are ready and one written on my legal pad that I might or I might not post (it's sort of a crude topic). But I would feel just a little uneasy about posting any of them at Easter time. Especially the religion ones!

Until next week, I hope you all enjoy the Easter weekend and I hope that none of you are dumb enough to get this burnt-out!

Toilet Brush Sex!?!?!?

2007-03-20T02:36:00.000-07:00

OK. I will apologize in advance. I am sorry to report that the following is, according to Canada's CBC.ca, true. I stumbled upon the news via the FARK.com website.

On March 19, 2007, writer Tobi Cohen of the Canadian Press filed a story entitled, "Allegations of bizarre sexual abuse sees psychiatrist vow to quit practising [sic]."

In the story, Cohen relates the story about a Toronto psychiatrist who submitted his resignation to the College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario for alleged criminal activity.

The shrink, identified as 63-year old Dr. Juan Ernesto Tejeda Rosario, will be facing six criminal charges when he appears in an Ottawa court on 5 April. The charges were originally filed on 31 January and were briefly described in the article as follows (not in order).

* "Tejeda engaged in sexual acts with a patient both inside and outside the clinical setting between 1989 and 2005."

* "He had oral and anal sex with one patient, had the man masturbate in his presence and instructed the patient to masturbate him."

* "Tejeda paid his patient's girlfriend $3,000 to keep quiet about the relationship."

* "Tejeda often gave the patient money and that he engaged in sexual fantasies in which he discussed roughing up the patient."

* "When the nature of their relationship was disclosed to officials at the Ottawa Civic Hospital, Tejeda allegedly assisted the patient in retracting his statements."

* "...[The] allegations of bizarre sexual abuse... included the assault of a male patient with a toilet brush."
OUCH!!!

Well, no matter what anyone thinks about the good psychiatrist, I honestly feel that a toilet brush would make any patient forget about his past troubles!!

Or, as FARK.com so aptly put it, "If your shrink wants to stick a toilet brush up your ass as part of your therapy, you may not actually be the one with the problem."

Observations At A Local Restaurant

2007-03-18T00:57:00.000-07:00

Why do really good looking men wear scruffy-looking facial hair that detract from their otherwise handsome features? [Note, added later: Oh hell! I just realized something! The guy I was referring to here is the same guy that I gave a book to last month. He's a waiter at the restaurant, young (in his 20's), very handsome and, yes, now wearing a scruffy beard. Too bad; he really does look more handsome without it.] I like facial hair on some men - from a mustache to a full beard! But, can we agree on this: some men just simply look much, much better without facial hair (especially when the hair is scruffy). Honestly, some guys look like they are trying to cultivate on their faces something that grows wild around their assholes!

Come to think of it, why do good looking men, who seem to possibly have good-looking physiques, hide their bodies with baggy clothes (including oversize shirts) that hide the contours of their bodies? Could it be that they are more "trend-aware" then they are aware of their own good looks? Or could it be that they care not for others to be able to admire their physiques? Their firmness? Their youth?

Are they fearful of another person (male or female) admiring their hidden or disguised features? Some polls are pretty specific. Of course the face is usually the first thing that people are attracted to. In fact, women usually look at a man's eyes first (43%). But, getting to the clothed part of the man, women tend to look first at the guy's groin (11%)! Then, in order, they will usually check out the area of his butt (10%), his chest (7%), his arms (5%), his abs (4%) and then his shoulders (no particular percentage given). Finally, in random order, they will check out a guy's lips, hair, teeth and smile. So, basically, the clothed part of a man's body is what about 38% of the women look at first. One particular poll says that gay guys first check out the groin (32%), the butt (17%) and then the eyes (15%); next would be the chest (10%) and abs (8%). So, 63% of men look at clothed areas of another man's body first.

I guess what all of that tells me is that young men obviously do not want to have any man or woman attracted to him. No? Then answer this question: If young men do want others to be attracted to them, why on God's green earth do they wear baggy, oversize, and otherwise ill-fitting clothing? Because they only want to be wanted for their intellect? Oh, please!

Of course, while pondering this question, I did have to admit to myself that some men look younger than they desire to appear; therefore, they grow facial hair and wear baggy clothes to hide their still-maturing bodies. Perhaps that is the reason for "the cover-up!"

Let's face it guys. Short, stocky guys in baggy sweaters and baggy pants appear to be short, fat guys - no matter how well built their physiques might be; if they are short and fat, then they appear to be fatter!

Slightly taller, slightly pudgy guys with good fitting pants and baggy, oversize shirts (that are not tucked-in) look like they are trying to hide their beer-bellies - which makes one believe that their hidden asses are fat as well.

By hiding their bodies, an onlooker is, naturally, forced to look at their faces - which, as was the case with one young man I was looking at, one might see chin whiskers that draw the eyes away from his pockmarked cheeks (definitely a reason to have whiskers - but a full beard!! Not just chin whiskers!!).

It used to be that men and boys wore clothing that fit - a nice body and/or a nice ass was immediately evident! It used to be that men had neatly kept hair and clean-shaved faces - good looks were immediately apparent! Men and boys looked and usually were clean - and it showed!

The biggest problem of them all is probably that if a young man were dating today (with the need to be "in") he probably has to dress like he's wearing his fatter, taller brother's clothes. Also, he must demonstrate that he is either mentally or physically incapable of learning how to work an electric razor - or, God forbid, to learn how to apply shaving cream and remove it with a safety razor.

Oh hell! Who knows? It could be that if this old man were to wear baggy clothes and look like the blimp that I once was then maybe, just maybe, I might be able to get a date. Ha! I can just picture me decked-out that way!!

8 Reasons Why I Have Not Been Posting

2007-03-14T02:50:00.000-07:00

[I will comment on each of these items in (soon-to-be) upcoming posts. I swear that THAT is a promise!!]

1. A very disturbing post by "R" ("The Underground Notes," February 26, 2007: "Downward Spiral" - you will have to scroll down - my link setting is messing up right now!) over two weeks ago concerning the trap that his mother had set for him - in collusion with the family's minister! [I WILL comment on this in the next day or two!!]

2. Comments on other weblogs about how - and why - they (the bloggers) are not comfortable posting anything about ANY private things about themselves.

3. Uncomfortable feelings that have arisen when remembering details of past events.

4. The ability to, finally, get out and be amongst the masses once again!

5. READING BOOKS!! For the first time, in a long time, I am enjoying reading books much more than being on the Internet!!

6. Laziness!?!?

7. Not having a computer when I felt like writing something. [That has been cured by carrying a yellow "legal pad" and a couple of pens in my pockets. Now: I write when the mood strikes! -- Yes! I do have a "laptop" Mac; but, it's too heavy with its titanium case AND (having already dropped it twice) I don't like to carry it!!]

8. Things that "popped" into my head: I have not written about somethings because I thought that I should stay on topic. [That changes, starting today! I will get back to my 20th year - in Atlantic City - in short order. However, I want to write about some other things that interest me in the mean time!!]

Ok guys. Bear with me, please. I don't know what is going on in my head! I am not kidding about this! Ever since I remembered being molested as a child ("Born Gay? Made Gay? I Sure Didn't Choose Gay!", July 17, 2006) (what a fucking revelation that was!!) I have been questioning an awful lot about myself and my life. I have been wondering if my homosexuality was based on, I'll write it, "natural selection" or if it was based on a childhood nightmare that was almost erased (until, while blogging, I remembered it).

Well. After all is said and done. It doesn't matter. No matter how it happened: I'm a fag and there is no way in God's green earth that anything is ever going to change that! So. I have decided to start sharing my feelings on those eight topics (above) while still inserting interspersed incidents of my life. [NOTE: I am NOT limiting myself to those 8 topics!!]

This blog has really never had an honest-to-goodness format. Honestly, now at least, it may never have one! I have to decided to write about what interests me at the time and (unlike before) to interject things that have happened in my life ONLY when I feel like writing about them. I hope this might make things a little more spontaneous AND a little more comfortable for me to write about!

So: Please bear with me as I try to get this going more in the fashion of a "what's happening now and what am I thinking" blog instead of a "this was my life way back when" blog!

Lord love a duck! [An old Southern saying.] If I do this right, I (me, myself AND I) might - just might - get re-interested in doing this!

P.S. Have any of you other guys noticed that a lot of bloggers "burn out" within the first year? Well: I am going to try to NOT be one of them; so, again, bear with me.

PLEASE!?!?

"Hitler Lives" - 1945 Oscar Winner for Best Documentary Short

2007-02-25T02:57:00.000-08:00

I have just finished watching "Hitler Lives" (a Warner Brothers film) on the Turner Classic Movie (TCM) channel. The 1945 black and white documentary, with a seventeen minute run-time, floored me! I could not wait to tell you about it.

Picture me shocked when I learned that this film won an Academy Award for Best Documentary Short in 1945! I guess that one could best describe it as being a post-World War II propaganda film. The IMBd website provides the following plot summary:

"This short, produced at the end of WWII, warns that although Adolph Hitler is dead, his ideas live on in the German people. The world must stay ever vigilant, so that Germany cannot make war against the world again. We must not be duped by Germany, as we were in the past, to believe that it is a peace-loving nation. The USA must also be on guard against those in America who sympathized with Germany and preach race hatred and violence in this country. The film uses dramatized footage interspersed with historical footage and newsreels."

Wow!

The Oscars organization web page describes the documentary as being only ten minutes long and says, "This controversial short, a look at the history of German aggression and a warning about its future, was directed by Don Siegel and written by Theodor Geisel (better known as 'Dr. Seuss')."

Two of the three "User Comments" on IMBd are extremely negative about the documentary. One commentator said that he felt, "This American film reminds me of the anti-Jew propaganda made by the Third Reich." Another noted that, "With a message like... [this film has]... it's a wonder that the (West) Germans were our allies in the cold war." But the third commentator notes, most pragmatically, that viewers "...should keep in mind that Germany had dragged the world through nearly 80 years of mechanized aggression by that time." He adds, "Given that many historians now regard the Third Reich as the product of the German people's collective will, this film contains messages which are relevant today and worth watching--if the viewer keeps in mind the circumstances which caused such propaganda to be produced."

No matter whom you believe, the documentary will either shock you or will be like ice water tossed in your face: a wake up call about how truly hated the German war machine was and how much the world thought that the German people allowed Nazism to live and flourish!

The film is available on the "Great Generals, Vol. 2 (1941)" videotape (a collection of six shorts), under the title "Your Job in Germany" (made for the U.S. occupation troops going to Germany - just as "Our Job in Japan" was made for the U.S. occupation troops going to Japan), from Amazon.com at $9.99 (USD), plus shipping. Although this is the same film, "Hitler Lives" was directed by Don Siegel (uncredited) but "Your Job in Germany" credits Frank Capra with the direction (although I believe Capra probably just has the credit for the "Your Job..." version which was made for the government to show to the troops). "Your Job in Germany" (along with "Our Job in Japan") is available at International Historic Films for $19.99 (USD), plus shipping.

Another late night movie review - with my compliments!

For My Snow-Bound Friends

2007-02-24T19:30:00.000-08:00

Stay warm boys and girls!!

I found this on the net somewhere. If I remembered where, I'd give the guy/gal credit; so... I hope he/she doesn't mind!

Happy Birthday George Washington

2007-02-22T01:00:00.000-08:00

Indeed, Happy (real) Birthday, George Washington! The "Father of Our Country" was born on this date in 1732. That, of course, is by our present calendar (known as the Gregorian calendar). His recorded birth date was 11 February 1731 on the "Old Style" calendar (known as the Julian calendar).

The Gregorian calendar (although created 24 February 1582) was not adopted by Great Britain - and, therefore, the entire British Empire (which included the eastern part of what is now the United States) - until 1752. This is important to note because, from the day that he read about the adoption of the "New Style" calendar until his death, Washington would claim that his birthday was 22 February 1732.

Wikipedia notes that, "Washington's Birthday was originally implemented by the federal government as a federal holiday in 1880 in the District of Columbia (20 Stat. 277) and expanded in 1885 to include all federal offices (23 Stat. 516)." But, as noted in my previous post, on January 1, 1971 the federal "Washington's Birthday" holiday was shifted to the third Monday in February by the Uniform Monday Holiday Act.

Why I am so eager to celebrate this day:
"When the birthday of Washington shall be forgotten, liberty will have perished from the earth." - James Buchanan, 15th President of the United States

I urge you to read Wikipedia's biography of Washington! There, you will find not only historical data but also some myths, misconceptions and other trivia related information.

The Official California and U.S. Holidays

2007-02-19T18:54:00.000-08:00

After learning that our schools, elected officials and news media wrongly call Washington's Birthday "Presidents' Day," I decided to find out what my own state of California calls this day: Well, it is "Washington's Birthday," of course! Then I made up my mind to post all of the official California state holidays for my future reference. Also, I wondered what are the official holidays of the U.S. government - they are here, too.

You will notice that there is not much difference between the two with two notable exceptions. California is one of the twelve states that recognizes "Lincoln's Birthday" (February 12) and has a uniquely Californian holiday known as - drum-roll please! - "Day After Thanksgiving." What?

So, fellow Californians, get ready to mark your 2007 calendars and, for those of you in the U.S. but not in California, get ready to mark our national holidays, as well! Here they are: [NOTE: the actual date will change from year-to-year for those that are designated "Monday holidays" (i.e. Washington's Birthday, Memorial Day, Labor Day, and Columbus Day)]. The California information is from (don't ask me why) the California Statewide Fingerprint Imaging System and the U.S. Information is from the U.S. Office of Personnel Management.

California State Holidays 2007

Monday, January 1 - New Year's Day
Monday, January 15 - Martin Luther King Jr. Day
Monday, February 12 - Lincoln's Birthday
Monday, February 19 - Washington's Birthday
Monday, May 28 - Memorial Day
Wednesday, July 4 - Independence Day
Monday, September 3 - Labor Day
Monday, October 8 - Columbus Day
Monday, November 12 - Veteran's Day
Thursday, November 22 - Thanksgiving Day
Friday, November 23 - Day After Thanksgiving
Tuesday, December 25 - Christmas Day

Federal (United States) holidays 2007

* Monday, January 1 - New Years Day
* Monday, January 15 - Birthday of Martin Luther King, Jr.
* Monday, February 19* - Washington's Birthday
* Monday, May 28 - Memorial Day
* Wednesday, July 4 - Independence Day
* Monday, September 3 - Labor Day
* Monday, October 8 - Columbus Day
* Monday, November 12** - Veterans Day
* Thursday, November 22 - Thanksgiving Day
* Tuesday, December 25 - Christmas Day

*This holiday is designated as "Washington's Birthday" in section 6103(a) of title 5 of the United States Code, which is the law that specifies holidays for Federal employees. Though other institutions such as state and local governments and private businesses may use other names, it isour [sic] policy to always refer to holidays by the names designated in the law.

** November 11, 2007, (the legal public holiday for Veterans Day) falls on a Sunday. For most Federal employees, Monday, November 12, will be treated as a holiday for pay and leave purposes (See 5 U.S.C. 6103(b).)

Hah!! And you thought our elected officials were busy working on important things!

Washington's Birthday is NOT equal to "Presidents' Day!"

2007-02-19T05:46:00.000-08:00

Happy Washington's (designated) Birthday!

Today is the third Monday in the month of February. It is the day (designated by the United States Congress) that is set aside as a Federal holiday to honor the first President of the United States of America, George Washington!

You might be thinking to yourself, "Stop! Wait a minute, Gray! This is 'Presidents' Day' NOT Washington's Birthday." Well folks, wake up and smell the "Mount Vernon" rum!! There is NO official Federal holiday known
as "Presidents' Day!" Some states (whose citizens should hang their collective heads in shame) have designated the third Monday in February to be "Presidents' Day" and have made it an official STATE holiday.

"Presidents' Day" is a relatively new term that was created (that is correct, created), in the 1980s, by commercial advertisers who should have their mortal souls put into jeopardy (I think that is better than saying they should all go to hell, don't you?).

According to Wikipedia, the "Uniform Monday Holiday" Bill of 1968, which became effective in 1971, moved Washington's Birthday, Columbus Day, Veterans Day and Memorial Day from fixed dates to designated Mondays. The law was designed to give federal employees more three-day weekends. [As an aside: Lincoln's Birthday was never a Federal holiday although many states had (and some still have) his birthday listed as an official state holiday. Also, Veterans Day was moved back to November 11. But those are other stories.]

Again, according to Wickipedia.com, "Contrary to popular perception, the Act did not establish 'Presidents' Day,' nor did it combine the observance of Lincoln's birthday with Washington's. In fact, the Act retained observance of Washington's birthday, albeit on the third Monday in February instead of on February 22, which is Washington's actual birthday." In fact, the Congress refused to call it anything other than "Washington's Birthday." The Bill would have never become an Act (i.e. law) if the day's name were changed to anything else!

Although scumbag advertisers call the third Monday in February "Presidents' Day", many people still remember the hallowed words of President James Buchanan (reprinted in "The Christian Science Monitor" newspaper article), "When the birthday of Washington shall be forgotten, liberty will have perished from the earth." Those people stuck to calling it "Washington's Birthday."
So join with me in wishing "The Father of Our Country," George Washington, a HAPPY (designated) BIRTHDAY and in telling the other Presidents to get their own!!

[Feel free to copy this post and send it as an email to your friends or family - help spread the word!]

Quickie Update

2007-02-19T00:23:00.000-08:00

Just a quickie update on my health situation.

Although I have not heard anything from my doctor (it's a long weekend if you count Friday and the Monday holiday), the two I.V.s seem to be working well.

No temperature and I am feeling better. However, this constant tired feeling is really starting to wear thin! I am ingesting about 1000 to 1200 calories per day (getting most calories from protein) and am still, purposely, losing weight - the low amount is because I am, honestly, not getting any exercise while ill.

Maybe, if I kept my balls crossed (somehow I think that would be the same as keeping my fingers crossed), all will be well by the end of the week! We will see...

Another Rant?? - History Box and Logging In

2007-02-18T23:46:00.000-08:00

In order to get around Blogger's new attempt to force me to upgrade, I had to shut down my laptop (I was going to post something from it and could not do so without upgrading) and then I had to crank-up the old desktop (which will soon be history itself). Then I had to read another blog, log in to comment on that blogger's post, and then go to my history box from two days ago to come directly to Blogger Dashboard.

Honestly, I could not get on any other way to post without upgrading. Please believe me, I am not against upgrades - for almost anything. Upgrades are, well, usually for the good. The trouble with Blogger's Beta upgrade is that I have read comments from too many bloggers saying how they lost pictures or lost entire archives during the upgrade process.

So. What is a user, who is semi-literate when it comes to computers, to do to insure that things will not be lost in the transition? I thought about defecting to Joel's wordpress.com - and still might do that! Also, I have thought about copying all of my blog's files, archives, photos and comments before trying to use Blogger's upgrade. The latter sounds like a lot of work for, possibly, no reason other than a precaution. Then, again, I remember reading the sorrowful, tear-stained ruminations of fellow bloggers who have lost all or part of their works.

Hmm. It just turned past midnight and is now the 19th of the month. I'll decide what I want to do later today (after some sleep) and, finally, shit or get off of the pot (a description which I hope you will forgive). Until then, I will just relax. When the time comes, I will just keep my fingers (toes, eyes and whatever else I can) crossed and just do it.

Damn! Blogger won't let me spell check this. I think they are going to shut one thing off at a time! The first to go was color of type and size of type. Now, it is the spell checker (it was also off a couple of days ago, if I remember correctly)! Ok, Blogger! I have gotten the hint!

More about V.D. (Valentine's Day)

2007-02-15T00:24:00.000-08:00

I asked: "What fucking sadist came up with Valentine's Day??" So, tonight, I started roaming the web and found the following three articles that you might find interesting [note that I left all of what appear to be typos intact because they are the British spelling(s)]. I do not know the author(s) of the articles. The info was found at: http://www.pictureframes.co.uk/pages/saint_valentine.htm -- BTW, I found the third one ("Valentine Traditions") the most humorous.

[first article]
Valentine Day History
There are varying opinions as to the origin of Valentine's Day. Some experts state that it originated from St. Valentine, a Roman who was martyred for refusing to give up Christianity. He died on February 14, 269 A.D., the same day that had been devoted to love lotteries. Legend also says that St. Valentine left a farewell note for the jailer's daughter, who had become his friend, and signed it "From Your Valentine". Other aspects of the story say that Saint Valentine served as a priest at the temple during the reign of Emperor Claudius. Claudius then had Valentine jailed for defying him. In 496 A.D. Pope Gelasius set aside February 14 to honour St. Valentine.

Gradually, February 14 became the date for exchanging love messages and St. Valentine became the patron saint of lovers. The date was marked by sending poems and simple gifts such as flowers. There was often a social gathering or a ball.

In the United States, Miss Esther Howland is given credit for sending the first valentine cards. Commercial valentines were introduced in the 1800's and now the date is very commercialised. The town of Loveland, Colorado, does a large post office business around February 14. The spirit of good continues as valentines are sent out with sentimental verses and children exchange valentine cards at school.

[second article]
The History of Saint Valentine's Day
Valentine's Day started in the time of the Roman Empire. In ancient Rome, February 14th was a holiday to honour Juno. Juno was the Queen of the Roman Gods and Goddesses. The Romans also knew her as the Goddess of women and marriage. The following day, February 15th, began the Feast of Lupercalia.

The lives of young boys and girls were strictly separate. However, one of the customs of the young people was name drawing. On the eve of the festival of Lupercalia the names of Roman girls were written on slips of paper and placed into jars. Each young man would draw a girl's name from the jar and would then be partners for the duration of the festival with the girl whom he chose. Sometimes the pairing of the children lasted an entire year, and often, they would fall in love and would later marry.

Under the rule of Emperor Claudius II Rome was involved in many bloody and unpopular campaigns. Claudius the Cruel was having a difficult time getting soldiers to join his military leagues. He believed that the reason was that roman men did not want to leave their loves or families. As a result, Claudius cancelled all marriages and engagements in Rome. The good Saint Valentine was a priest at Rome in the days of Claudius II. He and Saint Marius aided the Christian martyrs and secretly married couples, and for this kind deed Saint Valentine was apprehended and dragged before the Prefect of Rome, who condemned him to be beaten to death with clubs and to have his head cut off. He suffered martyrdom on the 14th day of February, about the year 270. At that time it was the custom in Rome, a very ancient custom, indeed, to celebrate in the month of February the Lupercalia, feasts in honour of a heathen god. On these occasions, amidst a variety of pagan ceremonies, the names of young women were placed in a box, from which they were drawn by the men as chance directed.

The pastors of the early Christian Church in Rome endeavoured to do away with the pagan element in these feasts by substituting the names of saints for those of maidens. And as the Lupercalia began about the middle of February, the pastors appear to have chosen Saint Valentine's Day for the celebration of this new feaSt. So it seems that the custom of young men choosing maidens for valentines, or saints as patrons for the coming year, arose in this way.

[third article]
Valentine Traditions
Hundreds of years ago in England, many children dressed up as adults on Valentine's Day. They went singing from home to home. One verse they sang was:

Good morning to you, valentine;
Curl your locks as I do mine ---
Two before and three behind.
Good morning to you, valentine.

In Wales wooden love spoons were carved and given as gifts on February 14th. Hearts, keys and keyholes were favourite decorations on the spoons. The decoration meant, "You unlock my heart!"

In the Middle Ages, young men and women drew names from a bowl to see who their valentines would be. They would wear these names on their sleeves for one week. To wear your heart on your sleeve now means that it is easy for other people to know how you are feeling.

In some countries, a young woman may receive a gift of clothing from a young man. If she keeps the gift, it means she will marry him.

Some people used to believe that if a woman saw a robin flying overhead on Valentine's Day, it meant she would marry a sailor. If she saw a sparrow, she would marry a poor man and be very happy. If she saw a goldfinch, she would marry a millionaire.

A love seat is a wide chair. It was first made to seat one woman and her wide dress. Later, the love seat or courting seat had two sections, often in an S-shape. In this way, a couple could sit together -- but not too closely!

Think of five or six names of boys or girls you might marry, As you twist the stem of an apple, recite the names until the stem comes off. You will marry the person whose name you were saying when the stem fell off.

Pick a dandelion that has gone to seed. Take a deep breath and blow the seeds into the wind. Count the seeds that remain on the stem. That is the number of children you will have.

If you cut an apple in half and count how many seeds are inside, you will also know how many children you will have.

Edited and Extended

2007-02-14T01:14:00.000-08:00

[THE FOLLOWING IS BEING ADDED AT A LITTLE PAST 8 A.M. AFTER A NIGHT OF NO SLEEP. I DON'T KNOW IF IT IS A RANT OR WHAT THE FUCK IT IS. BUT I HAVE JUST GOT TO LET IT ALL OUT!!]

First: Thanks to Joel and Jeff for your comments. For some strange reason I just...

Fuck!

I don't know. I think that all I know is that I am so down right now...

FUCK ME! I can't even complete a train of thought!!

OK. Second: The m.f. blogger folks have-done/are-doing what I thought they would. Now, I cannot login to make a new post without converting to their "new" Beta. Fuck them! It's time for a change. Move over Joel - I'm coming your way!

Third: Like I mentioned above, this has been a night with zero sleep. I feel like hell warmed over! I will not be going in the hospital again - at least: not yet! The pharmacy will be delivering my joy-"juices" early this P.M. and my [I'm being sarcastic here] lovely female nurse will be arriving later in the P.M. to get me started. Like I said - or think that I said - before, I have been shown how to hook-up and run my own IVs. So I hope that she doesn't have to stick around too long. My male nurse ;) will be back Thursday.

Fourth: I've been through this shit several times before. So? Why now do I feel like just throwing in the towel? I'm not really. I've thought of it many times before. Sometimes I think that the only reason that I persevere is so I can get rid of the incriminating porn that I have around the house. LMFAO!! But I am too damned lazy to do so.

Fifth: After watching a semi-funny picture ("Mambo Italiano") on satellite, why is it that the only gay things on are lesbian and "Brokeback Mountain"? AGAIN!!! Is anyone as tired of hearing about (or seeing) that over-rated movie as I am???

Sixth: After bragging to Joel that I haven't had more than a shot or two of booze for quite a while: I confess. This early morning I said to myself: FUCK IT! After 3 STRONG 6" glasses (with about a 2.25"+ diameter) of Jack Daniels and water, I still have about two inches left in glass #4 of straight whiskey with one ice cube. For some reason, I just told myself: FUCK IT - again!

I don't know why I felt the need to write this down. Other than the fact that I am almost completely demoralized. Actually, I think the word is DEPRESSED! Damn it! This just shouldn't happen to someone until they are older than dirt! [Stop laughing Jeff. Judging by your age, I already AM older than dirt!] ;)

That's my rant. The first one (I think). When I next get online, I will probably erase all of this (another first)!

Oh! Before I end this: SEVENTH: What fucking sadist came up with Valentine's Day?? Other than my mom or my sisters, the last Valentine's Day card I got was in the 6th grade in elementary school. Seeing as how I have been using the 4-letter word in this post, allow me to say: FUCK VALENTINE'S DAY!

I hope you all have a nice dose of V.D.! [kidding! - get the pun?]

It's official: Double "Juice"

2007-02-13T18:31:00.000-08:00

Things took another turn for the worse last night. I was up all night battling to keep my body temperature below 100F. I feel as badly as I did yesterday (and before that).

I know that I do NOT have any kind of STDs. I know that I've been doing everything the MDs have told me to do about the heel wound.

Like I said, the MRSA is/was all but gone - just a small colony remained in the small heel wound. But because I started to spike a temperature, the doc wants me to go back on the vancomycin and has added Tobramycin (defined at Dictionary.com as "...a highly toxic aminoglycoside antibiotic, C18H37N5O9, derived from Streptomyces tenebarius, used in the treatment of serious infections due to susceptible Gram-positive and Gram-negative organisms."). Now, that is a mouthful, isn't it?

It seems as if, for ever inch that I go forward, health-wise, I slip back another foot. That's it for now. Thanks for the nice comments and the good wishes. I hope that, soon, I will be able to stop thinking about my health and
look to the brighter side of life. I've eaten once today. I'll try to eat something more before bed-time. As for now: back to the "Gatorade."

[edit note: It's now 1:12 a.m. on the 14th. I'm up fighting another temperature spike. I start the IVs again later today. I think I'll read a few blogs for awhile. Meanwhile: Happy Valentine's Day!]

I hate this part of my life!

2007-02-12T20:43:00.000-08:00

Yes. I am alive and, pardon the bad English (it is on purpose), semi-sort-of well. My latest stint is, again, semi-sort-of over. But, as life is... well... as life is life, some more "fun" as come my way.

By way of explanation, I am, at least temporarily, off of the "juice" [vancomycin - per Dictionary.com: "... (is) found in Indonesian and Indian soil, and effective against staphylococci and spirochetes." I did not know that!]. I still have the PICC line in my upper left arm [According to WebMd, "A PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter) line is a central venous catheter inserted into a vein in the arm rather than a vein in the neck or chest."]. I still have it because I continue to have a "small colony" of MRSA in the wound on my heel and may need the "juice" again - although the wound is, now, rapidly closing.

The problem is, I am fully congested (probably bronchitis - as WebMd defines it, "Bronchitis is a respiratory disease in which the mucous membrane in the lungs' bronchial passages becomes inflamed. As the irritated membrane swells and grows thicker, it narrows or shuts off the tiny airways in the lungs, resulting in coughing spells accompanied by thick phlegm and breathlessness. The disease comes in two forms: acute (lasting less than 6 weeks) and chronic (reoccurring frequently for more than two years). In addition, people with asthma also experience an inflammation of the lining of the bronchial tubes called asthmatic bronchitis.")

Also, I've been running a low-grade temperature and just, I am sorry, do not feel like doing anything - blog-wise that is! When I got home, I read three or four blogs and commented on some. I even sent one or two emails (again, I am sorry if I did not send you one). Other than that, I have been feeling like hell! I have not wanted to do anything! Although I have forced myself to go grocery shopping and to my medical appointments.

That is all for now. I have made this explanation much longer that I thought that I would and, honestly, I'm tired and I have to make a decision: eat and go to bed or just go to bed. I want to do the latter but I know that I cannot keep my strength up if I do not eat something. So... It is off to the kitchen I go.

I promise that, God willing, I will start posting again (I do have at least 3 posts in rough draft and, again, I just do not feel like doing anything about them). To those of you who have either commented or written me emails, thank you very much for your kind thoughts.

One good thing has come out of this. I have been reading a lot more! "Memoirs of Hadrian" was all that Ric said it would be (I strongly urge you to read it! Bi, straight or gay - if you have ever loved someone, you will love this book. Oh, yes. It has great historical descriptions; but, I can almost guarantee that they will note bore you!). Plus, I am in the middle of two other books - when I am bored with one, I will read the other for awhile. Ok. That is it. I will try to catch up reading your blogs whenever I feel good enough to get online!

[P.S. If you find any typos, please forgive blogger. Their spell-check is not working right now.]

Back on the Juice!

2007-01-24T01:43:00.000-08:00

You are right! I have not posted for awhile (again!). That is because I am back on the juice! The juice in this case is:

Once again, I feel the loving flow of Vancomycin flowing through my veins. According to WebMD, Vancomycin "is generally considered the 'drug of last resort'" in the antibiotic field. Hmm. I do not like the sound of that!

Previously I was getting two infusions each day with "Vanco" for 15 days (the last three days were once each day). After two days off of the juice, the doctor told me that the "bug" that we are fighting is still colonized in the wound on my right ankle. I have to kill that little "bug" before it does the same to me.

What "bug" is that? I was told it is called MRSA (Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus). Ok. What is that? MRSA "...are a type of staphylococcus or "staph" bacteria that are resistant to many antibiotics." Again according to WebMD, "MRSA is different from other types of staph because it cannot be treated with certain antibiotics such as methicillin." Furthermore, "...the strains of staph that are known as MRSA do not respond well to many types of antibiotics - the types of medicines that are normally used to kill bacteria. When methicillin and other common antibiotic medicines do not work to kill the bacteria that is causing an infection, it becomes harder to get rid of the infection."

So. Long story made short: The "super bug," as WebMD calls it, was picked up by me during my last hospital stay. It is very easily transferred from one person to the next - especially in a hospital setting. MRSA, like all staph bacteria, can be spread from one person to another through casual contact or through contaminated objects - examples: shaking hands or a nurse changing an MRSA patient's bed and then moving on to another patient to change his bed.

Using the old saying that "Shit Happens," I told myself that it is okay. I can do ten more days of this standing on my head. But then I got thinking about a couple of things that bothers me.

Vancomycin is a very strong antibiotic! First, over-used, it can permanently damage one's kidneys and second, of course, it can eventually make one's body accustomed to the drug until they develop a "partial, or intermediate, resistance to vancomycin."

Life is amazing! If one believes in evolution, we came from little microbes and now may end up being their brunch! If one believes in Creation, God has a way of showing humans that we do not know everything. Either way, quite frankly, I am getting very tired of this.

Oh well! At least I now have my laptop with me and will get back to posting. I hope you had a chance to read my last post about Cooper's Corridor and went on to check out his site. I am finding the young man's writings to be very entertaining and educational!

Cooper's Corridor

2007-01-23T03:32:00.000-08:00

During my most recent blog surfing, I came across the extremely interesting blog of a young (25 years old) Canadian man by the name of Cooper.

His most recent post is, at least to me, one of the most peaceful, insightful and (yes) spiritual pieces of an individual's look on life that I have read on the Internet.

I urge you to read his "Trees-of-Life" post. You will be glad that you did!

Where Have I Been?

2007-01-19T00:54:00.000-08:00

I went over to Stunning Sexy Guys to look at the eye candy and found a world map (showing where he has visited). I followed the link that he provided to World66 and thought that I would put my feeble maps here (just for the fun of it).

[Yes. I know that the maps run over the right hand column. I'm sorry but I cannot figure out how to correct that problem; so, I will just let it ride (so to speak).]

I've visited most of the states within my own country and hope to visit the rest within the next three years, if health allows.

create your own personalized map of the USA
or check out ourCalifornia travel guide

Unfortunately, I have been to only one Province (Ontario) in Canada.

create your own personalized map of Canada
or check out ourVancouver travel guide

I've never been to Europe, Africa, the Middle East, Australia or any of the world's island countries. My visits to other parts of the world are few and far between.

create your own visited country map
or check our Venice travel guide

[Just as a side-note: Whatever happened to Blogger before (I lost all my pictures for my "Soft Head..." post and the ability to "link" to other sites on my "Titanic" post) has cleared up! I hope it stays this way. If it happens again, I'm going to have to switch my blog to a new site.]

Germany's 1943 "Titanic"

2007-01-17T22:55:00.000-08:00

I rarely post movie reviews. In fact I have only posted one review previously (July 19, 2006, "The Emerald Forest"). However, a recently viewed movie prompted me to write this post. The movie was about the sinking of the "S.S. Titanic" - a well worn subject that has been hashed and re-hashed. Now, please understand, I thought that I had seen every "Titanic" film that there was to see. I was wrong.

While looking for some entertainment, I happened upon "Turner Classic Movies" (a satellite/cable channel), The channel was showing a 1943 German movie called, simply, "Titanic" (it had English subtitles). Its stars were Sybille Schmitz and Hans Nielsen. Miss Schmitz was a beautiful lady who starred in numerous German films and, sadly, killed herself by poison in 1955 over grief about not receiving any more movie rolls - she was in an asylum at the time and died completely destitute.

German actress Sybille Schmitz as "Sigrid Olinsky"

Hans Nielsen as "1st Officer Petersen" in the 1943 film

Although there were a lot of technical errors (from everything I have gleaned from previous encounters with the story) it was fun and entertaining to watch a wartime version made during the time of the Nazi control. Interestingly, "German censors banned the film for its scenes of panic and terror."[1] Hmmm.

Did Nazism effect the film or its production? Well, the "Final Title Card" read "The deaths of 1,500 people remain unatoned for... an eternal condemnation of England's quest for profit."[2] Also, several quotations (attributed to first-class passengers) made them look greedy and profit-seeking! However, most movie scholars say it wasn't Nazism that was responsible for the quotations or the "Final Title Card;" it was the writers' beliefs that greed was responsible for the ship's sinking (matching the beliefs of many British and American writers, historians and "Titanic" buffs).

I found it more interesting that, "Because of its anti-British utterances, the Allies banned the movie in their (post-war) sectors in Germany at first while it was freely available in the Soviet zone."[3] The copy of the film that is available on DVD (in the United States) for some reason does not show the ship's acting-first-officer (Nielsen) ranting to the British Board of Inquiry about the greed of the shipping line's president [Ernst Fritz (E.F.) Fürbinger as "J. Bruce Ismay"].

An interesting footnote to the film is that "Dr. Josef Goebbels, Hitler's propaganda minister and self-anointed arbiter of culture in the Third Reich, had the Gestapo arrest (co-director Herbert) Selpin who was reported dead in his cell the day after."[4] That was, reportedly, because Selpin angered Goebbels "...so much that the latter has the former murdered" in 1942, before the release of the film.[5]

I really enjoyed this movie because of the special effects (which were quite good for the time) and because, "This movie wasn't made on the cheap. Given the deteriorating wartime situation, a lot of marks (Reichsmarks) were expended for terrific sets and fine attire."[6]

[For some reason, Blogger is not letting me "link" to my previous post (mentioned above) or to any websites pertaining to this movie. So, not wanting to plagiarize anyone, allow me to recommend Wikipedia's article about this movie. You can find it at:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Titanic_(1943_film) or IMDb's review and the readers' comments listed in the footnotes (below).]

[1] http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0036443/
[2] tt0036443/ (ibid)
[3] http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0036443/usercomments
[4] usercomments (ibid)
[5] usercomments (ibid)
[6] usercomments (ibid)

Soft Head - Softer Heart

2007-01-15T18:14:00.000-08:00

[This is the continuing story of my life... Now in my 20th year]

The summer was flying by; but everything (so far) had been so... I don't know. Maybe just: so nice! Then, one very warm Friday night in August, Shannon and I went to a drive-in movie in my mom's '65 Ford. We took a large bottle of 7-Up, a small cooler full of ice, two large cups and a one-gallon bottle of "Red Mountain" wine (I believe the wine cost $1.99 for the gallon bottle). Cheap wine coolers helped get us poor boys drunk. As the second feature was running, Shannon started talking and his words stabbed at my heart and stomach. Immediately, I began to feel ill; so I cranked-down the car's window for fresh air!

[Before going on, please, you should remember that I had only started acting on my primal instincts in the past few months and, although now 20 years old, I was extremely vulnerable.]

I could not believe my ears!! I was shocked and almost cried as Shannon was telling me that he was going back to Atlantic City, New Jersey, before Labor Day (2 September 1967). I don't know if my facial expression or my anguished voice gave my emotions away or not. I felt the tears well up in my eyes as I looked straight ahead at the movie screen. My throat started to tighten up; I began breathing in short, deep, fast breaths. I didn't want to lose him! Of course we had never had sex. Indeed, Shannon did not know and, at that time, probably could not even guess that I was a "queer" and that he was my deepest desire.

"Why?" was the only word I could get out at first. "Why are you going back?"

"It's something I promised some friends," he said. "I told them that I'd be back before Labor Day. I don't want to break my promise." Shannon had told me about a couple of his friends. One, whose name was Jerry, was "really a cool guy," according to Shannon; the other was named Sean. Sean had a job in the summer on the Boardwalk of Atlantic City -- he sold Kazoos (mainly to the tourists; but to the locals as well).

Quickly, my feelings of sadness were replaced with feelings of relief as Shannon told me that he would only be gone for one week. When he was leaving for the West Coast, he and his two friends had agreed to meet-up again before the end of summer break [of course Labor Day was traditionally the last day of summer break - most students would begin the first semester of the new school year at their schools or universities on the day after that].

Relieved, and inwardly elated, I returned my attention to the movie and the wine coolers. We got drunk; but I was a happy drunk!

*****************************

The night before Shannon left, we went to a local pizza house and had some pepperoni pizza and two pitchers of dark beer. We said our goodbyes and I drove him to his aunt and uncle's house where we said our goodbyes again while shaking hands. I would have given almost anything in order to have our arms around each other as we kissed good-bye, but that was not to happen.

Later that night, as I lay in my bed, I got thinking how much I would miss him. I really did not realize how much I would miss him until, quite suddenly, I started to cry. [I do not think that I will ever know how that boy, one and one-half years my junior, had ever created such a hold on me!]

A plan quickly formed in my head. I knew it would work. I fell asleep content, even happy! However, I would never forgive myself for what I planned to do.

The very next day, I called Mary - a girl that I would occasionally date (I still thought that I could be straight). I told her the sad story of how my grandmother had died. I pleaded with her to lend me some money so that I could go to her funeral back east. Mary knew that I had just spent my savings to go on my trip to New York and Washington, D.C. and that I was just starting to save money again. Of course I promised that I would pay it back as quickly as I could. I must have sounded sincere because she showed how much she trusted me and liked me by promising to loan me the $250.00 that I would need for round-trip airfare.

The next day, I told my parents that I wanted to go back to Atlantic City for the last week of summer vacation. [Years later, my mom told me that she and my dad had thought that I had met a girl back there and wanted to see her again.] They gave me their permission.

{Note: Sorry that I could not post the pictures that I had planned. I screwed something up. Therefore, I will try to edit this tomorrow. - Gray]

Out of the Woods

2007-01-12T23:28:00.000-08:00

Sorry there have been no posts for such a long time. But, finally, I am "out of the woods" and headed for a good recovery. It's about time!

The MDs are not sure that I have completely gotten rid of the virus (which I picked up on my previous hospital stay - hospitals are so clean... HA!). So, I will be at home with some self-infused inter-venous antibiotics for the next few days.

While I was "in the slammer" I managed to read a few blogs and comment on some posts. But, I really did not feel like doing any posting myself. I hope you understand.

I will restart my postings and continue on about Shannon no later than Monday. Until then, I am getting settled in my comfortable digs and am restocking the refrigerator [what ARE those green things? And WHAT ON EARTH is that smell?].

Thank you all for the emails and the good wishes!

So We Start 2007!

2007-01-05T08:41:00.000-08:00

Hi my fellow bloggers!

Here I sit, all broken hearted....

That's the start of a rather crude, lavatory joke and I could not resist writing it because I feel as if I'm on the downside of being in a lavatory.

Yes. You've guessed it. I'm back -- hooked-up on a delicious inter-venous feeding of antibiotics (vancomycin, to be exact). It seems that my last bout in the hospital did not take care of the demon virus. So, I start my New Year the way I almost ended my last (i.e. hooked-up to an IV feeding tube).

Bah! Humbug!

My dear friends, Mike, has gone back home. I truly enjoyed him being here with me for the past three weeks (although he did irritate me now and again). I think I'll have to write about him one day -- how we met, how we became such strong friends, how I would like to beat his ass every now and then, AND how (I'm sure) he'd like to beat mine every once in a while! [Of course you understand: While it might sound quite sensual, I truly do not enjoy getting my ass beaten!] Oh yes... AND his response to my previous post (I still do not know if he has read it -- I have not checked).

I know that I have been rambling so far. It's just that this is the first night of 2007 that I have gone without sleep and with such a headache. Ho-hum.

The nurse just left and my friend [the male nurse (wink, wink)] doesn't come until tomorrow night. So I just thought that I'd write something here.

My history with Shannon will be continued in the next post. It's been written but I just haven't felt well enough to check it and edit and publish it.

I have learned something very valuable -- at least, for me!

From now on, I will be writing my blog post on my laptop (Mac, G4 Powerbook). That way, I can type it while I'm watching the boorish crap on television. For some reason, it seems that I remember some of my best times while I'm watching T.V.!

Like I said before: no sleep + IV feeding = ramblings from the toilet! I apologize for that. But!! Now you will understand what happens to me when you insist on a new post.

[I know that the last comment was evil. Here I am blaming you on my ramblings! Ha! I hope you know that it's only a combination of drugs + lack of sleep. Thank heavens for spell-check.

This Is For You, Mike!

2007-01-01T04:37:00.000-08:00

So, dear readers, I have discovered that my houseguest, from out-of-state, has used my "History" to find my blog.

OUCH!

So, this message is for him.

Sorry that you read that I was looking forward to you leaving so that I could have my own space back. I hope that you understand that I meant nothing personal. It's just that I (like anyone that is pretty much set in their ways) want everything back to normal. I don't care about you reading my blog. In fact, I have debated giving you the address of it so that you could, possibly, understand me more.

Feel free to leave a message (or messages) to any of my posts. Email me if you want to keep it private.

I don't care that you checked up on me. You've been a friend for over 27 years and I don't think that there is anything that you have not known about me in the past that I would want to hide from you. It's just that... Well...

It's just that I am a little disappointed that you checked my "History" and did not ask me. Understand?

Oh well. What the hell!

I'm going to keep writing because this blog is mainly for me and for anyone else that is going through the shit that faces us gay-boys. You've known that I was gay since you were 18. I told you, at that time, so that you could decide for yourself whether or not to continue being friends. Now, I know that none of this will change that. But, if anything that I write, or have written, or will write bothers you... Let me know and we can talk about it.

That's about it. Now...... Back to writing for the masses! [lol]

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

2007-01-01T01:35:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year to everyone!

I hope 2007 brings us all some happiness and joy, that the big disappointments turn into small irritants and that the love and peace we are all seeking finally comes to us!! [Now THAT's corny, isn't it?]

Gray

I Love Christmas.... but

2006-12-30T16:20:00.000-08:00

I absolutely love Christmas time! The chilly weather. The smell of logs burning in the fireplaces of my neighbors' homes. The decorations, sometimes elaborate, on the outside of many of houses throughout the city. Even the hustle and bustle in the shops and stores as people rush to find THE gift.

The before and the after days of Christmas are simply thrilling - in a very special way. Christmas Day is recognized by Christians as the day to honor and celebrate the birth of Jesus of Nazareth (the Christ child). A wonderful thing - if one believes.

With that said, has your Holiday period been as hectic as mine? I'm tired, ran down if you will. Headaches are, at a minimum, a daily occurrence. My neck aches, my shoulders feel as if I've done a hundred pull-ups every waking hour. My eyes hurt, for God's sake!

Oh. I cannot forget to mention the interruptions! The telephone rings whenever I just start to do something - shave, wash, eat. It doesn't ring when I am sitting still. If it does ring when I'm sitting still then I am right in the middle of paying bills or reading something intriguing or watching a climatic part of a movie.

The relatives coming by. The relatives and their relatives wanting to meet for dinner or wine-tasting parties. The occasional former neighbor, in town to visit their relatives, knocking at the door.

I am glad that I have a guest from out-of-state visiting for the Holidays - a straight friend of 27 or 28 years who is staying with me so he can visit his nearby family. But, I am counting the days until he is gone and I can have my little piece of this world back to myself!

So, I hope that one and all can understand why I have not posted for this short time. I swear that this is the first moment that I have had to write anything. Yes, I have had time to read two or three blogs (and make comments on the writers' musings). But, even during this short period of time, my friend has called out questions from the adjoining room - even letting another friend's dog in the house to frolic.

Please do not misunderstand what I am writing. I love my friends and family (and their pets). It is just that I wonder to myself: does it all have to happen at or near the same time? I would love it all if only the calls and visits were spaced out over the year instead of crammed into a two week period!

Well, that's my little Christmas "Bah! Humbug!" tirade. I am looking forward to the turning of the calendar tomorrow night. I will get back to my little story after the New Year is rung in. Until then:

Happy New Year to everyone!

Santa Claus Came Last Night...

2006-12-25T01:27:00.000-08:00

and you were asleep. So...

you couldn't help him!!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Merry Christmas!!

2006-12-23T01:35:00.000-08:00

I wish each and everyone of you a very Merry Christmas!

The Swimming Trunks - Part II

2006-12-21T19:19:00.000-08:00

[This is the continuing story of my life, in my 19th year]

The next day at about noon, I picked Shannon up in my mom's car to go to the beach. Here and now I've got to say that if it seems, to anyone, that I could borrow mom's car at anytime I wanted to use it: don't be mislead. Mom was very liberal in letting me borrow her car IF she didn't need it for awhile, IF she knew where I was going (and with whom), and IF she knew when I would be back. Oh, and of course, it always helped when I paid for my gasoline and washed the car at least once a week. Also, I had to have my classes up to date (regarding homework and class assignments).

Shannon understood this and so he was never upset if I couldn't get us a ride. He would just say, "Let's take the bus," or "Let's hitchhike." [Both of those (riding the bus and hitchhiking) would occur within the next few months -- during a disastrous weekend.]

In what really is a jolt of irony, Shannon and I drove to the City of Long Beach and chose a section of beach that has since become famous/infamous as being a gay beach (at the foot of Granada Avenue, south of Ocean Boulevard - it's sometimes referred to as "Ripples' beach" because of the gay bar, "Ripples," which has been located on the north-east corner for quite some time). I have absolutely NO idea if it was a gay beach at the time, but it probably was; I found out about its status only five or six years later!

We walked through the sand (wearing our matching swimming trunks) carrying our beach towels, portable radio and a couple of Coca-Colas and claimed our piece of the shoreline by stretching our towels out and anchoring them to the sand with the radio and Cokes. Then we dashed to the water and dove into the first wave. The water was cold enough (even though it was the beginning of summer) that I didn't think I had to worry about becoming an unwilling exhibitionist! ;)

After climbing out of the surf and drying off with our towels, we re-spread our towels, turned on the radio and stretched out on top of the towels to soak up the sun. Shannon opened our Cokes and handed one to me. I stayed on my side facing him while he flopped on his back and propped himself up on his elbows.

As we talked I realized that I was not imagining that his basket was growing. Fortunately he was looking off at the water's edge where a group of girls were laughing and splashing; that gave me time for a pretty good look. He had a nice fat cock but, from my angle, I couldn't possibly guess the length. I quickly rolled on my stomach. Now *that* was a bad decision. I was trying to remain "unnoticed" but when I rolled belly-down in the hot sand, nature took its course! I was throbbing in no time. I reached down to pull my member up towards my belly.

Needless to say that I was noticed! Shannon laughed a devious laugh! Quickly, I was able to say that all the girls in their bathing suits got to me. Shannon roared with laughter on that one and boldly announced, "Me too!" Quickly, he rolled on his belly and laughed some more! We both, eventually decided to take a dip in the cold water and, inevitably, we had shriveled enough to dry off and walk back to the car. Shannon was a couple of feet in front and to the left of me. His firm, broad shoulders were marked with small freckles and his back formed sort of a "V" shape to his waist. Of course I stared at his beautiful butt all the way back to the car. The more we went swimming, the more I fell in love with those swimming trunks!

I couldn't possibly fit in those 28-inch waist swimming trunks today. But, in a plastic bag sitting on the closet shelf, I still have them.

The Swimming Trunks - Part I

2006-12-17T22:05:00.000-08:00

[This is the continuing story of my life, in my 19th year]

One Thursday night, Shannon and I met at the vending machines and were bantering about our classes when suddenly he says, "Hey, you know... I've never been to the beach out here. I've swam in the Atlantic hundreds of times; but, I've never even seen the Pacific yet. Why don't we go to the beach this Saturday?'

Imaginary pictures of Shannon in a bathing suit rapidly flashed through my mind! It took me all of a millionth of a second to nod my head and, as nonchalantly as possible, say, "Sure. I haven't been to the beach for quite a while. Why not?"

"Only one problem," Shannon continued. "I need to go buy some swim trunks. Could you take me to the mall tomorrow? If not, I'll just catch a bus." Now I knew that Shannon had absolutely no idea about how I felt for him! What did he think? That I would pass up an opportunity to perhaps influence his choice of swimming attire? HA!

"Sure. In fact I need a new pair myself." I lied, "I got my last pair about three years ago and they're pretty faded and worn!" So, the next day (Friday) at about 1:00 in the afternoon, Shannon and I headed for one of the newest, biggest malls in the area. I forget what shop we finally ended up at; but, there we were: side by side, looking for the one thing that is intimate in a truly public way. We were looking for a piece of clothing that would rest against our most private body parts and yet be viewed openly by the anyone with eyes to see.

Shy and reserved, I was looking for the normal, late 1960's, slightly baggy, boxer-type swimming trunks. Shannon picked up a navy blue, boxer-brief type of swimming trunks that had two white stripes on each of the left and right legs and two white stripes around the elastic waistband. "What about these?" he asked me. I looked at the smooth, no-pattern cloth and felt myself blush. "Looks pretty good, do they have it in my size?" "What's your size?" Shannon asked. "28," said I. "Yup! Right here," he said as he handed me a pair. "Let's try them on," he said as he turned to the dressing booths.

We took booths right next to each other, stripped and donned our new swimming attire. I gulped and stared wide-eyed as I looked at myself in the mirror. The swimsuit was a perfect fit for my body and the navy blue went well against my tanned brown skin. But... Holy crap! If I even thought about getting excited there would not be a way in the world to conceal it! Suddenly my door popped open. Shannon stood in front of me with both fists on his hips like an innocent kid playing Peter Pan. "Well? What do you think?" he asked as he grinned ear to ear. "Looks good on you," I said. "How about me?" "Yeah. It's a good fit! Wanna get 'em?"

We decided to stop off at our pizzeria for some beer before returning home. As we got to the car, we tossed our shopping bags (with our new trunks inside) into the car's trunk. As we drove to the pizzeria, Shannon was whistling loudly to the music on the car's AM radio. His whistling wasn't always in tune but it was loud and vigorous. Actually, it endeared him to me all the more. I smiled and looked at my friend's handsome profile. I honestly prayed, "God, please let this work. Nothing else has. So, please, let this work."

The pitchers of dark beer were my treat!

Getting to Know You

2006-12-14T17:26:00.000-08:00

[This is the continuing story of my life, in my 19th year]

Shannon and I saw each other every Tuesday and Thursday before our evening classes. We would also visit during break time(s) and after classes. Of course I did not wait just for those days of the week to see my new object of love and lust! On the very next evening that I saw Shannon (a Thursday night), I asked him out for pizza on the next night (Friday). I was elated when he accepted! I told him that I didn't have my own car and would have to borrow my mom's for the night and would pick him up.

We had planned that I would pick him up at his aunt's home (another city, just a short drive away) and then drive directly to the pizzeria. I got there and he said that his aunt insisted that I be brought in the house to meet the rest of the family. [LOL! Was I the prospective bride or the prospective groom? HA!] I often have wondered if his aunt had what we, today, call "Gaydar." His aunt seemed to always have a twinkle in her eye; his uncle always had a broad grin and a vice-like handshake. I liked both of them immediately. Next, I met Shannon's little cousin (about seven or eight years old and a little "girlish" - what normal young boys don't seem that way to older boys?) he really seemed like a good kid.

Shannon had to get his jacket so we went out to the garage where he had set up a makeshift bedroom. It was cold in the uninsulated two-car garage (even at that time of year)! I truly felt sorry that he had to live there. However, he told me, it was his idea to sleep in the garage so that he could have his privacy. If it got too cold he would then go into the house and sleep on the livingroom floor. We left for our pizza at about 9 in the evening.

In a small city, not too far away, was a great little family pizzeria that served great pizza and had a lively, friendly atmosphere. Naturally, one of the nice things was that, although I was only 19 years old, I looked older and I carried myself with confidence. With that said, it was not at all difficult for me to order beer with our pizzas (or, on other occasions, to walk into most liquor stores and walk out with any wine or alcohol that I could afford).

Believe it or not, I can remember that we ordered a large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese and a pitcher of dark beer! Naturally, we took the beer to our picnic bench table at the back of the building while waiting for our pizza. Shannon was wearing his black and white tennis shoes, Levi's jeans, a white T-shirt and a brown leather jacket. I was wearing my favorite pair of beige sandals, black sox (back then you wore stockings with your sandals unless you were going to the beach -- HA!), Levi's jeans, my high school letterman's jacket and, of course -- did you think I would not? -- my new gift: the shirt that Shannon had given me off of his back.

We drank our picture of beer. We ate our pizza. We got to know each other better and better. We had more beer. We had more beer. We closed the place. I drove him home. There were many, many other times during that summer that we did the same thing!
We started hanging around each other at all hours and on all days. The friendship grew. My love for Shannon grew, too. All the while: fate was hiding, waiting. It had set its trap for me and I was blindly and willingly parading directly toward the pit. Although I had about a year or more, it would go by in a flash.

Might not be able to send for awhile

2006-12-14T17:15:00.000-08:00

After the past couple of days in Purgatory, complete with archaic tortures eased by codeine and morphine, I'm being exiled to the convalescent home without internet connections.

I thank you for your thoughts and I'll let you know when I make my grand escape!

Vive los mutineers!!

To: Jeff and Michael and Ric

2006-12-13T22:27:00.000-08:00

I don't know if anyone has ever done this before, but...

#1 A personal note to Jeff of "Already Bruised" -- http://alreadybruised.blogspot.com/

I've tried leaving a remark to your latest post on several different occasions. For some reason, my non-beta blog isn't able to leave a message with your blog. So.... Here's my comment (until I figure out what I'm doing wrong). Hope everyone forgives this wierd, unprecedented (?) communication. LOL - I'm having fun doing it!

Jeff -

Strange. I thought I left a comment for you last night (Tuesday). I must not have hit the send button.

As you know, I'm currently in a hospital and am having all the fun and games that goes with it. However, I am 59 years old and have faced alot in my life.

Already your story is touching me! High school aged and possiblly dying from something unknown? How horrible for both you and your family!! Not to mention how the nurse's antics did nothing to help calm any of you.

Obviously you're still with us; but, for some reason, I can't wait to read more about this (shall I say, "almost devastating") part of your life!

Take care, Jeff and stay well!

#2 A personal note to Michael at Cintaboo -- http://cintaboo.blogspot.com//

Michael -

Ditto from above: I've tried leaving a remark to your latest post on several different occasions. For some reason, my non-beta blog isn't able to leave a message with your blog. So.... Here's my comment (until I figure out what I'm doing wrong). Hope everyone forgives this wierd, unprecedented (?) communication. LOL - I'm having fun doing it!

Nice decorations!! By the time I get mine up, it will be time to take them down! BUT, they WILL be going up!! Take care and stay well!

#3 A personal note to Ric at De Viris Pulchris et Aliis -- http://olisipus.blogspot.com/

Ric -

Ditto from above I've tried leaving a remark to your latest post on several different occasions. For some reason, my non-beta blog isn't able to leave a message with your blog. So.... Here's my comment (until I figure out what I'm doing wrong). Hope everyone forgives this wierd, unprecedented (?) communication. LOL - I'm having fun doing it!

Perhaps Blogger is more responsible than you think for your not receiving messages from other long-time readers. I have been blocked from commenting on your blog, Jeff' blog and Michael's blog. Is it just today? Who knows? I don't really like it but I am going to LOL at the stupidity of it all!

Gray

Answering Some Questions!

2006-12-12T21:43:00.000-08:00

I'm hanging in there so far. I'm doing ok whenever I'm away from doctors, hospitals, nurses, etc., etc.

Not one Christmas present purchased yet. Not one decoration out and up. Believe me: being in the hospital at or near Christmas is definitely NOT new to me. You know the old saying, "Life's a bitch and then you die!" Well, anymore, I don't expect much more than that.

As far as drinking binges -- I have been there, done that. Sleeping all day, getting up at night and drinking at home on that night. Sure fucks a guy up! Kidney/bladder infection is part of what brought me in the hospital (among other things that I mentioned.). Hating our behavior is healthy. After all, we owe it to ourselves.

Since being in the hospital (8 days now), I have had Zero cigarettes and Zero booze. I've already gone for over 8 days of being free and clear of everything except MD prescribed meds. Also, I've lost almost 9 pounds of body weight.

As to my blog, you are correct: "You know when you open a can of worms, you never know what will come out." That's why I am continuing to write! And I must agree when you wrote that, "I guess I can't expect to be perfect when trying to undo all that I've accepted in the past." TRUE. But your next sentence is only partially true, "If it took 20 years to fuck me up, I guess it'll take a while to get unfucked."

You think we should be patient. Well, take it from this man, twenty years your senior: I don't have time to be patient. I want things to change and they are going to change now!!! Or else!!

Or else I am going to die trying! I refuse to let the shit that I've had to face get me down any longer!! Not just for my entire life but, the last 38 years of my life especially AND even more especially, the last 7 years of it!!

Shit is still bouncing all around me and I still might get splattered. But, .... I'm 59 years old FGS! I don't have much longer to make the change. If I do NOT make the changes and keep going the way I have been (down, down, down), then I will have to ask to be buried face down -- that way, the whole world can either kiss my ass or use my ass as a bicycle stand! And I have no room to complain!!

This is me when I met Shannon. Ha!

2006-12-12T17:28:00.000-08:00

[Thanks to Ric -- I love this picture!]

The Four Seasons of Life

2006-12-12T17:18:00.000-08:00

[Guess what season I feel that I am in!]

What's Its Name? - and - The New Priest

2006-12-12T03:31:00.000-08:00

[0330 PST, Tuesday, 12/12/06 -- Forgive me.... I think I'm well past being tired!! It's late and I have been held during trying circumstances while getting re-admitted to the hospital. I was in the emergency room for over 14 hours while they tried to find a bed for me. I'm tired. When I get tired, I try to find humor to wake me up.]

I hope you enjoy: "What's its Name?" and later, "The New Priest."

What's it's Name?

This guy walks into a bar and two steps in, he realizes it's a
gay bar. "But what the heck," he says, "I really want a drink."

When the gay waiter approaches, he says to the customer, "What's the name of your penis?"

The customer says, "Look, I'm not into any of that. All I want is a drink."

The gay waiter says, "I'm sorry but I can't serve you until you tell me the name of your penis. Mine for instance is called 'Nike,' for the slogan, 'Just Do It.'

That guy down at the end of the bar calls his 'Snickers,' because 'It really Satisfies."

The customer looks dumbfounded so the bartender tells him he will give him a second to think it over. The customer asks the man sitting to his left, who is sipping on a beer, "Hey bud, what's the name of your penis?"

The man looks back and says with a smile, "TIMEX."

The thirsty customer asks, "Why Timex?"

The fella proudly replies, "Cause it takes a lickin'' and keeps on tickin'!"

A little shaken, the customer turns to the fella on his right, who is sipping a fruity Margarita and says, "So, what do you call your penis?"

The man turns to him and proudly exclaims, "FORD, because 'Quality is Job 1.'" "Then he adds, "Have you driven a Ford, lately?"

Even more shaken, the customer has to think for a moment before he comes up with a name for his penis. Finally, he turns to the bartender and exclaims, "The name of my penis is 'Secret.' Now give me my beer."

The bartender begins to pour the customer a beer, but with a puzzled look asks, "Why secret?"

The customer says, "Because it's STRONG ENOUGH FOR A MAN, BUT MADE FOR A WOMAN!"

********************************************
The New Priest

The new priest is nervous about hearing confessions, so he asks the older priest to sit in on his sessions. The new
priest hears a couple confessions, then the old priest asks him to step out of the confessional for a few suggestions.

The old priest suggests, "Cross your arms over your chest, and rub your chin with one hand......and try saying things like, 'I see', 'yes', 'go on', and 'I understand'."

The new priest crosses his arms, rubs his chin with one hand and repeats all the suggested remarks to the old priest.

The old priest says, "Now, don't you think that's a little better than slapping your knee and saying, "No shit?.... What happened next?"

Back in the Big Hospital

2006-12-11T12:32:00.000-08:00

So, there I was. Last night I was receiving what I thought was one of my last IV feedings. After the bag was empty, another Filipino male nurse unhooked the bag from the PICC line and flushed the line with normal saline solution. When things are going so right, something just has to go wrong. Right?

Have you ever heard of FUBAR? It is military slang, especially used in World War II by many nationalities and it stands for "Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition." In the true meaning of FUBAR, it is rare that SNAFU does not pop-up hand-in-hand! SNAFU of course is slange for "Situation Normal, All Fucked Up."

After the nurse had "flushed" the PICC line, he tried to untwist the syringe from the line. He took the connector with him. Now blood was spurting out of the line with each beat of the heart. I quickly pinched it off as I yelled, "Stop!! Stop!! There's a problem here!!" believe it or not, he hadn't noticed. By the time a new connector was connected to the PICC line, the line had clotted shut. The PICC had to be pulled.

So, here I ham back at the main hospital Emergency Room to get the PICC line started in my other arm. My discharge date has been set back by about 4 days (give or take).

In a way, I'm glad. It gave me a chance to post all of this. But, now I'm tired so I'll wait for the new line and then go back to the convalescent hospital for another 4 days. It's 1300 PST and I am dog tired. I'll probably be down for the next 3 or 4 days. Until then: Sic Semper Tyrannis! ;)

"My Name Is Shannon"

2006-12-11T11:49:00.000-08:00

PLEASE READ "Sometimes "Fate" Steps In" BEFORE READING THIS POST!

[This is the continuing story of my life, in my 19th year]

I looked down at his face and, involuntarily, quickly and quietly filled my lungs with air. He held out his hand and, smiling, introduced himself, "My name is Shannon." As we shook hands, I introduced myself while sitting down (with one chair separating us -- what an amateur!). I realized that I was staring at his enticing blue eyes and quickly averted my gaze.

Suddenly, my urge to be alone was lost. Now, I wanted nothing more than to know about this beautiful boy with the light brown crew-cut hair in front of me. "What class are you taking?" I asked. He said it was a college prep course that his high school counselor had recommended (every Tuesday and Thursday night). "Oh? You're still in high school, huh?" I began my inquisition and he answered, "yup. I'm a senior and need a couple of college courses in order to graduate. These courses weren't required in New Jersey."

In no time, I found that he would turn 18 in October, that his rich parents lived on the New Jersey beach with his younger sister. He had been in juvenile detention and was sent to California to live with his aunt, uncle and cousin while finishing high school.

We talked for at least a half an hour before I started letting my true self come out. "I really like that shirt," I told him, The shirt was a (mixed) power-blue and white, short-sleeved, knitted pull-over with dark blue trim at the neck and sleeve ends. "Oh, yeah?" he said as he proceeded to pull the shirt up over his head. Once off of his body he handed it to me.

Naturally I protested (as I gazed at his hairless chest and flat, smooth stomach). I was wearing a jacket and told him that he had to be cold and that I couldn't accept his shirt. He said, "You told me that you liked it; it's yours." As wild thoughts screamed through my brain I saw a lady come up next to the table. Shannon said, "This is my Aunt Pat. Aunt Pat, this is Gray." We exchanged pleasantries while Shannon stood and gathered his books.

I thanked him for the shirt, while his aunt developed a curious expression on her face, and we agreed to meet again in two nights. As they walked toward the parking lot, I gazed at his shirtless back and openly stared at his tight Levi's-enclosed lower half. With his black and white tennis shoes on, I estimated him to be about three inches shorter than I (or about 5'10"); his weight was definitely proportional. His aunt turned and caught me staring. I blushed and waved (I was sure she couldn't see me blush because of the dim patio lighting).

As they disappeared around a corner, I lifted my new gift to my face and inhaled deeply through the cloth. My body awoke and my night-time fantasies began. For awhile, after getting in my mom's car for the drive home, I took in the aroma of the shirt. I certainly did not need "The Club" to keep the steering wheel from turning! After arranging myself, I drove home anticipating my next meeting with Shannon.

Sometimes "Fate" Steps In

2006-12-11T11:24:00.000-08:00

[This is the continuing story of my life, in my 19th year]

Earlier in the evening, as you may recall, I had been stopped for speeding on my way to night classes at a nearby junior college. The officer's presence prevented me from fulfilling my plan to commit suicide by driving, full force, into a large, wide, firm tree.

With my tail between my legs, I drove to class remaining well within the speed limit. I honestly cannot remember anything remarkable about that evening other than thinking to myself that I was more of a failure than I had previously thought. First, when I found "love," I let it slip away. Second, I was torn up inside -- trying, trying to find others like myself in my home city and unable to do so. Third, I had only a couple of short hours earlier tried to kill myself and couldn't/didn't/was prevented from doing so.

After class, I remember walking slowly across campus to the vending machine area. My head was down and my eyes were starting to blink back early tears again. I just wanted to sit alone, drink my coffee and think over the evening's events. The well lit vending area was surrounded by dimly lit tables where people in groups of 2 to 8 were gathered at each table. That is, at all tables except for one.

I saw the young man with the crew cut hair from behind sitting at a table by himself. Sitting with just one other person at the table would allow me to be as alone as possible, or so I thought. I moved over toward his table and as I came along side the sitting boy, I said quietly, "Hi. Do you mind if I sit here?"

******************************

Now. From what I understand, some people call it "luck." Some call it "kismet." Some call it "One of God's footsteps." Perhaps you might call it "a fork in the road." Others may call it "chance." Others, "happenstance." I call it "fate." More accurately, this was "a fateful fork in the road."

By asking if I might be able to sit at that table, with that individual, my life was forever changed. Irreversibly changed. I do not think that anything that has occurred since that meeting could ever be (or could ever have been) "undone." My entire life was changed dramatically and forever and I didn't even know it. Truly, I couldn't even admit that to myself until I began examining my life in depth this past year.

How could I have known that the boy that I was about to meet on that warm late-June evening in 1967, would... No. No, I'll stop here for now.

Instead, right now at least, I'll just go on writing about our first meeting and show you that when "fate" awaits you, there is absolutely nothing you can do. When "fate" awaits, be it good or be it bad, there is no avoiding it. Especially when someone was as eager as I. Eager! But for what? Would I have been as eager if I had known what would happen from this chance meeting with a previously unknown person?

*****************************

December 7, 1941

2006-12-07T12:06:00.000-08:00

Sixty-five years ago the Imperial Japanese forces surprised United State's Forces at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.

Allow me a moment to recall that historic event and to honor those servicemen, servicewomen, and civilians who died during "Day of Infamy."
The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor began at 7:55 am (Island Time) December 7, 1941. Japanese naval forces compiled for the raid included 4 heavy aircraft carriers, 2 heavy cruisers, 35 submarines, 2 light cruisers, 9 oilers, 2 battleships and 11 destroyers.

The attacking forces came in two , the first consisting

183 aircraft which included 40 torpedo planes, 49 level bombers, 51 dive bombers and 43 fighters. The second wave included 170 planes, 54 of them level bombers, 80 dive-bombers and 36 fighters. Over 350 Japanese planes were involved in overall attack, which surprised the United States. At the end of the day, over 2,000 men lost their lives.

U.S. Personnel Casualties:

Service Killed Wounded Total
Navy 2008 710 2718
Army 218 364 582
Marines 109 69 178
Civilians 68 35 103

I thank all Americans and allies who were there: those who died, those who were wounded and those who will live with the images of that day until the day they die.

[Photos and data courtesy of:
http://www.history.navy.mil/photos/events/wwii-pac/pearlhbr/pearlhbr.htm]

Another Hospital Update

2006-12-07T11:46:00.000-08:00

Thank you both, Joel and Ric! Seeing as how you are so willing to change my light bulb for me, I'll see you this afternoon. I'm sure you can find a fast jetliner just for little ol' me!! LOL

Really, the last post was just a rant! Scott has done wonderful things for me for many years and is even the father of my godson. I have to give him the benefit of the doubt.

But, I'm so frustrated about so many things that I don't know if I'm angry at him or angry at all of these health problems coming at once.

I'm off to a convalescent home this p.m. to continue getting high dose antibiotics. One of the bugs they thought was in my blood actually turned out to be a contaminated test. So my blood is ok. Now, we're just dealing with two small wound infections and my recently diagnosed border-line diabetes.

I love getting older! Any young guys out there that want to switch bodies? I think I could save a few dollars to give you. At this age and with all this crap going on, you won't need much to live on -- you'll be home in bed all the time. :)

Now, I know that what I wrote might sound negative. However, please note that I am jesting.... Just trying to give myself a little chuckle. If we can laugh at the dark side of things, look how great the good side of things can be!!

Nothing to do But Update

2006-12-06T19:54:00.000-08:00

1830 on Wed the 6th.

I was out of the hospital at around 1440. I'm back in the ER at 1830. The rest of the time I was on an ambulance gurney waiting to see what would happen.

I was to be discharged to a nursing home for further recuperation. Trouble is the main one was not available. The 2nd one did not have private rooms for male patients. The third one did not have a private room. It was extremely hot, and had an old, snoring man in it. I stopped the procession and informed them that if they couldn't find a private room that I would take a double and pay full price. You see, MSRP is very contagious when one has open wounds. I refused all offers of "just; overnight", etc.

After 1800 the ambulances got permission to return me to the original hospital's ER emergency room) where I currently lay on a gurney..... Waiting for a room. Dinner has been ordered here for me. I'll be here until they decide where to put me.

I'm tired and I still have to face the wrath of my MD when he finds out that I was so admitadamant!

Bring on tomorrow! It's got to get better!!!

Damn! The most beautiful paramedic trainee in the world is walking around and has stopped to talk with me twice. Dale is 24 and Will is 27! Firm. Muscular! Blond. Schoolboy pretty! Plus there's a couple of former medical corpsmen (Navy) who are here but they don't top former Army Medic Dale (Will looks like Dale -- almost like brothers) in looks or appearances! God!! Thank you for the eye candy!And thank you very much for Dale's slightly older, just as beautiful almost-twin-in-appearance brother!! Yummy! I wish I had thought to get some photographs!! I'll have to settle with their conversations and their very, very good looks!

Hospital - Wednesday 12/06/06

2006-12-06T03:42:00.000-08:00

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

It's 0300 PST. Nothing different. Except I found out last night that one of my best friends can't do me the favor of simply going by my house and putting up a light bulb on the front porch! It just happens that I do tons of favors for him; but he's been too tired lately (like the last two weeks) to put up a light bulb.

So, Monday, I asked him to bring me some sugar free cough drops because my mouth is as dry as the Dead Sea. He had to work overtime and couldn't see fit to drive one block to the drug store and come to the hospital (about 1 mile from his home) to bring them. Gee F***ing thanks! Oh well, I have another friend who has already got them and will bring them in in just a few minutes.

Sometimes, you stay up late just so you get stuff off of your chest because you're pissed [American definition of pissed? Extremely irate.]. I sure am glad I do things for other people when I am dead tired (or else I wouldn't have had any thing to do with my spare time). BS!

Hospital - Tuesday

2006-12-06T03:22:00.000-08:00

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

I got a central line put in today (PICC) for IV's and blood samples. Mainly for Vancomycin and Levaquin. Fever blisters all over my lips and top of mouth where the good is forcing the bad OUT!

I do have methicillin resistant Staphylococcus aureus (MRSA) in my left heel and back wound (caused by a boil) also, possibly in my mouth (MRSA can be airborne. So: No handshakes and no kisses until things get cleaned up).

There is a question about holding me at a nursing care home until it's cleared up or sending me home with home-based nursing care to change the IVs. I don't know what the MD will decide but I'll do what they say! The levaquin is for a kidney/bladder infection.

I know that a particular family member thinks I'm being an ass with the staff. That is because they decided to put me in a different bed. As they were about to put me in a new bed, I was told that the old bed's mattress alternated, tipping the patient from side to side about every 15 to 30 minutes. I asked them to do it for me before we switched beds to see if switching were necessary. (They didn't know how to operate the old bed.) So I waited as they started to bring the other bed in.

It was a longer bed the one I was in and they wanted to put in before pushing the old bed close to the door (in other words the new, longer bed would have blocked them from getting the older bed out of the door once they both were in the room.

I mentioned to my family member that "as you know, anyone who has ever moved furniture knows that they were going to have problems" (or something like that) "and I told them to try pushing the old bed over towards the door-side of the room at an angle and move the longer bed in between the old bed and the window before having me transfer." They eventually did that and thus proved I was right.

But then, they did something that astonished me. They raised the newer bed and began to push and pull me into it. UPHILL! Now, when I told that to my family member, that person's voice sounded with disgust and I could tell the relative wanted to hang up because of thoughts that I was trying to make things up or that I was trying to be a hard-ass.

So, I changed the subject. I had learned a very valuable lesson. When hospital staff screw up, don't tell certain family members because they will think I am just bitching about a situation instead of wanting to relay something that, in my opinion, is funnier than hell. Alas, it was that person's choice to cut off a line of communication. But (honestly) I should be used to that sort of thing by now!

Canadians Soldiers - A fine bunch!

2006-12-04T12:17:00.000-08:00

[While in the hospital, I came across an email from an old friend who lives in California. I thought I'd post it for Joel and his Countrymen. It's appropriate for this time of year.]

A DIFFERENT CHRISTMAS POEM

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light, I gazed round the

room and I cherished the sight.

My wife was asleep, her head on my chest, My daughter beside me, angelic

in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white, Transforming the yard to a

winter delight.

The sparkling lights in the tree I believe, Completed the magic that was

Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep, Secure and surrounded by

love I would sleep.

In perfect contentment, or so it would seem, So I slumbered, perhaps I

started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near, But I opened my eyes when

it tickled my ear.

Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know, Then the sure sound of

footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear, And I crept to the door

just to see who was near.

Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night, A lone figure stood,

his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old, Perhaps Canadian, huddled

here in the cold.

Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled, Standing watch over me, and

my wife and my child.

"What are you doing?" I asked without fear, "Come in this moment, it's

freezing out here!

Put down your pack, brush the snow from your sleeve, You should be at

home on a cold Christmas Eve!"

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift, Away from the cold and the

snow blown in drifts..

To the window that danced with a warm fires light Then he sighed and he

said "Its really all right, I'm out here by choice. I'm here every

night."

"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line, That separates you from

the darkest of times.

No one had to ask or beg or implore me,

I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.

My cramps died at 'deep on a day in December,"

Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram I always remember."

My dad stood his watch in that Korean Land', And now it is my turn and

so, here I am.

I've not seen my own son in more than a while, But my wife sends me

pictures, he's sure got her smile.

Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag, Something red and,

white, ... A Canadian flag.

I can live through the cold and the being alone, Away from my family, my

house and my home.

I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet, I can sleep in a

trench with little to eat.

I can carry the weight of killing another, Or lay down my life with my

sister and brother..

Who stand at the front against any and all, To ensure for all time that

this flag will not fall."

"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright, Your family is waiting

and I'll be all right."

"But isn't there something I can do, at the least, "Give you money," I

asked, "or prepare you a feast?

It seems all too little for all that you've done, For being away from

your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret, "Just tell us you love

us, and never forget.

To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone, To stand your own

watch, no matter how long.

For when we come home, either standing or dead, To know you remember we

fought and we bled.

Is payment enough, and with that we will trust, That we mattered to you

as you mattered to us."

Christmas will be coming soon and some credit is due to our

service men and women for our being able to celebrate these festivities.

Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what we owe.

Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who

sacrificed themselves for us.

Depressed, Poisoned, Infected, Hospitalized

2006-12-03T14:42:00.000-08:00

For the first time ever, I'm posting from a hospital bed after coming in the emergency room yesterday (Saturday) morning. Currently it is just approaching 3:00p.m. (1500 PST or 2300 UTC) on Sunday.

First, on Thursday, I wrote a little about being "in a funk." Then, Friday night, I wrote about my possible food poisoning. I tried to kill the putrid taste with mints and then took a clue from a friend and had several whiskeys and waters. Before my second drink, I was ready for bed. I closed up the house, turned off the lights and went to my bedroom where I turned on a t.v. set and settled back with my second drink to watch a movie. I was feeling better.

I got up three more times to get other drinks. When the movie ended, I was not feeling as poorly as I had been. I turned off the lights and turned the television over to a calm, musical station. I was asleep in seconds, but, after a fitful sleep I awoke early in the morning. It was cold outside and I had the indoor thermostat turned down to 72 F. Still, in my bedroom at the back of the house where it was 68 F, exposure to three sides of the outdoor cold made me feel as if I were in a freezer.

I was wearing a pair of sweat pants so I pulled the blanket and sheet over my head and put my dirty shirt on top of those for additional warmth. I went back to sleep only to awaken again at 0930 - this time with the chills. Out of curiosity, I took my oral temperature and discovered I was just barely over normal (99.4 F). I fell back to sleep but awoke at 1030 with severe chills - my temperature has dashed past 102 F. I tried to go to sleep once more because it was so cold in my room. No luck. I finally got up and took my temperature one more time - at 1115 it was 103.4 and climbing.

I called my doctor's office. No, he wasn't in. But his service reached him and he instructed me to meet him at the hospital emergencgy room. I told him it would take me about two hours, but he wanted me there in one.

Sorry to disappoint him, but it took me 1 hour and 40 minutes. Blood was drawn and a chest X-ray was taken. I waited in the emergency room on a gurney-bed while waiting for an open room. It took almost four hours before I got a room. But, as discouraging as that sounds, I absolutely loved laying on the gurney and watching all of the hospital's, fire department's and ambulance companies' employees strut their stuff. Although there were some older men and woman (and even some younger women) that impressed me, I must admit that the younger (i.e. 18 - 40 years old) men in, around, and coming one way or the other through the emergency room were great!!

Rolling while being pulled by one of them to my side, provided me the intense pleasure of having my upper arm in the groin of a disturbingly handsome ER aide (I loved the feel of knowing he was "free balling" underneath his hospital "greens")! Watching those guys bend, stretch and do a minimal amount of horseplay really got my mind off of my troubles. Plus, they were very friendly and nice to talk with!

Up to my room just in time to miss the dinner trays. The nurses insisted on doing the paper work first; but, I calmly said, "Miss, please. The cafeteria staff will be coming in a moment to take the trays. If they don't bring a full tray up for me at this time then later, when you call for some food, they will only bring up a refrigerated box with a sandwich, milk and cookies in it. I haven't eaten all day long and I would really appreciate a hot, regular diet, food tray. Please." She must have empathized with me and I got my tray.

In fact, later in the evening (around midnight) I received the cold box dinner that I had feared I would get earlier. LOL! [I ate it, too!] After that I fell asleep and kept waking up every few minutes. Asleep one time for an hour, another time for two hours, another time for 10 minutes and yet another for 30 minutes.

We don't know what is wrong just yet. Sure blood tests and cultures were taken yesterday and last night. But they didn't get around to taking a urine sample until just a few minutes ago. And I have been coughing and hacking so much gunk that my voice is raspy and I find it a little hard to gasp air (occasionally). My doctor said the chest X-ray was ok and clear of cancer or other things like that. Another doctor (on call for my regular urologist} had me drink some die and I will go downstairs for a CAT scan soon to check for kidney and/or bladder problems.

I made a "gentleman's bet" with my handsome Filipino male nurse. For one penny, I bet that they would call me down for my CAT scan just when dinner arrives. He laughed and said he didn't want to bet. We are waiting to see.

So that's it. I'm feeling better or I would not be typing this now. But, we do not know what caused the high temperatures and chills. I was told I will be in the hospital at least until tomorrow or possibly Tuesday. We'll see about that. I'm getting IV antibiotics and have no temperature.

It's almost two hours later. There is a red sky sunset out my southern facing windows. I'm in a private room thanks to methicillin resistant Staphylococcus aureus (MSRA) - which, if you haven't heard about it, is an airborne virus that can infect other people via open wounds or by inhalation. That virus could cause important infections such as boils or pneumonia. Perhaps because of my constant coughing they have taken the precaution of isolation for right now. They won't know that until those tests come back in another day or two from now. Until then, I'll enjoy the isolation.

More interruptions by the nurses. But that's ok. I'm here to find out what's wrong and to get better. We'll see what happens.

I'm tired. I'll post again tomorrow if I'm feeling this good. I hope all of you are staying in good health as well. With the codeine and ativan, etc. I just hope this is coherent == I couldn't post any cartoons or pics because I am using my Mac G4 PowerBook with Safari and I don't know how to do that yet.

Food Poisoning?

2006-12-01T22:55:00.000-08:00

It's Friday the 1st of December. I haven't been doing anything lately so I called up a friend and took him out to dinner to a Thai restaurant. I got home and realized that I was almost out of cigarettes. I grabbed my jacket and was almost out the door when I realized I had a putrid taste in my mouth.

I went to the kitchen and pulled out my bottle of "Tums" antacid. I chewed two of those as I was going out the door. By the time I got to the local "7-11" convenience store, the taste was back. So, I bought a pack of mints along with the carton of cigarettes.

As soon as I got home, I popped two mints in my mouth. That helped for all of five minutes. Then I realized that my friend and I had shared the same food at the restaurant and I called him.

"Hey! I'm sorry to disturb you," I said.

"That's ok. What's up?"

"Well, I think I might have food poisoning. I've had this putrid taste in my mouth since I got home. I was wondering if you've noticed the same thing."

"No. But then I've been drinking since I got in."

"Well," I continued, "maybe that's what I need. I've popped a couple of 'Tums' earlier and, just a few minutes ago, I chewed a couple of mints. Neither one seems to be able to get rid of the taste! I think I'll try your method. Who knows? Maybe the booze will kill the bugs as well as the taste!"

I grabbed a nearby glass, opened the freezer door and reached in for a handful of ice cubes. I filled my glass so that my friend knew that I wasn't joking. My friend's voice showed his concern when he replied, "Well, if I get diarrhea tonight, I'll call you."

"Gee thanks," I said, "but if you get diarrhea I'll probably get it, too. So don't feel obligated to call me. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

We said our good-byes and I hung up the telephone and finished making myself a strong whiskey and water drink. I came in to get on the computer for a minute to see if I had any emails.

Man! Am I tired or what? My muscles ache, my back and neck hurt and I'm having trouble keeping my eyes open (I'm so tired!). While writing this, I've belched a couple of times and can still taste the foul, putrid taste. So, I've decided to go to bed before midnight.

Damn it! I do not like the thought of waking up with diarrhea or vomiting in the middle of the night. I am definitely going to be in an ugly mood if I did (in fact) get food poisoning!! Even if I didn't get it, I am still going to be angry because of the ugly taste that keeps coming back.

Oh! Blazes!! I just remembered that I left the waiter a twenty percent ($5.00) tip. That'll teach me!

Funk, Depression, or Something Else? -- edited 6/6/06

2006-11-30T01:04:00.000-08:00

I was wondering lately, am I "in a funk" or am I depressed?

There are several different dictionary definitions of the word "funk" when related to one's mood. When one is in "a dejected mood," a "depressed mood." or " a depressed state or mood" (example: Feeling down in the dumps, sort of lazy, edgy or irritable, but without justifiable cause) one is said to be "in a funk." Furthermore, if one is "in a funk" then one is having feelings such as purposelessness, disinterest, low self esteem. One might have a lack of motivation or energy which might accompany their mood. It is not simply the feeling of being sad, but is a lasting state of mind that could be caused by a number of factors. Many health problems lead to being "in a funk" -- with its attendant poor sleeping habits or eating habits, stress, and drug or alcohol usage.

The usual definition of being in a "depression" is sadness, gloom and dejection. In psychiatry, it is "...considered as a condition of general emotional dejection and withdrawal; sadness greater and more prolonged than that warranted by any objective reason. It is identified by one's dullness or inactivity where one is in a low state of vital powers or functional activity."

Lately, I do not really feel like doing anything. I have let my house go without sweeping the floors or dusting the furniture for at least a month or month and one-half -- although I do the laundry and wash the dishes once or twice each week. My vehicle is lucky if it gets washed every two or three months.

My sleep is erratic at best. One and one-half hour of sleep one night and 13 hours of sleep the next night. Of course those nights can be interspersed with nights of sleeping 10 hours that have me awaking every hour or every half of an hour or even more. Hell, switch them around, mix them up and combine any combination that you will -- that is how I have been sleeping. I will fall asleep in my chair while reading, watching television or typing on my computer's keyboard!

Speaking of my computer, I can easily stay on the Internet for several hours! Last week, for example, I was on the 'Net for an average of 7.48 hours each day. I read blogs (commenting on two or three of them), looked at video porn, read political sites, and even read a few government sites. Now that I think about it, I even read a few museum articles. But, I never touched my blog. Each time I wanted to write something for it, I couldn't clear my head enough to write!

Christmas is only four weeks away and I have no decorations up or even ready to put up. I have not done any shopping even though I have been on Amazon.com and Ebay.com (along with a few other on-line store sites) looking for something to buy.

The only reason that I am posting this is that I promised a couple of blogger friends that I would have something "no later than Wednesday night" (it is now 0115 on Thursday morning).

I am not giving up and, yes, I have seen my doctor. I broke my diet. I have been drinking so much, lately, that I am starting to worry whether or not I am becoming an alcoholic. Instead of stopping smoking, I have increased my smoking to two packs of cigarettes per day. I'm constantly tired. The only thing that I have cooked all week long has been one breakfast of eggs and ham. The rest of the time, I eat out or buy some take-home junk food from Wendy's or Togo's or some other fast food joint.

------------------------------------------------------
{++++EDITED-------} NOTE: I took the part out about not wanting comments. One good blogger friend ignored me (GOOD FOR HIM), One wrote me and email. And yet another wrote a post on HIS Blog. Thanks, guys! That shows me if you do not want something commented on then do not post it. Well, I'm glad I posted this!
------------------------------------------------------

I just thought that by writing this, I might read my own words and discover something that might get me back onto the right path. Instead, after just proof-reading this, I've just shifted from being "in a funk" to being "depressed!" I need someone to kick me in the ass and slap me around for awhile. At least, if it didn't get me out of my funk, I could possibly get turned-on for a change. ;)

Survey Shames America's Elite Colleges

2006-11-18T01:12:00.000-08:00

[I grant that this is off-topic. However, it helps to answer why so many Americans do not understand national (let alone, international) affairs!]

With our national "mid-term" elections having been recently completed, I just thought you might like some food for thought about our country's direction.

In the fall of 2005, UConn (The University of Connecticut) surveyed more than 14,000 randomly selected college freshmen and seniors at 50 colleges and universities across the country to measure their knowledge of American history, government, America and the world, and the market economy. The Intercollegiate Studies Institute (ISI) characterizes the results as constituting nothing less than a coming crisis in American citizenship. I agree.

Can you do better than today's college seniors? Here is their sample quiz. The answers are below. I found them to be depressingly easy.

1) Which of the following are the unalienable rights referred to in the Declaration of Independence?

1. life, liberty, and property.
2. honor, liberty, and peace.
3. liberty, health, and community.
4. life, respect, and equal protection.
5. life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

2) During which period was the American Constitution amended to guarantee women the right to vote?

1. 1850 - 1875
2. 1876 - 1900
3. 1901 - 1925
4. 1926 - 1950
5. 1951 - 1975

3) In his "I Have a Dream" speech, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.:

1. argued for the abolition of slavery.
2. advocated black separatism.
3. morally defended affirmative action.
4. expressed his hopes for racial justice and brotherhood.
5. proposed that several of AmericaÂs founding ideas were discriminatory.

4) Which of the following was an alliance to resist Soviet expansion?

1. United Nations.
2. League of Nations.
3. North Atlantic Treaty Organization.
4. Warsaw Pact.
5. Asian Tigers.

5) Which of the following is the best measure of production or output of an economy?

1. Gross Domestic Product.
2. Consumer Price Index.
3. Unemployment Rate.
4. Prime Rate.
5. Exchange Rate.

Answers: 1E, 2C, 3D, 4C, 5A

The full report (13 pages of relatively easy reading) can be found at:

http://www.americancivicliteracy.org/report/summary.html

Agree or disagree?

[An "after posting" note: I found the entire report to be a disgusting, but accurate, assessment of today's institutions of higher learning. I am writing the Governor and the Secretary of Education for my state to insist that the ISI's recommendations be followed here! I hope that you will write to your state leaders and demand likewise!]

Back from New York and Driving with a "Guardian Angel"

2006-11-13T03:59:00.000-08:00

[This post carries on from the "Six Day War" series chronologically.]

I had been home a little over two weeks from my "fantasy" trip to New York City. Although I went to and through many cities on that journey, I refer to New York City for one reason: that was where I met the man with whom I wished that I could have spent the rest of my life.
My mother and little sister, of course, were happy to see me return. My brother and older sister had moved out of the house at least two years before and, in my opinion, could not have cared less - at that time, at least! Dad was another matter. Within two or three days after returning from my trip, he let it be known (in no uncertain terms) that I had three options: (1) go back to school (i.e. college) full-time; (2) go to work and pay $125.00 per month room and board; (3) move out!

[A quick note: $125.00 in 1967 dollars would be the equivalent of $754.49 in 2006 dollars. The minimum wage in 1967 was $1.40 per hour ($8.45 in 2006 dollars). I would have had to work almost 89.3 hours in a month just to pay the rent. The average work day was 8 hours. Simple mathematics show that I was earning less then $245.00 per month. Rent, therefore would have been slightly over 51% of my monthly take-home pay. Comment: that was harsh but, for room and board, probably fair.]

I was an average student throughout high school. My limited (one year) experience with college proved to me that neither my grade point average nor my SAT ("Scholastic Aptitude Test" - now known as the "Scholastic Assessment Test") score were sufficient to get me into a state college or a university. Honestly, I was "average" because I was so completely "at sea." I did not know what I wanted to do. I did not like to study anything that did not interest me. I felt that I was on a dead-end road and did not care what happened to me.

Oh, sure, I wanted to be successful. I wanted great grades. But, how? Counselors could only recommend "study more" or "hire a tutor." I did not know what my dad would do or say or how he would act if I requested money for tutors, so I never did! I can only say that I had absolutely no encouragement whatsoever!!

Remember back to that period in history. America was at war in Southeast Asia (i.e. Viet Nam). I will correct myself, America was in a state of undeclared warfare (completely un-Constitutional in my mind!) and for the previous four years I felt that only one thing would happen. That is: I would (in one way or another) have to go to Viet Nam. I ask what kind of incentive is that for a young man? Go to college and get a "student deferment" from the draft or get your young ass drafted in the military and be sent to war! There were no other options. [Note: there was one other option. If I were to admit that I was a homosexual, I would be unfit for military service. In my highly "closeted" frame of mind, that was unthinkable! Thus, not an option for me!]

Well, the threat that the government held over my head and my father's "either/or" proposition were incentive enough for me to sign up for summer school classes at a nearby local junior college offering either an AA (Associate of Arts) or an AS (Associate of Science) degree. Perhaps if I raised my grades impressively enough, I would be able to go to a state college or university. Ha!

As I said, I had been home from New York for almost two weeks. I was still depressed about not having any way to contact Santos in New York City and became more depressed because I felt forced to go to college on a "do it or else" basis. The main depression, being gay and not knowing how to meet other gays in my own area, pressed down upon me like the weight of a ton of Bibles [pun intended].

I was going to my second night of classes. As usual, my mother had lent me her car (a 1963 Ford Galaxy 500, 4 door sedan - light green in color - with no seat belts) - thanks, Mom! . [The photo is just to show the model type.] But the depression was crushing me. I had tears in my eyes as I drove onto the main street that would take me the four or five miles to the campus. I pulled up to a red light and decided, then and there, to kill myself

As the light turned green, I pushed on the accelerator. I quickly increased the pressure of my foot. I knew that within one-half mile in front of me, a large tree loomed. I would run the car, full speed, into that tree. I knew I would be killed. That is what I wanted! It would look like a dumb teenager who was speeding had lost control of his vehicle.
Before I could get one-third of the way to my target - almost as if I had a Guardian Angel watching over me - a high pitched siren sounded behind me. I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw a motorcycle policeman with his red lights flashing. Oh sure, looking back on the situation, I could have continued flooring the accelerator and could have reached my target. There was nothing to stop me! Nothing except that, now, I had a witness who would tell my family that I deliberately aimed for the tree - that I had committed suicide.

I immediately decelerated and began braking. In no time, I had pulled the car over to the right hand curb and awaited my punishment. I recall the officer, an old (perhaps thirty-year-old) man, walked up to my door and asked, "May I see your driver's license, please." I fished it out of my wallet and handed it to him. "Do you know how fast you were going?" he asked. "No, sir. I honestly didn't look at the speedometer," I answered. "You were going over 50 miles per hour. The speed limit here is 35." And he continued, "I'm going to have to issue you a citation." I was whipped. "Yes, sir," was all that I could mutter. He gave me my first-ever traffic citation. Then he cautioned me to take it easy and added, "I don't want to have to scrape you off the pavement." If only he knew!

I proceeded, at the posted speed limit, to campus. All the while feeling even more depressed. I didn't even know how to kill myself and make it look like an accident! I felt more than worthless. That feeling continued through my class.

After class, I walked over to the vending machine area. I was completely unaware of what waited for me there.

Weird Sex Facts

2006-11-04T00:06:00.000-08:00

Stumbling around the internet, I ran across: http://weirdfacts.com/ an interesting site, indeed! One section provided the following "weird Sex" (although I don't think several of the "facts" are weird at all).

Actual amount of semen per ejaculation: 1-2 teaspoons
Average number of times a man will ejaculate in his lifetime: 7,200
Average # of times he will ejaculate from masturbation: 2,000
Average total amount of lifetime ejaculate: 14 gallons
Average amount of water it takes to fill a bathtub: 35 gallons
Average speed of ejaculation: 28 miles per hour
Average speed of a city bus: 25 miles per hour
Average # of calories in a teaspoon of semen: 7
Average # of calories in a can of Dr. Pepper: 150
Average length of penis when not erect: 3.5 inches
Average length when erect: 5.1
Smallest natural penis recorded: 5/8 of an inch
Largest natural penis recorded: 11 inches
Largest penis in the animal kingdom: 11 feet (blue whale)
Height from court floor to the rim of a basketball hoop: 10 feet
Most arousing time of day/season for a man: early morning/fall
Best ways to improve sexual function: quit smoking, start exercising, lose weight.
Foods that improve sex life: oysters, lean meat, seafood, whole grains, and wheat germ

Percent of men who say they masturbate: 60%
Percent of men who say they masturbate at least once a day: 54%
Percent of men who say they feel guilty masturbating that often: 41%
Amount of time needed for a man to regain erection: from 2 min to 2 weeks
Average # of erections per day for a man: 11
Average # of erections during the night: 9
Distance sperm travels to fertilize an egg: 3-4 inches
The human equivalent: 26 miles (a marathon distance)
Time it takes the sperm: 2.5 seconds
Time it takes an average person to complete a marathon: 4 hours
Sperm life: 2 1/2 months (from development to ejaculation)
Shelf life of a hostess twinkie: 7 years

Cost of a year's supply of condoms: $100
Thickness of the average condom: .07 mm
Thickness of super-thin condoms: .05 mm
Thickness of plastic wrap: .0127 mm
# of times condoms are thicker that plastic wrap: almost 6
In general, the taste of a man's semen varies with his diet.
Some say that the alkaline-based foods (fish and some meats) produce a buttery or fishy taste.
Dairy products can create a foul taste.
The taste of semen after eating asparagus is said to be the foulest.
ACIDIC FRUITS AND ALCOHOL (EXCEPT PROCESSED LIQUORS) GIVE IT A PLEASANT AND SUGARY TASTE.
Examples: oranges, mangos, kiwi, lemons, grapefruit, limes, Labatt Blue, Honey Brown
Odors that increase blood flow to the penis:lavender, licorice, chocolate, doughnuts, pumpkin pie. (Happy Thanksgiving!)

Yes, the penis does shrink in the shower.
It is common for men to wake up with "morning wood," a name for an a.m. erection.
Blue balls, or the term a man uses when he says his balls will explode if he doesn't have sex, is totally false.

It Is Just Too Funny!!

2006-11-03T01:08:00.000-08:00

In case you have not heard, John Kerry, the Democratic Senator from Massachusetts., was speaking to students at California's Pasadena City College two or three days ago. While making his speech, he said: "You know, education -- if you make the most of it, you study hard and you do your homework and you make an effort to be smart, you can do well. If you don't, you get stuck in Iraq."

Well, that statement immediately drew fire from the Republican party. From President George W. Bush on down, demands came for Kerry to apologize to the troops for insinuating that they were uneducated. Kerry explained by saying that he was trying to point out that it was President Bush's dim-wittedness that got us stuck in Iraq. His punch line was supposed to be "If you don't, you get US stuck in Iraq." Instead, it sounded like he was disparaging the intelligence of our troops.
So, it seems that a group of Minnesota National Guard soldiers serving in Iraq has made a comically misspelled sign mocking Senator Kerry's comments about the education level of troops. The sign said, "Halp Us Jon Carry - We R Stuck Hear N Irak." Properly spelled, of course, the sign would read, "Help Us John Kerry - We Are Stuck Here In Iraq." The soldiers' commanders see it "as a humorous response." I see it as just plain funny! Oh, hell! It's hilarious!!

It's Been Ugly for the Past Two Weeks!

2006-11-01T23:18:00.000-08:00

Sometimes life just throws things at you to see how you can hold up. As is evident from my last post, depression is my unwelcome but recurring companion. On top of that, events of the past two weeks have not been the most pleasant. I managed to get on the net a few times to read my email. I even had time to read one or two blogs and even leave a comment here or a comment there. But, like right now, I have been so tired for this short period of time that I haven't even felt like turning on the television (let alone the computer).

As I mentioned in a previous post, my dear old dad had to go into the hospital for surgery. He is still recovering in a local convalescent home and, thankfully, is progressing nicely. I've been going over to visit him about every other day since the 27th of September. The past two weeks, I've been lucky to see him about once every four or five days.

During this ugly period of time, my older sister had a stroke. Very fortunately she had a "mild, small" stroke, according to her doctor. I honestly do not believe that any stroke is mild nor small; but that is the way it was described. Of course when it occurred, a late afternoon drive to the emergency room was necessary. My brother-in-law and younger sister were already there. We talked with each other and slipped off to the cafeteria now and then while the older sister went through tests. She was released about 36 hours later with the normal warnings and medications.

Now, I do not know how anyone's luck has been running lately. I only know that the old saying, "if it were not for bad luck, I would not have any luck at all," held true for me! The day after my sister's stroke, I decided to play it safe and get a flu shot (the inoculation that doctors recommend for this time of year). I have had flu shots before and am not allergic to eggs, so I have never had trouble with receiving them. This time, however, within an hour after getting the shot, it felt like a giant knot had formed at the inoculation site on my left arm. By that evening, every muscle in my body ached. I went to the grocery store and by the time I got home, I felt dizzy, had stomach cramps and felt extremely tired.

I went to bed early and suddenly awoke at 4:30 a.m. (1230 UTC) vomiting all over myself. After getting up and changing the sheets and cleansing myself, I took my temperature (100.4 F) and blood pressure (100/48). I did not particularly like those numbers but I have gone through situations like that before and was not too concerned. I ate some saltine crackers and drank some milk and orange juice and went back to bed. I managed to sleep another three or four hours before waking up with diarrhea.

For the next 24 hours, I fought the temperature and it broke the next evening. But, I still felt tired and could not eat anything other then crackers for at least another 24 hours. I certainly did not feel like going anywhere and I turned on my computer for about 15 minutes and, finally, I was able to eat some soup. The next day, I was able to eat a small salad with soup and, of course, more crackers. Finally, on the following day, I was able to eat solid food and felt my strength magically return. I still ache all over and, after checking with the doctor, found that I did not have an allergic reaction. I just had a "reaction." I've never had a reaction to a flu vaccine before and doubt if I will again. But this one sure kicked my butt!

I went out to dinner with some friends tonight and, as you can tell, have finally turned on my computer again. I'm getting stronger each day and will call my sister tomorrow afternoon and visit my dad tomorrow night. It's been ugly for the past two weeks! But at least I've been reminded about some very basic bodily functions that I had forgotten about. :) I'm reminded of another old saying: "If you're looking for sympathy, you'll find it in the dictionary somewhere in the same section as the words 'shit' and 'suicide'!" ;)

So, fellow bloggers, welcome to the cold and flu season. I sincerely hope you don't have to go through anything similar. I have caught up reading my emails and have finally answered all of them. Honestly though, I still feel very tired and still ache a little bit. The tiredness lasts the whole day. Maybe I can get my doctor to give me a pep shot of some kind.

Thoughts During Depression

2006-10-17T08:06:00.000-07:00

So! Here I sit! It is just past 8:00 a.m. (Pacific Daylight Time) [1500 Zulu UTC]. I have not slept at all last night. I spent over nine hours last night and early this morning reading and commenting on various blogs and was just about to go to lay my body down when I suddenly felt the urge to write this.

My last post ["The 'Six Day' War (Part VI)"] sounded so pathetic!

I started writing this blog not knowing what I wanted to write about or IF, in some magical way, it might help me. So... So now is the time for some honest reflection.
I have been depressed my entire life (at least, as far back as I can remember - well into childhood). When I suddenly remembered (as I related in my blog post of July 17th) that I had been molested as a child, I almost stopped writing. I continued to write - sometimes in the most graphic terms - because I felt like I was going through a catharsis. Maybe I was only expurgating all of the vomit that I have felt inside all of these many years.

There is much, much more of my life that I want to review BEFORE the decision is made by me about what to do with my life now. I AM trying. Recently, I have been going out again - at least once or twice a week - by myself.

This past week, after dinner, I went to a local bar which, usually, is quite dead in the middle of the week. When I arrived, the place was packed with (pardon me, younger readers) babies. Children with no more than 21 to 30 years of life under their belts. In fact, now that I think about it, they were not babies; not children. They were young adult members of the United States Navy on shore leave from their ship. Being an old war veteran, I will not mention the name of the ship, the port, the reason they were in port, their departure date or their ultimate destination. The old World War II adage, "Loose Lips Sinks Ships," still holds true in my mind.
Hmm. I'll take him and him and... Oh hell! I'm not greedy! Just give me ten percent!!

While sitting at the bar, a young man engaged me in conversation. I was pleased with that and, yet, I felt so horribly out of place. I am 59 years old. He is 23. "James" and I talked about his ship (that's where I learned of the details that I did not divulge above) and his shipmates. We talked about "my" war and the problems that he and his shipmates are facing. We, in my opinion, had a very nice, close conversational encounter. The bar had given "last call" and was closing when he left with his shipmates to return to the naval base and his ship. We agreed to see each other the next night.

The next night came around and, true to his word, "James" and his shipmates had returned to that particular bar. I sat at the bar for awhile and "James" came up to me and began our conversation from where it had left off less than 24 hours before. Only this time, I could tell that the mood had changed; the tempo was not right. We were friendly enough; it is just that neither he nor I were as intoxicated as the previous night. Friendly? Yes! Cordial and happy? Certainly. But the second night led to no new discoveries; no new subjects of discussion. It was not as pleasant as the night before.

I looked into his face and especially his eyes. They were not as bright and as chipper as I had seen the previous night. I was saddened by that and, soon after, I left the bar without so much as a "by your leave." I returned home and got on the computer. I read several blogs and, like today, daylight came before I even began to feel tired.

Depression grips me like a vise. For weeks now, I have been unable to sleep at night - sleeping only in the daytime, waking only at or after sundown. I remember giving advice to a fellow blogger (Jay - who no longer blogs) that said something like: "Go out! Work at your local LBGT community center. Join a sports team. Go to bars - NOT to drink, but to socialize." All in all, I was telling him to stop sitting on his butt at home and feeling sorry for himself for not having any gay friends. I even gave some pearls of wisdom to younger gays on Matt's blog ("Debriefing the Boys"). I know what to do. But?

Well now! What pot was calling the kettle black? In other words, who was I to advise Jay or to Matt's readers to do one thing when I would not do the same? That is when I remembered that I promised him that by the end of August (past) I would find something, like I recommended to him, for me to do. Well, I haven't and I have. Soon I will become active in an almost exclusively straight group because I promised a friend that I would.

How unfaithful to myself is that? What kind of hypocrisy is that? "You! Go out with gay people!" "Me? I'll go out with people who can calm my need to be around others but do nothing for my TRUE needs and desires!"

No wonder the depression clings to me. No wonder the longer I play this silly-assed game the more depressed I become!

I have got to (1) stop drinking so damned much; (2) go out and find where "my kind" congregate! I know the depression will not stop until I am among my own kind. At least, it will not stop until I can find new friends to replace my old, and or dead, friends.

One should not post when one is either drunk or tired. Right now, after one hour of typing and thinking, I am both. It's Tuesday, October 17, 2006, at 9:00 am (1600 Zulu UTC). I'm tired. I have a headache. I loathe my circumstances (of which I shall write about in later posts). Although I do love myself and others, although I have family and friends (most of whom do not know that I am gay), and although I know what to do.... Why can I not just do it? What keeps me from practicing what I preach?

Life is so beautiful. Why does it have to be so fucked-up at the same time?

The "Six Day" War (Part VI)

2006-10-16T04:57:00.000-07:00

When I returned to my hotel room at the Mangor-Windsor Hotel, I got undressed and went to the bathroom. I took care of the ache in my groin while taking a nice warm shower and felt extremely relaxed when it was over. I toweled off, went to the telephone by my bed and put in a wake up call for 10 a.m. (I had to leave by 11:30).

I moved over to my bag and pulled out the bottle of "Seagram's 7" whiskey. I took a very small drink and put the bottle back in my luggage. When I crawled on the bed, I turned out the lights and fell into a blissful sleep, happy and content (quite unlike "the first time" with Larry the hustler).

The next day, a Greyhound Bus transported me to my country's capitol city, Washington, District of Columbia. From the bus station, I took a taxi to the Mangor-Hamilton Hotel and, after checking in at the lobby desk, I went up to my room. Honestly, I laughed when I got there.

The room was not much larger than the one Santos had in New York - with one BIG exception: I had a bathroom! The sleeping/living area was small but my window looked out over the rooftops - not at a brick wall. Ha!

I had arrived in the latter part of the afternoon and made my first telephone call right after I had looked around the room. Now, if you were a 19-year old boy who had just arrived in Washington, D.C., who would you call first? Your parents to tell them you had arrived? No. A friend? Nah!

Not me!! No way in hell! My first call was to The White House, home of (then) President Lyndon Baynes Johnson. I asked (wrongly I later learned) to speak with the President's Appointments Secretary [Note: the Appointments Secretary is actually in charge of assisting the President in the process of filling appointive positions.] He was not available, the operator told me, and asked if she could be of assistance.

"Well," I firmly announced, "I was wanting to make an appointment to see the President. I"m visiting Washington for the first time and I just wanted to take a minute of his time to shake his hand." [Dumb nineteen year-olds have the brass balls of a monkey!!!] My figuring was that if I could get in to see former Senator Barry Goldwater at his home, why not the President of the United States at his? LOL!

Unfortunately, the President was at his ranch in Texas and would not be returning for a few days. I was asked my name and where I was staying and I gave her the information. I realized, even at that young age, that the information was probably passed on to the Secret Service just to make sure I was not some sort of nut case.

Because this was my first visit to the nation's capitol, I showered and dressed in a suit. Why a suit? Respect. I did it as my simple way of showing respect for my country, my government and the history of the city. I wore my suit everyday that I stayed there for that reason. Everyone in the hotel lobby, the restaurant and the bar were dressed either in suits or dresses (or at the very least slacks, dress shirts and ties for the men and skirts and blouses for the women).

I went downstairs, ate dinner and then went to the hotel's bar: "The Purple Tree" (it was aptly named). In the center of the very dark bar was a tree (I later learned it was a man-made tree with a coat of white paint). The tree was illuminated by black lights giving it a purple appearance. The bar was all very stuffy and proper. But, it was neat. I liked it.

After returning to my room, I began undressing and I realized that my whole mood had changed. I was not on a cruising mission now. As a patriotic teenager, not being sympathetic to the anti-government/anti-war mood of the times, I was stricken by the fact that I was in my country's capitol and automatically fell into a state of awe and wonder. I went to bed planning the next day in my head.

For the next three days, I was a tourist and only a tourist. I did not seek any entertainment nor did I seek any companionship. I walked around the large perimeter of the The White House and The Executive Office Building. I walked east on Pennsylvania Avenue NW, then south on 15th Street NW, and east again where Pennsylvania Avenue NW restarts and finally to 100 Constitution Avenue NW (the U.S. Capitol Building). I sought out my Congressman's office and sat in on a session of the House of Representatives. On the way back, I toured the National Archives Building and viewed my country's Declaration of Independence and Constitution.

I know that I ate at various restaurants, but I cannot name one. I bought postcards and souvenirs. I acted the part of a young, dumb, teenage tourist to the hilt because that is what I was. During the night, I walked around town between government buildings - areas that I later learned were not the safest places to be after dark! When I went to bed, each night, I found myself thinking of Santos. By my last night in the capitol, I found myself craving to be back in New York City. I found myself hoping against hope that I would again be able to see Santos - to relive that night of pleasure!
The "Six Day War" was over when I returned to New York City. I checked in at the same hotel (The Mangor-Windsor) and I showered and dressed casually for dinner. After dinner I went, once more, to Times Square. This time, however, I was sad. I felt so lonely. I did take-in the "eye candy" but did not try to pick up anyone. I returned to the bar where Santos and I had met. No one there interested me so I sat and drank. Sadness and loneliness filled me.. I finally left the bar, about the same time that Santos and I had left on that magical night. I slowly walked to my hotel and went upstairs. Entering my room, I went directly to the desk.

On the desk sat the hotel's stationary. I wrote a note to Santos and mentioned what a great time I had enjoyed (only four days before) and dearly wanted another meeting. I told him where I was staying and signed with my name, the hotel telephone number and my room number. The envelope was only addressed to "Santos" (I am ashamed that I never knew his last name). Determinedly, I started out to Santos' hotel.

Upon arriving, I walked through the lobby of his hotel directly to the elevator and went up to his room. Silently praying that he would answer, I knocked on the door. I knocked again. There was no answer so I slipped the envelope under the door. I left his hotel and, as I did so, I saw the desk clerk staring at me. I quickened my step and returned to my hotel. As I lay in bed that night, I reminded myself of something that I am sure you will recall from my post about "that night." When I told Santos I was leaving for Washington, he had told me he would be leaving New York City also.

I do not recall what I did for the next three days. Whatever I did and wherever I went did not impress me enough to remember it. I only recall that Santos served as my fantasy during many solo performances (each day) and, that every night, I took another note in an envelope up to Santos' old room. I would pushed the note under the door after knocking several times.
From the moment I checked out of my hotel, through the taxi ride to the LaGuardia Airport , through the long flight back home and for days after being home, I thought of Santos and of the night we had together. He continued serving as my fantasy for quite some time. I might sound like a love-sick schoolboy, but I still occasionally remember him, fondly. I wonder if he has ever had a thought about me.

A Devastating Loss

2006-10-08T01:22:00.000-07:00

My good friend Joe at "Would I!?" suffered a devastating loss this past week.

Joe adopted a little kitten called NEO about three weeks ago. What a handsome little guy is was!

Due to a horrible, tragic accident, little NEO suffered an untimely death. There is no fault. There is no one to blame. It was an accident!

I was once told that bad things happen so that we can recognize and cherish times when good things happen.

It was never explained to me why devastating things happen that crush our spirit and tear at our hearts and minds! I have no explanation for you, Joe. Only sympathy and sorrow. As an animal lover, I truly empathize with you and I feel your loss!

A Comment Regarding my post "The 'Six Day War' Part V"

2006-10-02T06:50:00.000-07:00

I received a comment from Angel, Jr. that said, "Wow what an incredible story." I thought I would visit his blog and thank him for dropping by and leaving his remark. So I clicked on his name and found that he is from, as we say in the states, West By God Virginia (i.e. West Virginia) and had two blogs listed: "Shaken Not Stirred" (sort of a personal blog) and "Moving Mountains" (sort of a dedicated religious blog). I clicked on the first, "Shaken Not Stirred", and read his post of Saturday, September 30th, entitled, "A Whole New World."

Here are a few things he had to say, "Some people talk about their sex lives (in graphic detail: I landed on this one man's blog who wrote about a one night stand he had)..." He then noted that he thought that, "Some people put TOO MUCH information into their posts that the only thing I can comment or say is 'what an interesting story'." He then asked, "Why do people put too much information?" He continued, "But really, some of the blogs (well one in particular) share too much information." His readers commented and basically, I would say, they agreed with him.

I decided to add my comment to his post thusly:

"With your comment, "Wow what an incredible story," I can only guess that my 'one night stand'
post was 'TOO MUCH information' for you.

"Your question, 'Why do people put too much information?' can be answered by reminding you
that, as Jim said (above), '...for many people sharing that level of detail is cathartic.' It can be
especially so when reviewing one's life and wondering what it is (or was) that shaped the rest
of one's life.

"Thank you for dropping by and leaving your comment. Life is good when learning many points
of view. The only reason I won't sign with my blogger ID is that I do not want to offend the
sensibilites [sic] of some of your readers. Therefore, I shall post anonymously".

And that's what I did. I posted anonymously instead of leaving my blogger I.D.

So, dear readers, do you agree that some of us are posting "TOO MUCH information"? Was I wrong to go into, as it were, a blow-by-blow description of events? When writing a blog, knowing that some innocent soul might stumble upon it, should details be omitted? What do you think?

Hospitals - Bah! Humbug!

2006-10-02T05:33:00.000-07:00

Just a short note to let you know "The 'Six Day War' Part VI" will be done soon.

My family and I have been struggling with my Dad's hospitalization and operation. So, I just have not felt like doing any blogging up until this morning. He seems to be out of the woods now; but, I'm trying to not let everything fall on my sister's shoulders as they have in the past.

When you have to deal with hospitals, either as a patient or as a relative (or a friend) of a patient, why is it so physically and mentally draining? I honestly feel like I have been beaten by a stick. On second thought, not beaten by a stick but beaten by a thick branch!

Next post: soon, I promise!

The "Six Day" War (Part V)

2006-09-24T02:23:00.000-07:00

I walked out of the air conditioned movie theater and back into the warm, humid air of Times Square. As I was thinking about hanging around down there for awhile, I suddenly noticed a black man who was wearing what can only be described as clothing made for a pimp. His full length white coat, white pants and white ruffled shirt went perfectly with his leopard or cheetah-skin, wide-brimmed hat and matching shoes. The pimp was in a very heated argument with another black man. I then noticed that Times Square was not as full of people as it was earlier and the only people in the area were surly, angry looking people. Instead of hanging out, I reached in my pocket, pulled out my "Buck" pocket knife, opened the knife's three-inch blade and put it back in my pocket. I continued holding the knife as I walked toward my hotel which was about a mile away.

As I came within a block of my hotel, I looked east on 53rd Street from 7th Avenue and saw a quite little bar about 150 feet from the corner on the north side of the street. I looked around. The streets were almost completely devoid of people. "Why not?" I asked myself; then I headed for the bar. When I went inside, I saw only three men; two of them were at the far end of the bar and were talking quietly to each other. The other man, about forty years old, was the bartender. I ordered a "7 & 7" (that, as you know, is "Seagram's 7" whiskey mixed with the soda "7Up"). It was peaceful and relaxing in that bar. Light music was playing from the jukebox so I just sat and drank awhile. At that time, my drinks only cost $.80 (i.e. eighty cents) each. I paid for each drink with a one dollar bill and I stacked my twenty cents change up in front of me. Soon, I had six stacks of two dimes each.

As I debated having another drink, a young man came into the bar and sat around the corner from me; one bar stool away. He was very good looking, Italian or Puerto Rican, about five feet eight inches tall, maybe 21 or 22 years old and had very curly black hair. His face was young, lively and bore a handsome smile. "Hi," he said, "My name is Santos." I introduced myself and we shook hands. I don't know what we talked about but I remember how comfortable I felt with him. He told me he was a dancer and was only in town for two more days. I told him I was leaving for Washington, D.C. in a few hours. We continued to talk. He bought his own drinks and I bought mine. Soon the bartender announced, "Last Call!" Now, I was a little surprised by that because the bars in New York were allowed to stay open until 4:00 a.m. It was barely past midnight. Santos asked where I was staying. I told him, "The Mangor-Windsor Hotel" and he said he was staying at another hotel that was on the same block. I gathered my, now, eight stacks of two dimes each and left half for the bartender (big spender, huh?).

Santos left the bar with me and we talked back and forth as we walked until we arrived at his hotel (mine was about 100 feet further east). "Do you want to come up for awhile?" he asked as he grinned widely. Well, I was having a good time talking with him (the first really good time in quite a while) so I agreed. Quite frankly, I was hoping that something might happen.. We went into his hotel and I scanned the small lobby with its black wood paneling and teal green carpeting. He led me to the elevator and I was a little amazed at its small size; it was only big enough for four grown men to fit inside and it had a sliding, collapsible safety gate. We got off when the elevator car stopped on the fourth floor and walked around a corner to his room.

Santos began to apologize for his room being so small as he opened the door and he informed me that the bathroom was at the end of the hall. As we entered the room, I was a little taken aback because of its size. His hotel room was about the size of one of the two bathrooms in my parents' house. There was a single "twin" bed in one corner and an upright, wooden chair in the other. Right next to the door was a small table with a radio on top of it. At the foot of the bed was a door that Santos opened (revealing a small closet that had a light already turned on inside). Next to the closet was a window that looked out to.... Nothing, nothing but a brick wall about four feet away from the window. Santos turned on the radio. He turned toward me, smiling, and looked up into my eyes. He asked, "Do you want to dance?"

I was a little embarrassed by the question. I quietly gulped and might even had blushed. I had never in my life been asked to dance by another man. I think my voice trembled as I said, "Sure. Ok." The radio was playing a song that I will never forget. Not because of the situation. No. But because of the words! Frank Sinatra was singing "Strangers in the Night." I honestly do not recall who led the dance. My mind was too busy to record that! My brain was trying to assimilate the whole situation: my slight embarrassment at dancing with another man, the dreamy song, the cute man (with his ear pressing against my chest) swaying in my arms. I quietly gasped when I felt his erection rubbing against my leg in a slight up and down movement - rubbing with each dance step.

Santos looked up at me smiling. He reached one hand up and pulled my head down until our lips met. Another first. My first sincere, deep, long kiss with a man; I did not want it to end. This inexperienced 19 year old was smoothly led, without realizing it, to the side of the bed while still kissing. Together we fell upon the bed with Santos on top of me. Suddenly he stood up, pulling me up with him. He began to remove my jacket; I followed suit, removing his. He took a small step back and quickly unbuttoned his shirt, dropping it to the floor. I did the same. He reached for his belt buckle to begin to undo his pants. But, I grabbed his hands and pushed them aside. I unbuckled his belt then unsnapped his pants and lowered his zipper. He pushed my hands away and then reached for my belt buckle, unhooked it, unsnapped my pants, lowered my zipper and pulled my pants down to my thighs.

Quickly, Santos stepped back and pulled one shoe off at a time and removed his socks. I did the same. Then, he pulled his pants completely off. Again, I aped his motion. We were both standing in our underwear. Me in my "tighty whities" - white Jockey underwear. He in white boxer briefs (the first time I had ever seen a man wearing them). Santos was in no hurry. He moved forward while grabbing his crotch and clutched me in close. He then began dancing again with me to the music. Now, as his erection rubbed my leg, my nose was filled with the aroma of man mixed with the aroma of pending sex. Santos slowly pushed me back on the bed. He reached down and removed my underwear and then stood and removed his own. Damn! What a beautiful sight he was. He was in very good physical shape, dark skinned and, yes, had the fabulous legs of a dancer. I sat up on the edge of the bed, reached out and took his hands. I pulled him to me and then grabbed his very tight buttocks and, by pulling him toward me, soon had my face buried in his crotch. I inhaled deeply and started licking and sucking his already hard dick. Pushing me back, down to the bed, Santos straddled my legs and bent forward to begin kissing me. "I want to fuck you," he said while looking deeply into my eyes.

I could only nod in agreement. I was amazed when I saw him spit in his hand and watched him rub his spit on his manhood. I watched his every movement. He grabbed my legs and pushed my knees up to my chest. I wanted this like never before. This time, everything felt so very right! Soon, Santos was inside me and was moving forward so very slowly, so very tenderly, as he looked down at my face. I saw that he was still smiling and soon he mashed his lips against mine as I tightened my legs around his waist and my arms around his back. His movements were so gentle. So very gentle. I let myself be used by him. I never touched my own cock nor did he. I just lay there enjoying every sensual thrust of his. Soon, oh too soon, his thrusting became hurried. I began making uncontrollable noises in my throat.. Before long, he started slamming into me and then, with a mighty thrust, suddenly froze! I knew his juices had poured into me.

We stayed intertwined for several minutes and when he started to pull out, I completely surprised myself by begging him, "No! Please leave it in!" Santos looked down at me and smiled again. He leaned forward and kissed me so very tenderly and began slowly pumping my ass once more. After a few moments, Santos stopped. Slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled out and moved his body next to mine. We hugged. We kissed. All time had

stopped. I never wanted the moment to end. Santos asked me if I could stay the night and I said that I had to get back to my hotel because I had to get ready to leave for Washington in a few hours. "Please," he said, "sleep with me." I said that I was afraid I would miss my bus.

Santos just cuddled up closer and began tenderly kissing my neck. He stopped but continued holding me close. Soon, uncontrollably, my hand went to his crotch and I grabbed his now flaccid dick. I began to slowly stroke him. I wanted to suck him, to taste him. In short order, he was, again, fully erect. Suddenly he opened his eyes, smiled in a huge smile and kissed me deeply. Before I knew what was happening, Santos had quickly hoisted my legs in the air again and, without any fanfare, forcefully plunged himself deeply inside me. I know that I yelped but his mouth quickly covered mine and suddenly, instead of pain, I began to feel the most deep satisfaction that I had ever felt in my life.

I don't know how long he pounded me. But, suddenly his movement stopped and he started to push himself off of me into a kneeling position. I moaned out, "No. Please don't stop!" Santos just grabbed my legs and pointed them straight in the air; he was now holding my ankles. "I want to see," he said lustily. Slowly he worked back and forth as he looked down at his cock working in and out of my ass. He had such a look of pleasure on his face. Such a look of joy. Proudly, he watched as he fucked a man: me. A smile crossed his lips and grew into a wide grin. Then he looked up into my eyes, satisfied that, yes, he was indeed fucking a man. He let out a small laugh and quickly let go of my ankles and fell back on top of me while kissing me like a madman. My legs crossed over his waist and I tightly locked my ankles as he pumped. And... Soon, I felt his body shudder and he collapsed on top of me - kissing me hungrily.

I wrapped my legs even tighter around his body and hugged him fiercely. We stayed that way for quite some time until his breathing became even. Slowly, Santos pulled out of me and I sat on the side of the bed. I had to go and repeated that I had to give up my room in a couple of hours. He grabbed me from behind and began kissing my neck. Soon, I said I was sorry I had to go. He kissed me slowly, tenderly on the lips and said, "It's ok honey." He released me and reached to the floor for his underwear and pulled them up. I began to dress. As I was doing so, I felt his eyes on me and I turned to look at him. He lay there, on his single bed, smiling at me. I finished dressing and he suddenly stood and, only in his underwear, pulled me close to him and pulled my head down until my lips met his. We kissed for, what seemed like, an eternity. We slowly pulled away from each other and said our good byes. He was smiling all of the time. I left his room completely peaceful, completely satisfied and fulfilled. I thought of nothing and no one else other than Santos as I walked back to my hotel.

The "Six Day" War (Part IV)

2006-09-19T23:29:00.000-07:00

I awoke in my darkened hotel room. I was completely hard. My manhood was pushed into the mattress at such an angle that I was actually in pain. It was dark in the room; not only were the Venetian blinds closed, not only were the drapes closed, but the shadows of the tall buildings blocked out a lot of the sunlight. I rolled on my right side and massaged my aching dick. I massaged it and massaged it and continued to massage it until spasms wracked my body. The whole time, I was thinking about both boys: the hustler and the blond at the Penny Arcade. I fantasized that I was blowing the blond while the hustler was fucking me. I'm embarrassed to admit that. But, I was so horny back then that I recall letting my mind take me wherever it wanted to go (physically and mentally). I shuddered to a climax, panting and gasping.

I looked around the room. Although the room was dark, I could clearly see each piece of furniture. I got up, went to the bathroom, turned on the light and started the shower. As soon as the shower's water was warm, I stepped into the spray. I turned up the heat with the faucet. Suddenly, tears started to fill my eyes. Guilt filled my brain.

I did not feel guilty because of masturbating moments before. Hell, I first masturbated at the age of nine years. I never felt guilt about that until after I had hit puberty - boys, then, laughed and made fun of those who masturbated - masturbation was looked down upon as a freakish thing to do. I had eliminated those feelings sometime during my high school years. Why, now, was I crying? Suddenly, I stopped and I took in a deep breath and let the air out quickly. Again, I took in another deep breath; as I let the air out (slowly this time). I finished showering, turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. I grabbed a towel and dried myself.

Then, as I stood naked in front of the mirror, I looked into my face and, for the first time in my life, I could not look myself in the eyes. I began to feel more guilty. I turned on the faucets (hot and cold) and grabbed at the water to splash on my face. Now... You may be asking yourself, "What was that about?" "Was he feeling guilty about masturbating?" "Was he feeling guilty about being fucked the night before?" "What the hell is wrong with you, Gray?"

Well. I asked myself those exact questions. The answer was: "None of The Above"!

I went into the bedroom and opened my suitcase. While I was on my cross-country bus ride, I bought a fifth of Seagram's 7 whiskey in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I opened the bottle and took a gulp. I took another gulp. Then, I put the bottle to my lips and gulped, gulped, gulped! I moved to the mirror over the dresser and looked at... me! I studied my face, my body, my genitals. I moved back to my suitcase and grabbed the bottle again. I gulped the burning liquid until I had finished half of the bottle.

"Ok Gray! Enough is enough!" I said to myself. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

I dropped back down on the bed. I hated myself. I fell asleep until I heard the maid knocking at the door.

"It will be a few minutes," I responded to her knocking. "Please, let me finish dressing and I will be leaving the room in about 30 minutes." I looked at the clock. It was already past 3 p.m. I must have fallen back to sleep. I arose, dressed and looked at myself in the mirror. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I asked myself. There I was. Nineteen years old. I wasn't bad looking. Hell, I looked pretty good! I was comfortable with masturbation. I WANTED to be fucked last night. "What the fuck was wrong?" Suddenly, it hit me like a ton of bricks! For the first fuck of my life, I had to pay a hustler to do it!

I had to pay to be fucked!! Was I really that much of a loser? I felt like hell as I left my room. I don't know how or why but suddenly I found myself back at Times Square. I wished that I could find the blond boy from the Penny Arcade; I knew it would not happen. However, I went into the arcade; I played some games; I walked out and onto West 44th Street and walked westward. I laughed when I suddenly read the sign "Dixie Hotel" (the one hotel that my travel agent warned me against)! Two absolutely beautiful boys were walking up the steps to the hotel. I saw the bulge of one of the boy's erection stretching the material of his Levi's down his right leg. On the inside of my brain,, I screamed, "Wait! I want to go with you!" Instead, I looked down at the sidewalk and slowly moved to the corner of 8th Avenue.

Across the street, I saw a bar. "Fuck it," I said to myself! I was determined to get drunk. I walked across the street to the southeast corner of 8th Avenue and West 44th Street to the oasis. The place was almost full. It was about 6 p.m. by now. I made my way across the bar to the very back of the bar and sat down at a table for two. The bartender was a gorgeous hunk; but, instead of staring at him or even talking with him, all I did was order a bottle of Budweiser (I hated draft beer back then). He returned; I paid him. I took the bottle and drank half of it in, what I consider now to be, milliseconds.. I looked around the room and, for some reason that I still cannot understand, I never noticed that the entire bar was full of men - ONLY men. My sorrow began to change to - the only word is horniness. I felt my dick begin to stir. Most of the guys there were in their twenties; some were in their thirties. I, surreptitiously, pulled my hard-on up, flat, to my belly.

The bartender returned with another bottle of beer. "Courtesy of the gentleman over there," he said (pointing to a blond man in a white shirt and necktie). I said, "Thank you" and lifted the bottle in the direction of the man. He nodded. Guilt slammed down on me. The only thing I could think of was: I had to pay a hustler to fuck me. I drank the beer quickly, I rose, I walked by the man who had bought the beer for me and I said, "Thank you for the beer." He nodded his head. How dumb was I? I didn't even recognize that simple gesture!

Now, mind you, I was a novice. An amateur. A fish in an ocean of sharks. I had no idea whatsoever why that nice man would want to buy me a beer! I went for a walk - I have no idea where I went or how long I had walked; but, it was now dark. Night had come and I don't know what happened to my day! Suddenly, I was back in Times Square. I stopped in front of a movie theater. I wanted to see the latest film that starred one of my favorite actors of the time: David Janssen.

I had liked David Janssen since he first appeared as the star of the television show "The Fugitive" (1963-1967). I paid for my ticket and went inside to watch "Warning Shot." ["Warning Shot" was released in 1967 and ran 100 minutes. It starred Janssen and co-starred Ed Begley , Keenan Wynn , Sam Wanamaker , Joan Collins , Steve Allen , Lillian Gish , George Grizzard , Carroll OConnor , Eleanor Parker , Walter Pidgeon , Stefanie Powers , and George Sanders.] It wasn't an Oscar winning movie; but it was a good, taught, detective murder mystery.

I looked around the movie house. It was sparsely populated at the time and, for the most part, was attended by couples (men and men, women and men); few of us singles were in attendance. Actually, I didn't see how many single people were there. I had given up cruising and just wanted to see the movie in order to relax and take my mind off of the hurtful event that I had caused and endured. The movie certainly took my mind off of my self-loathing. It captured my attention and allowed me to be free of feelings for awhile. The lights came up; the movie was over; it was time to go back to my hotel. I had to get up in the morning for the next leg of my journey. I was going to go to Washington, D.C. for the next three days. I stepped out of the theater and was again in Times Square.

Notes plus Pure Fucking Anger!

2006-09-19T00:17:00.000-07:00

I have promised some of you that Part IV of "The Six Day War" would be published today. I'm sorry but it is not going to happen. John: thank you; I'll try to retrieve the lost post. Joel: I do want to answer you. But, not today; nor soon. Ric: ditto! J(me): forgive me.

For the past few days, I have had one of my "sons" visiting me from Texas. No. He is not a "true" son; I like to refer to him, his brother and a friend of theirs as my bastard sons! All of them had mothers and fathers. But, since the late 1970's, *they* have been the ones to come over to my house and cause full disruption. The boys, hitting puberty when I first met them, were each (and everyone of them) *at least* 18 years of age when I told them that I was gay. They have all acted like they were okay with it until tonight. [I was trying to run this post in chronological order. But, I must deviate from that tonight. So I'll tell you more about them later.]

Last night and tonight, I've discovered what these "boys," whom I have trusted like my own flesh and blood, feel about us "fags". First, last night, with my "boy" Mike, the television was on; I turned to the IFC film channel while Mike was on the telephone to my #2 son, Scott. An intimate scene was showing on television. "What the FUCK is this FAG SHIT on television?" Mike yelled into the telephone. "It's NOT FAG SHIT!" I responded. "If you would bother to look, that's a girl -- with a tit!" I said. "Oh. Yeah. It is," said Mike. "If you want to see a FAG channel.... Here it is!" (I turned to LOGO TV). "Now! Go ahead and talk about FAGS all you want!!"

I left the room and went to my den; I logged onto the computer and started reading some blogs. Mike came in and half-way, sheepishly apologized for saying what he did. I accepted his apology. Again, this (Monday) afternoon, he came into my bedroom and offered (what I thought was) a sincere apology about how sorry he was and how out of line he was.

Long Story Short:

Tonight, I took Mike and Scott home with me after a nice dinner at a surfside restaurnt - one of my favorite places. Everything went wonderfully until we returned to my house! Just sitting, for a couple of minutes, caused a stirring in both of their 40+ year old brains. One broke out his cell 'phone and showed some girls in bathing suits; the other did likewise. Scott showed a picture to me and I asked, "How would you like me to show you my favorite pictures?" "Like what?" said one of them. "Like boys in bathing suits," I said. "Well that depends," asked Scott, "are you talking with surfer shorts or Speedos?" "Speedos," said I, "with hard-ons!" After a few "awe fuck no" statements from both of them, I called them both homophobes and said I'd never bring it up again.

Mike asked me, "Why are you being such a dick all of a sudden?" My answer: "I've finally gotten old enough that I realize that I don't have to take this and I sure don't need this shit from my so-called friends! Drop it!"

What a wonderful way to end the evening, don't you think?

Something to Share

2006-09-09T06:25:00.000-07:00

I had to delete yesterday's post "Something to Share" when it became corrupted somehow. Sorry, I didn't save a copy of it. Thanks for your comment on it, Ric. Too bad it happened, I sort of liked it even if it were off topic.

The "Six Day" War (Part III)

2006-09-09T01:22:00.000-07:00

[Broadway merges with 7th Avenue for a short stretch. In 1967, Times Square did not have nearly the amount of neon lights that it has now. In fact, it was a little seedy, not attractive!]

Thoughts of the Boweryboy and what he said to the bartender ravaged my brain as I showered. While thinking about him, I couldn't control my actions. Automatically, I relieved my stress! After I finished showering, I ate dinner in my room so that I could get an early start on the evening. I finally decided, "To hell with it!" I was going to go to the bar and hopefully still be able to find the Boweryboy there. On the elevator ride to the lobby, I formed my battle plan. I would walk in the bar, sit next to him and start a friendly chat. Then, when the bartender went to the other end of the bar, I'd ask him if he knew any places to meet guys. Of course, then, I would be able to invite him to my room. I knew it would work somehow. Naturally, when I reached the bar, he was gone. So was the old queen. So was my handsome bartender.

Damn it! I would have to stop being so careful. After all, I'm in a place that's fairly open to homosexuals (or so I had read). I left the bar, went to the front desk and asked directions for Times Square. "It's about a mile from here," he said, "Just go down the street (west) to 7th Street, turn left, you'll get there in a few minutes." I left the building and followed his directions. In, practically, no time I was at the place! Times Square! The place for New Years' celebrations. The place for hustlers and queers!
[ 7th Avenue goes off to the right (between the Coke and the JVC signs). Broadway to the left between the Canon and Coke signs.]

It was very unfortunate that I was on a quest for my holy grail (i.e. a good fuck). I noticed nothing, nothing. Except, of course, I noticed the men. I know there were women there; but, I did not see them! I walked right past the theaters and shops. I'm sure I looked in them but I don't remember anything about them. Sightseeing? What is that?

I was going south on 7th Street when it merged for a fairly short distance with Broadway and I strolled down the west side of the street heading south. When I got to the north corner of West 44th Street, I came upon a penny arcade full of pinball and other machines right on the corner. The games didn't attract me; you know what did. The small fun zone was loaded mostly with young men.

I went inside and watched as the guys bumped and ground against the machines that held their full concentration. I swallowed hard as I glared at their Levi's-clad butts dancing and gyrating with swift movements to, hopefully bounce their little metal game balls against the correct rubber bumper inside the machine. If anyone had looked at me at that moment they undoubtedly knew what I was looking at! It certainly wasn't the games. Finally, I raised my eyes just in time to see a beautiful blond-haired boy enter from another door. He was laughing out loud and his smile only enhanced his striking, manly face. I quickly assessed him: about my age (19), I guessed, maybe18 years old maybe 20; dressed in a tan Windbreaker jacket and tight, very tight, brown cloth trousers; my eyes widened when I saw the bulge he presented to the world. I quickly scanned him again and noticed he had unusual shoes; they were brown with about two-inch heels (a bit odd in those days). Just as I was working up my courage to go over and say hello, three other boys came busting through the same door as he just had. They were all laughing and went up to my latest quarry and, as all four of them began to laugh and hang all over each other, I quickly studied the others. All of them had layers of makeup on and donned quite feminine hairdos. [I didn't think until much, much later that they could have been members of one of the theaters' casts.] I would have been too humiliated to go up to him now. I walked out of the arcade and stood right at the northwest corner and took in my surroundings. The street was still full of vehicles; the sidewalks still full of people. But I only saw the men. The vast majority were men in their late teens, twenties and thirties. How, I thought to myself, am I supposed to know which ones were bent the way I was? My trusty porno magazines told me that gay men gathered in and around Times Square but gave no particular locations. Neither did the magazines describe how you could tell that they were gay. Being new to this, how was I ever going to find someone? I looked eastward on West 44th Street, across the Broadway/7th Avenue main road, where I saw a young man whom I (for some unknown reason) determined to be a hustler. He was standing under a street lamp about five feet from the curb. Walking toward me, coming across the street, were two youths who obviously had a destination in mind. I stuffed my hands down the front pockets of my Levi's and began walking in the direction of the hustler. As I got closer, I could see that he was about my age, shorter than my six foot, one inch frame by about two or three inches; he was thinner and had dishwater blond hair. I stopped next to the traffic light and looked at him; he realized I was looking and turned his head to look at me. I nodded my head; he nodded back. I turned and looked around the area; then looked at him again and asked, "Are you a hustler?" Not sure he heard me correctly, he said, "What did you say?" I gulped, took a step forward and repeated myself, "Are you a hustler?" "Yes," was his full reply. I stepped closer and asked, "How much?" "Fifteen dollars." He wasn't much of a conversationalist. I said, "Ok. I've got a hotel room not too far away. I said, "My name's Gray" and reached my hand out. "I'm Larry," he said as he shook my hand. We started to walk and he asked, "How far is it?" I told him it was about a mile. He sort of frowned and asked if we could take a taxi. I agreed and we hailed a cab for the ride to my hotel. Other than telling the driver our destination, not a word was said during the four or five minute ride. I paid the driver and we got out of the cab and walked into the hotel. I glanced over at the night clerk and wondered if he knew what we were up to. I think I turned away before I felt myself blush. We took the elevator to my floor and went into my room. With the entryway light on, I felt no need to turn on any other lights in the room. Larry began undressing and I followed his cue. When we were both nude, he crawled into bed and I had a moment to observe him. I had thought correctly, he was thin and his ribs slightly showed through his pale skin. He wasn't gorgeous nor exceedingly handsome but then, neither was I. I had always thought of myself as average looking (although I had been told otherwise). Looking back, Jonathan Rhys-Meyers (who played 16 year old "Nic" in The Loss of Sexual Innocence" in 1999) reminds me of him. He was thin, not muscular, unkempt hair and thin arms and fingers. You could almost see his abdominal muscles also. As I fell to the mattress next to him. I felt the urgent need to kiss him and did just that; a momentary kiss right on the lips. [I didn't know, at the time, that most hustlers don't like to be kissed by their customers.] Then, before I knew what I was doing, I dove for his manhood. I had tasted another youth's cock only once before, if you will remember, and I had missed doing it! I stayed on him until he was fully hard. He then asked, "Don't you want to get fucked?"

Bells and whistles went off in my brain!! Then, "Don't you want to get fucked," reverberated in my brain, echoing! Of course I wanted to get fucked! That is why I came all the way across country! I immediately stopped what I was doing, looked up at him and eagerly said, "You bet!" I moved up next to him and he said, "Roll over on your stomach and spread your legs." I did as I was instructed by my teacher. "Do you have any Vaseline?" "No." "Do you have anything greasy?" "Just my Bryllcream." [Now, for those of you who do not remember, Bryllcream was a red and white tube of white, greasy hair cream. Gross, I know. Is that too much information?] I won't go into a lot of detail. Suffice it to say, I had never been fucked before. It was bareback because, back then, the only diseases one had to worry about could be taken care of with penicillin. It didn't hurt - perhaps because I wanted it so badly - but each thrust caused me to make an "oof" sound. He suddenly pounded harder, bit me between the shoulder and the neck and stopped. After a minute, Larry asked, "Did you get off?" Honestly, I had not. In fact, due to the newness of it all and perhaps the internal pressure, I had shriveled up to nothing. "No," I answered. Still inside me, Larry reached around and, somehow, managed to bring my shriveled dick to an orgasm. As he got off me, I asked him if he came. Of course he had, he assured me. But, I sensed that he hadn't. After he had showered and left, I went into the bathroom and discovered he, indeed, had not came inside me. I was depressed about that. After I showered, I went to bed and masturbated while thinking about "the act" and smelling his pillow. I wasn't thinking about him. I was thinking about the boy I saw at the Penny Arcade as I climaxed and fell asleep.

Long Labor Day Weekend....

2006-09-06T00:21:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the time out, guys! I had no specific plans for this weekend -- the last holiday weekend of the summer (in the States). But, suddenly, my brother and his wife came down from Oregon; one of my best friends was hospitalized (for a very bad back, muscle strain; and I became the *instigator* at a local bar between the bartender (Jessica - a fabulously jovial, pretty and young lady working her way through nursing school) and a twenty-ish man and his girlfriend.

Dining out every night did nothing but force me to check out others' blogs late, late at night or early, early in the morning. I didn't feel up to adding to my blog or even checking it for comments [sorry for those who did comment]. Wow! I feel almost 10 years younger! Thanks, in part, to Joel of "Would I !?" fame, I found humor in a lot of things this weekend!! [Thanks, Joel!]

It's now 12:26 am, Wednesday! Damn! By the time I get to bed, I have only six hours before I have to get up and make up for lost time.

Anyhow....... I hope you all had fun this past weekend. With the exception of sex, I had almost everything I could want for the past four days. [Even beautiful bits and pieces of eye candy!! Damn! I have got to start taking my camera with me wherever I go!]!

I'll post no later than Thursday, guys! Love and kisses.

Gray

The "Six Day" Way (Part II)

2006-08-31T23:49:00.000-07:00

My gay newspapers told me that Central Park was the place to pick up guys (or be picked up by them). So, after a couple of drinks in the hotel bar, I left the hotel and walked the short distance to the park. It was late-afternoon and I thought I'd check out a little bit of the park before returning to the hotel for dinner. As I strolled down the cement path, I came upon a tunnel.

The path went directly through the tunnel and, although it was darkly shadowed, I could clearly see through its length of about 75 or 80 feet. The tunnel was damp with a musky odor. Yes, I felt a little trepidation all right. I mean, well when you are in a tunnel there are only two ways out. Being alone caused my "self-preservation senses" to become alert. Out the far end of the tunnel, I walked onward, down the path surrounded by green grass, trees, rocks and bushes.

My alerted senses suddenly started talking to my brain and argued that I had not seen a single, solitary person for almost an hour; it was getting to be late; by the time I got back it would be getting dark. I stopped in my tracks, looked around me in a 360 degree visual scan, and decided to return to my hotel. I could return to the park in the late morning or early-afternoon of the next day. It's funny, I suddenly was aware that I could hear no traffic, no noise of any kind. The trees and shrubs made excellent noise mufflers. Awhile later, I came back to the tunnel.

It was darker inside but I could still see clearly through its length. Again, I walked forward. Again, I felt trepidation. But, I made it safely through. Finally, I heard traffic noise and I saw the steps leading up from the park to street level.

It was dusk as I reached the street's sidewalk. I immediately saw two of New York's "finest" and, in turn, the two police officers saw me. "Hey, come over here a minute," one of the officers said. I walked over to them and the other officer asked, "What were you doing in there?" Honestly, I was a little confused by that question. I mean, after all, they could see I was walking out of the park. I told them that I was just taking a walk and that I had wanted to see the park. "Let's see your ID," ordered the first officer. I gave him my California driver's license. "Where do you live?" asked the second officer. "I'm visiting from California," I answered, "but I am staying at the Mangor-Windsor Hotel just a block over." (I pointed into the direction of the hotel.) "Do you have something that proves that?" asked the second officer. "Yes, sir." says I, handing him my hotel room key. I was starting to get really nervous. I thought: what's going on? "Is there a problem, officers?" I asked. They handed me back my identification and my room key. Officer one said, "You really should not be in there [the park] alone." I looked at him questioningly and asked, "Why's that, sir?" The second officer said, "We don't even go in there unless there are three of us!" Officer one chimed in, "That's so one can run for help while the other two are doing the fighting." I honestly think that I became pale at that point. I remember thanking the officers and telling them that I'd remember what they told me. I shook their hands, said thank you again, and walked to my hotel. I had just mentally scratched Central Park from my viewing and cruising list! If there were guys looking for guys in there then they would have to come out of the park to find me. I know, I know: Chicken!!

I got back to my hotel and, before going upstairs to shower and dress for dinner, I went straight for the bar. This time, not only was my beautiful Italian bartender there, two male customers were sitting at the bar. I sat, with one seat between us, next to an old, white-haired man and two seats on the other side of him was a young, Boweryboy type: youthful (maybe early- to mid-twenties), short black hair, wearing a very tight T-shirt with alternating teal and white horizontal stripes and tight black cloth pants. Unfortunately his chiseled face was heavily pockmarked. Both men looked at me when I sat down and then returned to the conversation they were having with the bartender. Now I'm a novice at the whole gay thing; but, from reading my porno magazines and paperbacks, I immediately formed an opinion of them. The old man, with his flowing gestures and his lispy voice, told me he was one of those queens I had read about. The younger man was oozing virility and strongly attracted me. Damn! What biceps he had! You could actually see the six-pack outline in his T-shirt! Was this my first experience with my so-called "Gaydar"? I ordered my drink and the bartender introduced us to each other by our first names. The effeminate white-haired guy asked if I was staying in the hotel and I answered in the affirmative. "Oh? I've always wanted to see one of their rooms here," he said. Now, please remember that I'm all naive about the gay scene. I would not know a pick-up line if came wrapped in a big pink box covered with little nude male fairies decorating it. Innocently, I replied, "Well I'm sure that you could go to the front desk and they would be glad to have a bellman take you up to see one." LOL!! I really did not mean to be insulting; it just came out that way! The bartender laughed under his breath and grinned from ear-to-ear. The Boweryboy smiled and immediately grabbed his drink to stifle a laugh. The older guy looked like I had slapped him in the face. Then I heard something that I really wasn't sure that I heard: the Boweryboy was asking the bartender if there was any place nearby to pick up some boys. I don't remember the exact words he said; but, I gulped and flushed as I heard them! I turned my head back to my glass and took a drink. The bartender said, "No. Sorry."

I didn't know what to do. I wanted to say something but I didn't know what. I didn't know how. How could I say anything without giving myself away to the others in the bar? I finished my drink and went upstairs to my room to clean up for dinner. Also, to ponder what just had happened!

The "Six Day" Way (Part I)

2006-08-29T01:50:00.000-07:00

I did the dirty deed.

Now that I had tasted the fruit of happiness, I was bound and determined that I would have it all.

I sucked my first dick. No matter how guilty I felt, I wanted it all. I decided to *do* it. I decided to let myself go. But how? How far? How fast?

Again, I turned to my porno mags and papers. At that time, hardly any of them talked about Los Angeles, Orange or San Diego Counties. That (Southern California) is where I lived!! For some reason, New York City was the place to be. San Francisco? That was the place for nuts, druggies, hippies, and very feminine "fags."

I wanted a place for queers like me to meet other queers! Guys who liked guys!

I was working hard. I was going to a community college. I had money saved.

I wanted to get fucked.

I............ was going to go to New York City!

It was the summer of 1967. I decided that I would make a true vacation of it all. I would go see relatives in the South and the Midwest. I would then visit New York; go to our nation's Capitol; then back to New York and home.

I *KNEW* that I would find someone. Someone who would see me. Automatically *KNOW* me.... by sight... by instinct! By God!!! I *KNEW* that somehow, some way.... I would run into someone who would know that I was a poor little queer looking for love. And I would find it in New York City.;

I went to a travel agency and talked to the agent that my dad recommended -- he'd booked trips for my parents before.. He knew that I was on a tight budget; but, he was careful. While looking at his list of New York hotels he suddenly laughed and said, "Oh no! The Dixie Hotel! You don't want to stay at the Dixie! It's right down in Times Square. You don't have a private bathroom and the doors don't have locks on them! He chuckled again and searched some more. I got my cheapest itinerary worked out; but, looking back, I think I would have had more fun at The Dixie. Anyhow, I took Continental Trailways buses from Southern California to Arkansas (via Phoenix, Arizona; Dallas, Texas; Little Rock, Arkansas).

There are a couple of side-stories that I feel compelled to share with you. While in Phoenix, although I was not yet 21, I managed to rent a car. I found out that former U.S. Senator Barry Goldwater lived on nearby Camelback Mountain; so, I drove there and found the front gate of his compound open (the gardener was there). I drove in, parked in front, walked up and knocked on his door. A man answered and I asked to speak with Senator Goldwater. The former-Senator came to the door; I apologized for bothering him and I asked for his autograph. He obliged me, I thanked him and I left. God, did I have balls then!!

Coming from Phoenix to Dallas, I met two unforgettable people. First, a cop from Baltimore, Maryland. The second? You've guessed it already, haven't you? My DREAM! A beautiful blond guy [picture my childhood swimmer or my childhood molester]. Damn!! This blond was only a couple of years younger than I. In 1967, I was not yet 20 years old; but I was rapidly approaching it!! I think he was 17 or 18 (I truly do not remember!!).

Anyway, the cop, the blond and I became friends on the bus. When we got to Dallas, the cop was going on; the kid was going on; I.... well I wanted to see Dealey Plaza [where President Kennedy was assassinated]. I, therefore, had a hotel room. They did not. I offered my shower to both of them if they wanted to clean up before the next leg of their journeys. The cop said no thanks (he needed to get something to eat); but the blond said yes.

My God!! I thought I was in heaven; I thought I had struck pay-dirt! I went up to my room with the blond (by the way, his name was John - but I cannot remember his last name!). We got to my room and I clearly remember telling him: "You can shower first, if you want; after all, you'll be leaving soon!" He hesitated and, yes. I could clearly see that he was embarrassed! I realized I had misjudged him. So, I said..... "You've got the room to yourself; I'll go downstairs with... [the name of the Baltimore cop]. I left the key on the bed and said, "Bring that down to me, will you?" And, I left.

I went down to the coffee shop to meet the cop. He and I sat there talking. Of course he asked me about John. I told him that I left him so he could shower and relax. The cop asked me if that was smart: leaving someone with my suitcase and belongings. I told him I didn't have everything of value with me; I had my traveler's checks and money with me -- but, he was probably right. John came down. He had a cup of coffee with us both (thanking me profusely for the shower and the privacy). The cop and I walked him over to the bus terminal and said our good-byes. Then I sat with the cop until his bus came. We shook hands and he left.

I toured the next day and a half. Then I caught a bus to Little Rock where I learned there are fucking thieves everywhere -- they are not all confined to the BIG cities. The cab driver from the airport took me to my grandmother's house. I won't go into the family thing. Other than to say that when I went touring the city, I got a cab on the way back. The driver charged me so much money for the fare; when my Grandmother asked me how much it cost and I told her.....WOW! Was she ever mad! She immediately called the cab company and asked for the particular cab to return. He did. He came to the door and she read him the riot act!!! After which, he said (repeatedly), "Oh, Mrs. ..................., I'm sorry!!! I didn't know he was your relative, Mrs..........!! Anyhow, I got back almost $5.00 [which, back then, was a lot of money!!!]!

After visiting some relatives, after visiting some graves, I was able to move on. Then, Delta Airlines flew me from Little Rock to St. Louis; forty-five minutes later I was on my way to Chicago, Illinois. I didn't go south of Chicago to visit my mom's relatives. I had a mission. I was on a quest.

I remember arriving in New York at LaGuardia Airport [tickets to The John Fitzgerald Kennedy International Airport cost more]; if memory serves correctly, LaGuardia was closer anyhow (about eight miles from Manhattan versus 15 miles for JFK). I don't remember the airline I went in on....but, I'm almost certain that it was United.

Anyhow.... I got to the airport; got my luggage and headed for a cab. "The Mangor-Windsor, please," I told the driver, "... Downtown. You know where it is?" [I really do remember that!] The cabbie, believe it or not (for all of you present-day New Yorkers out there) was a white Anglo man and spoke English with a thick New York accent. But, at that time, I couldn't tell if it was from Bronx or Brooklyn. Sorry!

We made it through the traffic. We made it to my hotel; which to my delight was only one short block form Central Park. When I got to my room I turned on the television and learned that Israel had just attacked Egypt. "The Six Day War" had started.

I made my way to the bar of the hotel. Legal drinking age, at that time, was 18 years of age and I was looking forward to having my first legal drink. I bought a pack of Pall Mall red cigarettes from a machine and was aghast at the price! $1.50 for one pack! I remember telling my mom that if cigarettes ever cost that much in California then I would quit smoking! [Regrettably, I still smoke.] As I sat at the empty bar, the beautiful dark-haired, Italian bartender asked for my order in perfect English. If all of the men in New York City are as beautiful as this guy, I knew I was in the right place! I began asking him about the city. How far was Times Square? How's the night life? I was soon to find out!

Sorry I Haven't Been Posting!

2006-08-28T01:16:00.000-07:00

Ok guys! I apologize that I have not been posting.

To be very, very honest with you, I've been reading too many blogs and have neglected my own. Also, I began questioning why I was doing this. Why was I telling the world my most personal secrets? I hope you will understand and forgive me for doing so. I am "Mr. Paranoid" when it comes to having someone I know read this blog. That's why I understand Jay closing his blog "looking out of the closet"! Also, I know that I have lost some people who have read and commented on this... [what do I call it? Rant? Blog? Wishful memories? Diary? Log?]. For that, I'm sorry!

Since I've last posted, blogger-friends have closed their blogs for one reason or another. Some came out of their closets. Others are so close to coming out that... well, drop a pin and they're there. I am a little bit jealous about that! I am trying to do what those guys are doing and am succeeding in some ways! But, I sure am taking my sweet time.

I am beginning to realize that, for many of my straight friends (whom I've known for sixteen years or longer), I might never come out. You know the story. I've told so many lies, playing it straight, that they would more than likely drop me as a friend for all of the years of lies. Plus, some of them are really good friends whom I've gotten to know very, very well over the years: they'd drop me like a hot rock if they found out I was gay. Quite frankly, I really do not want to lose their friendship. So, partially-closeted I will stay.

Ok; so what now? I've decided for my own good that I'm going to go ahead with this blog and, as it was when I started, see where it takes me. So... here I go (again). I'm picking up where I left off. What happens next? I don't know - other than the next few posts will tell you whether or not I'm serious. Do I post on this blog? Or, do I *NOT* post and go back into my very, VERY safe shell??

Let's go with it and find out.

A Touchingly Brave Coming Out Story

2006-07-30T04:35:00.000-07:00

Some time ago, I bookmarked the blog of a young man named Joe who is 19 years of age: "Inside I'm Dancing".

Tonight I read almost his entire blog including his archives. Joe likes to vlog (i.e. video tape his blog and put it on Veho). Most, but not all, of his blog is in video. I think his "coming out" should be shared so check out the following link (I'll figure out how to put Veho on my blog later; this is too precious to wait for that.)! Check out:

"My closet is only full of clothes now!"

NOTE: Seeing as how I'm still learning how to link to other websites, once you go to the page that I've linked to, you'll have to scroll up to see the video!

Again!! I've Done it Again!!!

2006-07-28T08:10:00.000-07:00

I didn't mean to do it! I *don''t* know *how* I did it! But, again...

I've attracked yet another woman.

I was going along (Half-Out, Half-In, of course) minding my own business. Trying to come to terms with my own homosexuality in an open forum; in an open way.

A few days ago, I received my mail. However, because of the things going on around me, I left the mail on the table and only opened it a few minutes ago. I found a birthday card; a beautiful birthday card. I read it and I smiled - it was... beautiful.

Then I saw the signature!!

I put the card down. Smiling. I went into the other room and was happy that I had received a card with such a beautiful inscription:

"There are many reasons
Why I think so much of you -
Your thoughtfulness,
Your warmth, your friendly smile,
To name a few -

And so this comes to tell you
That you will always be
A very special someone
Who means alot to me.

Wishing you
A wonderful birthday"

It was signed by a girl whom I've known for about a year and a half..

The written senimentality, in her hand, makes me beam with joy and cry with frustration (I don't want to share those words right now)..

At the end were these words (also written in her hand):

"Love you!

Your friend forever!" And.... Her name.

FUCK!!!

I've done it again. I've allowed my charming self to lead, yet again, another woman to believe that I'm straight. To think of me as something I'm not.

I hate me for that!

Who Said That Masturbation Can't Hurt You??

2006-07-26T01:35:00.000-07:00

I had graduated from high school and I had finally had my first serious sexual encounter. Now, it was work in the summer and junior college in autumn, winter and spring. Of course my urges were building!

Now, I was pretty much of a normal guy (I thought). I mean that I masturbated almost every day since I was just a few months short of 10 years of age. In fact, many days from junior high school onward, I would do it two or three times a day; occasionally four. The location was anyplace that provided privacy. The positions? Sitting, standing, kneeling, lying down. The speed was determined by how private the location was. [Use your imagination. I did!] Often, I used magazines like "The Young Physique" to spur my urges forward (as if, at that age, I needed any encouragement).

One day, I had read an article in some other gay magazine that I had picked up. An article (similar to a "Dear Abby" column) provided a "confession" from a guy my age. He bragged that he had masturbated to orgasm six times in four hours and asked if it was harmful. The responder told him "...of course not... your body will tell you when to stop." Well, to me, that was a challenge! I was so horny that I decided to try it; but, instead, I wanted (and was determined) to beat [no pun intended] his record. I would do it once every thirty minutes for four hours for a total of eight times!

A day or two later, I had the house to myself and I began. Everything went fine (each orgasm producing a similar amount of ejaculated sperm) until, after the sixth time that I ejaculated, the corona of the glans had been rubbed raw and it began to bleed slightly. Yes, there was a little pain from touching it. It felt tender even when I pulled my soft cotton underwear up. The seventh time I had an orgasm without ejaculating. The eighth and last time concluded with another orgasm that produced a similar amount of sperm as the first six. Amazing! I still had six minutes left of the four hours I had allotted. My corona was raw and slightly bleeding but a little a piece of toilet tissue soon stemmed the flow. I knew that I wouldn't be able to touch myself again for at least a couple of days. My body had told me when to stop.

That night, just before falling asleep, I masturbated again! I guess that I was shameless then. ;)

"The Advocate"

2006-07-24T00:31:00.000-07:00

I don't know how or when I found it. I especially don't truly recall how I got a copy of it; but I think I bought my first copy of "The Advocate" from a newspaper rack in downtown. Living in Southern California, the Navy and Marines were everywhere and, back in those days, they all wore their uniforms all of the time. Frankly, I had gone downtown to gawk at the eye-candy. I was still in high school and told my folks that I had to go to the main library to study for a report.

I wish I could have given a class report on the subjects that I was really studying! ;) I loved the sailors' tight pants and tailored blouses. The Marines, with their buzz-cuts and square jaws had firmly packed bodies that were visible through their tailored uniforms as well. I didn't know what I was doing. How does a virgin high school boy approach a handsome sailor or Marine? "Hi, I like seafood!" "Can I smell your leatherneck?" HA! So, other than looking and inwardly drooling, I did nothing but walk around with a "stiffie" pressed between my belly and my tighty whities (all covered with original type Levi's jeans - they're called 501's now - with a button-up fly, the belt loops cut off, and the leather Levi patch cut off). Of course I wore my penny loafers, white T-shirt and a blue jacket with sheepskin interior and collar. [Even though it was warm, a guy has to dress if he wants to impress, right?]

I followed one sailor for two or three blocks before he turned towards an adult theater. I couldn't go in there, you had to be 18 years old even then. Somewhere along the way, I saw "The Advocate" and obtained a copy (of course, back then, it only covered events and places in Los Angeles). For the rest of my senior year, copies of that newspaper (it wasn't yet a magazine) kept me entertained and aroused with articles and personal ads. Sometime after my 18th birthday I finally made up my mind to answer a personal ad. Now, of course, I could *not* have given out my home address! So, long story short, I managed to get a Post Office Box.

One ad in the most recent "Advocate" issue caught my eye. It went something like: 18 yr. old "bugle boy", blond and brown, (his height and weight) seeking friends; write to Dick Smith at PO Box (something), LA (and the zip code -- ZIP Codes only started a couple of years earlier, on July 1, 1963, to be exact). I wrote, describing myself as 6'1", 190 lbs, black and brown, with similar interests. We agreed to meet in Hollywood outside of one of the theaters (sorry, I forget which one but it wasn't one of the more famous ones). A little frightened but definitely determined, I made my plans for an overnight visit. Of course that required a lie to (and permission from) my mom. I felt guilty about lying but, at the time it was necessary: a friend from high school had just moved up to Hollywood with his parents and he had invited me to visit.

I had no transportation back then. Although I had a driver's license I couldn't justify borrowing mom's car so I told her the partial truth: I'd take a bus to visit "my friend." I remember it took at least two transfer tickets and the ride to Hollywood was long (a couple of hours), warm and bumpy in that old 1930's or 1940's GMC bus that the county was still using at the time. But, I made it there about a half an hour early. My "hook-up" roared up on his motorcycle and introduced himself as Dick and asked if I was waiting for him? Yes. I introduced myself. Handshakes. Then for the first time in my life I climbed on a motorcycle (on the back, of course). Hands holding his side, we were off. Each time he shifted gears he did it in such a way as to push my chest into his back. Fuck I was nervous!

I thought we were going to his place. I should have known better. We pulled up to a 1920's or 30's motel with separate cottages. He gave me $5 and said he'd wait out at the curb until I got a room. I registered using an alias (of course) - the name of an old school friend - and I told the female desk-clerk that my car was being repaired at the Ford dealer just down the street: I'd only need the room for the night. I filled out the registration card, phony name with phony description of my 1959 Ford and phony license plates (I remembered my dad's old license plate number from many years before). It's against the law to register under an alias so, thankfully, the statute of limitations has passed.

As I walked to the separate little cottage, Dick came walking toward me; I unlocked the room and we went in. The room was very nice and clean with a large double bed, two chairs, a dresser with a pay-television (you had to put a dime in the slot to view the t.v. for 30 minutes), and, of course, a bathroom. Dick sat on the bed while I sat on a chair. We talked small talk for awhile and then Dick informed me he had to go to work in thirty minutes. It was sort of implied: if we're going to do something let's make it quick. Without going into all the gory details, we kissed and with his shirt open and pants down, I gave my first ever honest to goodness blow-job. I remember that I didn't particularly care for all of the chest and belly hair and I even got a hair in my mouth, causing me to gag. Yuk! After awhile, he came and I choked! Literally! His load went down the wrong pipe and, immediately after he was through, I couldn't help coughing and coughing and coughing.

I told him what had happened and I went into the bathroom, coughing. I got a glass and drank some water and continued to cough. Finally it started easing up. He came up from behind me, put his arms around my waist and gave me a hug from behind. He had to go to work, but he'd return after 6 PM. Ok, I said and he left. I coughed some more and got some more water. I had a strange feeling. I had done what I wanted to do, but I didn't know what I wanted to do now. I walked over to the window just to look out. Damned if the female desk-clerk wasn't standing 30 feet out of my unit with a man! Both were looking directly at my unit and were talking back and forth. Instinct told me that they knew something was going on. I wasn't wanting to find out what they thought or what they were going to do. I waited until they left and then I put the room-key on the bed and I left. It was a long bus ride back to my home town. Guilt had reared its ugly head. Guilt about the sex. Guilt about leaving Dick the way that I did.

Of course I couldn't go right home. I told my mom I'd be gone overnight. So I let the bus take me to downtown. I saw a movie and then spent the evening either sitting in the Greyhound Bus Depot's coffee shop or taking long walks. In the early morning, I was walking toward the Depot again and a car (a 1958 Chevrolet two-door) pulled up next to me. The man inside asked if he could give me a ride. I told him I was only going to the bus depot a block away and said no, thanks, to his offer. He asked if I was sure; I said yes, thanks. He drove off. Later, I saw the guy in the Chevy drive by the depot again; and, once more. I finally got the hint. This guy was looking for something; could it be sex? I went out of the depot just as he passed by; it was too late for me to stick out my thumb. I never saw him again.

The same is true of Dick. In our conversation, I learned his last name wasn't Smith and he had given me his telephone number. When I got home that day, I showered and masturbated (I hadn't gotten off during our "quickie"). The next day, I called him. His mother answered and asked many questions: who was I, where did I know her son from (I told her high school - fortunately she didn't ask which one), what did I want? I decided not to call him again. Instead, I felt that I at least owed him a letter to explain why I had left. I wrote it and mailed it. I never got a response.

That was my first response to an ad in "The Advocate". It was also my last.

I Am REALLY Having a Problem With This!!!

2006-07-21T06:13:00.000-07:00

Yep. Julien Hans (thanks to "Boys I Like") looks *ALMOST* just like the babysitter I mentioned before. The more I think of it. The more I dwell on it. I'm beyond hating the son-of-a-bitch that I recently remembered!! I want to kill him. Plain and simple. I want to kill him in the worse way imaginable! I'm rapidly, rapidly approaching 59 years of age (next week). Suddenly I have to find that *perhaps* all of the pain for 55 or 56 years of my life was because of some piece of shit who had a hard-on and couldn't control it!?!?

I wish I would have never started this blog! I wish I would have never thought about the past!!

Before now, I had always assumed that I was born gay. Now... I'm completely at sea.

I can't dwell on this. I just can't. Even if that little fuck is the reason that I am what I am..... I've got to just move on! [p.s. FUCK you bastards that think I can change (thanks for the beautiful emails)!!!]. I do NOT believe that ONE incident in my life would turn me one way or the other!!!

For those who believe in God: I believe that God has a strange sense of humor! Sometimes, for those he loves most, he'll throw a rock in the cogs! He loves to see how his "Elect" can handle themselves. Well, God.... I'll take whatever you want to throw at me. OK......... forgive the little bastard? You bet I do! He was just one of YOUR tools. He was just USED to get at me. It ALMOST worked. I not only love him, God, I wish You'd bring him back so I could do just what you want me to do!!!!!!!!!

All right, all right! Let's, for the fun of it, say it wasn't God. It was *SATAN*!! Well, Bub.... In the Bible, I've read that God has given me power over you!! If this were your little trick, then (per the Bible) I order you to leave me alone!! Get out of my life, you lousy, piece of shit "has been"!!!

Now.... *poof*...... I'm straight! Then why do I still want to deep-throat my blond swimmer? Or my brunette dancer [that's another post] or any of the others whom I have loved and will never, NEVER forget!?!?

OK. Onward and upward, guys! This is just one old man's rant about something he has no control over. I swear to God that by the end of August I will do what I've been preaching (partially, at least). I will get out amongst our own kind again!! I WILL get involved in our gay community again. I'll let you know my progress.

"The Emerald Forest"

2006-07-19T07:33:00.000-07:00

Ok. So now I understand why I'm attracted to younger blonde men.

Here's my first movie review that absolutely melted me.

"The Emerald Forest" is a movie based on reality. "Tomme" ("Tommy") is a white boy that has been claimed by the "Invisible People" as their own. This movie from 1985 is something that I truly recommend to anyone wanting to see beautiful people (young, old, male, female, "green", or "developer").

When Tommy is kidnapped his father never gives up searching. When found, Tommy reacts. He stands for the family he has known for the past 16 years -- but still loves his Dad-day!

Born Gay? Made Gay? I Sure Didn't Choose Gay!

2006-07-17T02:54:00.000-07:00

(Note: To keep things in perspective, please read my post "Why Haven't I Posted For So Long? KA-BOOM!!" before reading this. It's posted the same day as this.)

After posting on July 3rd, I thought that I was on a roll. With "My Education Begins" I knew that I had really started looking at events in my life that, I thought, confirmed what I have believed for decades: I was born gay.

A day or two after the 3rd, I was sitting in front of the television. I thought that I was interested in whatever was showing -- don't ask: I have no idea what it was!! My mind had started to wander. I found that I was staring straight ahead and wasn't seeing anything. I don't know what happened. I don't know how I unlocked a long repressed memory. But, I was absolutely floored when I remembered what I remembered! Something that happened 55 years ago.

You've probably guessed already that I remembered being molested.

The thoughts, the pictures in my brain were as clear as if it had just happened. I even remember a couple of honest-to-God things that were said; just as if I had heard them only moments before; therefore, I have put those statements in quotation marks. I was just a toddler, maybe three years old (not much older because I remember I was wearing my little pajamas that I had as a kid).

My mom and dad had gone out dancing that night. It was sort of rare for them, but people of their generation liked to dance whenever they got the chance. For some reason, they got the chance that night [stretching my memory, it must have been a dance at the American Legion hall.... I seem to recall it was something like that.]

My older brother and older sister and I were left in the care of a young teenage boy. I remember his blond hair and I remember his clothes were nice (a button-up shirt and a pair of beige colored slacks). Whenever I try to remember his name, I come up short. I think it was Bob; but, honestly, I'm a little fuzzy there. It could have just as well been Ron or Ralph or Fred or whoever. That's not the point. The point is I remember him and how nice he was to my siblings and I. And, I truly do remember how good looking he was!

Bedtime came and he got my brother and sister in bed. He told me that I could stay up for a little while longer because I had been so good. [I remember grinning ear-to-ear when I heard that.] I don't know what happened next, really. He was talking about something and had me sitting on his lap. Then, I do recall him saying that his leg was tired and he asked me to sit on his other leg. He put his hands under my armpits to lift me to a standing position and I "walked" from his left leg to his right leg. He yelped, "OW!" And I asked what was wrong. He said I had hurt him with my foot when I stepped (he said) "on my thing."

He sat me down on his right side, I remember vividly. He then unzipped his pants (revealing his very white underwear) and pulled out his cock and balls. I remember staring at his cock. It was big! [Of course to a little kid it would be big.] I asked him, "Why is it so big?" He said, "It's all swollen up. You hurt it." I swear I remember those words! He asked me to kiss it for him -- to make it feel better. I wouldn't do that. He asked me to rub it for him -- to stop it from hurting. I began rubbing it. I remember asking why it was so hard but I don't remember his answer. I'm sure he mentioned again that it was swollen because I had hurt it; but I don't remember for sure.

I don't know how long I rubbed his hard-on, but I remember he had his balls out, too. Naturally he said that I had hurt them, too (that's why they were so swollen). He then asked me to rub them with my other hand. I did. As I was rubbing his cock, I remember the skin going over the head and back. Now, of course, I know that he was uncut. I had no idea about that then. When I noticed some clear liquid coming out of the tip I asked him about it. I can't remember what was said, but I do remember wiping it off with my hand. Again, he asked me to kiss it, right on the tip, to make it feel better. This time, I did. I think, but am not sure, that he asked me to lick it -- I seem to recall that I did.

I blank out from that point. I don't know if anything happened. I don't know if he came (although I'm pretty sure I would have remembered that!). All I remember is seeing the car lights come through the living room window as mom and dad pulled into the driveway. The babysitter moved me aside and quickly stuffed his dick and balls back in his underwear and zipped-up his pants (his dick was still hard and, I remember, very dark pink). As he was zipping-up and standing, I very clearly recall him telling me not to tell anyone what I had done because I would get into trouble. If that wasn't clear enough to me, he then said, "If you do tell anyone, I'll come back and hurt you." I swear I remember that! Everything was all right up to that point. Now, I was a little afraid.

The door opened and mom and dad came in. I remember wrapping my arms around mom's leg and hugging it very tightly; but I didn't say a word. Mom asked what I was still doing up and the sitter said, "He just couldn't sleep, so I let him up for a little while." I guess my folks paid him and, as he was going out the door, I recall that he looked straight at me, smiled widely and said, "I'll be seeing you. Be good." I don't remember much at all after the door closed; but mom picked me up and carried me to bed. Whether or not my parents suspected anything, I have no idea. I do know that I never saw that boy again. Future babysitters were, to the best of my memory, all girls.

So. There you have it. A 55-year repressed memory. I remember the house, the furniture, the drapes on the door, my pajamas. And... I remember how very good looking that boy was! Damn! Is that why I am so attracted to beautiful, blond haired men? Is that why, years later (as mentioned in a previous post) I stood in the swimming pool locker room staring at a naked, blond haired teenage boy? Is that why I have never wanted to have sex with an older man or even someone my own age? How am I to ever really know (for sure) whether I was born gay? Or whether I was made gay by that very early encounter?

I hadn't posted anything for so long. I finally decided that I had to write this down. Maybe it will help me. Maybe it won't. I couldn't let it go, so I began typing a little after midnight. It's now 4:09 am, Monday, July 17th. And now, I'm tired. I'm feeling sick to my stomach. I want to cry but I won't let myself. I can't believe that I couldn't face this situation before. Why couldn't I remember it before? The thought of seeing a "shrink" is popping up in my mind. But, what good would that do? Besides, if you read my earlier post, you know how much luck I've had when I've tried to talk to the "professionals" before.

Fuck it! Since that memory occurred, I've truly been questioning myself. Has my whole life been a lie? Have I convinced myself that I'm gay? How fucking stupid does that sound?!?! No matter how it happened: I AM GAY! I can't change what I am; I want to be proud of who and what I am. Maybe by finishing my story that I blindly and innocently started earlier (prior to remembering) I might still get the other Half Out. That's it. I'm beat. I really feel like I've been kicked in the stomach. I'm tired. It's time for bed.

Why Haven't I Posted For So Long? KA-BOOM!!

2006-07-17T02:22:00.000-07:00

(Note: Please read this post before reading "Born Gay? Made Gay? I Sure Didn't Choose Gay!")

My last post, about having to get papers ready for my attorney, was honest. It was something that I had to do. But, I lied when I said that I was delayed in posting because of it. Instead, I was the victim of an explosion. A mental explosion that still has me rocking.

Statistically, not many people reading this have ever been very, very close to an artillery shell or a mortar shell exploding. Physically, I have been. Rarely, if ever before, have I had a mental explosion. But, that is what happened!

Being physically near an explosion scares the hell out of you, especially if the explosive device is raining down on top of you. Suddenly, you find yourself trying to, literally, push your body into the ground in a desperate attempt to avoid the shrapnel. After it's all over, you check yourself and those close to you to make sure there are no injuries; if there are, you commence first-aid. Then you try to forget it; to forget all about it. If you think about it, fear sets in; your eyes start to water; then you force yourself to quit thinking about it. Be a man. Let it go. Just be thankful that you and no one near you have been hit.

Shortly after my last long post on July 3rd, I had a mental explosion. Since that time, I have been unable to forget about it! My eyes have started to water; but I would force myself to stop. Since then, I have been (as the saying goes) "at sea." I have been in sort of a semi-constant mental daze. I have been trying to push my body into the ground to "avoid the shrapnel." That hasn't worked. I was hit by the "shrapnel" and I can't seem to find first-aid!

I knew that by writing this blog, I would have to force myself to remember some things in order to try to explain why I am still, at 58 years old, "Half Out - Half In" of the closet. I had no idea that by writing these things down I would/could unlock a hidden memory. But that's what happened! Since then, I've not felt like writing any more. Finally, today, I decided that I was going to share what I remembered with the world. Maybe, just maybe, I might get some sort of feedback that might help me deal with the situation. Or not. WTF?

So, read the next post: "Born Gay? Made Gay? I Sure Didn't Choose Gay!" This is soul searching at it's best! Ha! Who knows? I might turn straight! ;)

An Explanation is Warranted

2006-07-09T16:42:00.000-07:00

You'll notice that my last post has been deleted. I realized how long it has been since I had taken care of legal stuff. So, "I Have a Rendezvous With Death" was an appropriate post at the time; I should have explained that at the time of the post. It was literally a pain to get all of my papers together in order to help the attorney update my will, my trust and other "end of life" business. I remembered John Seegar's poem so I posted it. Sorry if I gave you the wrong impression

Now that the ugly, but necessary, business is out of the way, I'll resume posting ASAP! Thanks for being patient with me.

My Education Begins

2006-07-03T18:30:00.000-07:00

One main event occurred in my final year of elementary school: summer camp. The county owns a few (I don't know how many) summer camps for its elementary school children. My sister had been to one during the previous summer, now it was my turn. Our first day at camp consisted of orientation and cabin assignments, among other things. In the evening, our counselor gave us some last minute instructions. [The counselor was a handsome, dark haired, muscular high school football player who later went on to play in major league football.] Anyhow, he said that we would all be required to take a shower each night and should then dress in our pajamas. Naturally, we should *not* wear our underwear under our p.j.'s so that the underwear could air-out and be ready for the morning; besides, it was healthier for us to let our bodies air-out under our pajamas, too. He said he would perform spot inspections to make sure that we were not wearing underwear so we shouldn't be surprised if we woke up with his hand inside the p.j.'s bottoms. Of course it sounded a little weird, but hell.... we were kids in a strange environment with a counselor who wouldn't tell us anything wrong, would he?

Next, he told us to get undressed and ready to shower. He had us line up, "as close together as you can get. Closer! Closer! Tighten it up!" Then, one by one we went into the single-spigot, shower stall. The shower curtain had been pulled back and hooked up so there was no privacy. I remember our counselor leaning back against a sink with his arms crossed as he intently watched each boy go into the stall; he had an unobstructed view of us as each individual took his turn washing off. I remember his crotch bulging out and I remember being slightly embarrassed with him watching. One of my good friends, went in the shower right after me and had *no* embarrassment whatsoever. As I was drying off, he was smiling ear-to-ear and seemed to be putting on a show for the counselor. Later, after we were all in bed and most of the boys had already fallen asleep (I was just getting ready to drop off), I saw my exhibitionist friend get up in his pajamas and walk toward the lit bathroom. My eyelids were heavy and I started to fall asleep when I heard a noise and looked up to see our counselor going toward the bathroom; I remember how exciting it was to see a grown boy in nothing but tighty-whities and my eyes popped open wider when I saw how big his crotch was. As he went into the bathroom, the door was shut and I lay there wanting to go in to see what they were talking about; I knew something "secret" was going on. Instead, I quickly fell asleep -- still wondering what they were doing in there. [I learned, years later, that the counselor (now a major league football player) had died as a result of a car accident. A few years after that my friend had died of a heroin overdose.]

As I moved through the grades to junior high level (grades 7, 8 and 9) I was in for a little culture shock. Now, there were kids from several other neighborhoods with more varied backgrounds than I had previously encountered. Here, I met my first bullies and bad-asses, my first athletes and lawbreakers and my first eye-candy and equally, sexually curious. My friend from summer camp (the one I just wrote about, above) even went to the movies with me one time. While we were there, he stuck his right hand down his pants and told me how hard he was and that it was ok if I wanted to touch it. I told him I believed him and didn't take him up on his offer (I was too embarrassed and too damned naive). Another time, on a weekend, the same boy and I were playing at the empty school yard when he claimed to have accidentally soiled his underwear; he told me to turn around and not to peek as he had to take them off; he just couldn't go home that way. I did as I was told, I turned around and, because I knew he must be embarrassed about his situation, I didn't peek. How was I supposed to know that this kid was coming on to me? I was young, dumb, naive and innocent. I think he lost his innocence at camp or soon after.

In the ninth grade, I had my first blow job. Ha! If you could call it that! Dwight and I had the same gym and music classes. Sometimes, after school we'd go down an alley about a block from school to smoke our cigarettes (stolen from our parents) and to talk. Of course we usually ended up talking about sex. During our conversations, I learned we had something in common: getting turned on by seeing naked guys. So, I purchased a copy of "The Young Physique" magazine at a liquor store the following Sunday while playing hooky from church services. [That magazine showed extremely handsome young men from the front (with posing straps, underwear, or some other type of covering) and from the rear (naked); many of the frontal photos showed guys with erections under their posing straps or their underwear or their bed sheets.] The next time we met in "our" alley, I showed it to Dwight and, together, we thumbed through the pages of the nearly naked young men and both of us became aroused. Long story short: soon Dwight was on his knees in front of me and I had my full blown hard-on out of my pants. Dwight took the head into his mouth and just held it between his lips. After a few seconds, he pulled off and asked if it felt good. Well, sure it did, and even though I thought there should be more to it, I thanked him. Ok. Stop laughing! How was I to know what was supposed to happen? I'd only heard about such a thing before... I was never given instructions!! We met at least once a week in that alley. One time Dwight told me that he was thinking of giving blow-jobs to guys for $5. Another time, he suggested that we meet at night and find a younger boy, strip him and run off with his clothes. Well now, I really felt badly about that one. I imagined how I would feel if someone did something like that to me. I declined. Not long after that, we graduated and ended up going to separate high schools. I saw Dwight only one time after that. I took a summer class at his high school and I ran into him in the boys bathroom. I was all smiles and happy to see him. He looked like he didn't want anything to do with me, although he answered in a friendly manner. He was dressed in tight, white Levi's denims; I'm just guessing that he was hustling and didn't want anyone to know it. But that's only a guess.

Forgive Me..... My Parents Were Heterosexual -- Part III

2006-07-03T18:26:00.000-07:00

This is the first house, as far as I know, that my parents ever owned. Dad's been climbing up his company's ladder and finally could afford to buy instead of rent. Of course my dad couldn't become more successful if he didn't work harder. Translation: many times bringing his work home with him and the extra stress meant less time with the kids and an increased temper. Again, mind you, there never was physical violence. But as you know, sometimes words can hurt worse than a punch in the gut!

My brother and I slept in twin beds in one bedroom, my two sisters slept in twin beds in another, and my parents slept in a double bed in their room. A lot of good times were had in that house. The few bad times were like learning that my mom's mom (my favorite grandmother) had died; dad was out of town on business when my aunt called with the news -- she was crying when she told me and then hung up before I could get mom to the phone. That left it up to me to tell her. That was the first time that I held back tears when getting bad news; I had to. After all, I was "the man of the house" at that moment.

The good times were like when one of my brother's friends would sleep over -- on a cot between our two twin beds. Honestly, I think I loved one, a short, dark-haired beauty with Italian ancestry! Handsome face, muscled body and, oh God, a beautiful fully-packed crotch (tighty-whities, naturally!). I now had a new face and a new body to dream about during my nightly masturbation! I dreamed he was *my* friend; not my brother's! It's too bad that wishes can't come true.

Dino... My Dear Friend

2006-06-30T05:29:00.000-07:00

My best friend, Bob, had moved out to live with a neighbor who lived upstairs -- in the same apartment building -- almost without warning. I don't know if he told the guy (whose name I forget) why he wanted to move out away from me; but, that's a different story.

Here I was. Alone again and damned near suicidal! I got tired sitting around my apartment and decided to go out to dinner and have a few drinks. I drove downtown and ended up at what used to be the most elegant hotel in the city; now, it was an old, multi-story building that had just been converted to an "own-your-own" apartment building -- one of the first in the city. However, it still held one of the best restaurants in town as well as a (well-known) nice, clean, cozy bar.

As I opened the door from the street to the bar, the bartender was pushing the door open and we bumped into each other. "Damn," I said (with a smile on my face), "It must be a rough place if the bartender's leaving." He laughed outloud and welcomed me into the place. He said, "I was just going outside for a breath of air. Come on it!" As I went in, I saw two uniformed sailors; one a cute, very thin blond male who had a fabulous grin. The other was a woman, a Navy WAVE (which I learned stands for "Women Accepted for Voluntary Emergency Service" -- properly written as WAVES). The bartender introduced himself as "Dino" and I shook his hand and introduced myself; he then pointed to the sailors and told me that, "He's Danny and she's Rhonda." Well, it was short-order before we were all laughing and having fun! I went to the restaurant, ate a fine meal, and returned to the bar. Dino was still there and Danny and Rhonda were still there also. Although many others came and went during the evening, the four of us stayed until closing. We became friends.

Now, mind you, the restaurant *and* bar were just like any other (i.e. straight). But somehow, some way, Dino and I rapidly became close friends -- there was *no* mention about sexuality! Still, our friendship developed over time.

About two or three weeks after first meeting them, Dino invited me to a party at his house. I asked Danny if I should go -- he said, "Sure. It might be fun." Still -- a little skeptical -- I asked who all would be there? Danny said, "I don't know. It's some kind of orgy."

My jaw dropped.

Now, look! I am, in my own mind, damned near a virgin. I've never been to an orgy in my life!! I was: afraid; I was excited; I was curious; I was... confused!!

I told Danny (and Dino) that I *might* join them.

Yup! I did it! And guess what!! Never before had I been so thoroughly disappointed! *Everyone* was asleep or passed out when I got there!! Dino came out to my car and helped me inside. Danny came from the back of the house and started complaining to Dino that he had gone to the back-bedroom to try to get some sleep and a guy had come in and started sucking his cock. [There was hope for me yet, I thought.] But... nothing happened. Nothing ever happened with me. After a couple of hours I left for my little one-bedroom apartment.

Without trying to drag this out.... Little did I know that those few encounters with Dino would lead to (literally) a life-long friendship! You see.... Dino was *not* my type!! He was about nine years older than I and had a little paunch to the belly. Here I was (in 1971 or 72), only 24 years old. Sorry, my pal, but I was (almost) a chicken-hawk! I kept remembering that *beautiful* 14 or 15 year old boy at the community swimming pool!! *I* wanted a *young,* *beautiful,* blond, blue-eyed boy of my own!! You were too old for me, Dino! I wanted someone younger (like Danny) -- or my swimmer!!!

*Long* story short: Even though I never got my young, beautiful, blond, blue-eyed boy... At least I blew Danny once. BUT!!! I never, *ever* touched Dino. God!! How I wish I had!!! Over the years, Dino became my dearest, my truest friend! We talked on the 'phone almost every day (many times per day); we ate out at restaurants together whenever he was not working; I would stop by his workplace whenever he *was* working! We became the best of friends (in every definition of the word!) and even bought a house together -- his mom lived with him; I lived in my own place. When he got sick, I became his facilitator.... I took care of everything and he, and his mother and their friends, couldn't have been happier!

In 1988, Dino died of complications from AIDS (among other things). NOT from sex!! He got an *unscreened* blood transfusion (common at the time) for a kidney/liver problem from alcohol. My friend was dead... I dealt with all of the funeral and burial rigmarole! Sadly, at that time, I couldn't tell a soul what my true feelings were!

OK. So? Why relate this NOW???

My point, to myself and others, is *we* must get out! *We* must find ourselves by meeting others!

If I don't start going out again, I know that I will die alone.... You will, too!

SHIT!! If *we* don't TRY to be happy -- *we* never will be happy.

Hemlock for everyone!! I.... *WE*... have got to try to reach a point where we get away from the childhood abuse! Where we get away from the closet!!

We *must* break down that BRICK WALL that we have been building around us for the greater part of our lives!!! Now....... the only question is: "HOW?"

Chronology

2006-06-29T03:48:00.000-07:00

The chronology of my posts might be a little confusing. One time, I'm talking about my early family life ("Forgive Me -- But My Parents Were Heterosexual -- Part ??"]. Another time, I'm years ahead of that with a seemingly unrelated story. They all mesh or merge somewhere. So, I'm sorry if it's at all confusing or befuddling. Just remember that the "Forgive Me...." posts are as much chronological as I can make them. The other posts are true parts of my life that I write when something pops into my head.

Forgive Me..... My Parents Were Heterosexual -- Part II

2006-06-29T02:52:00.000-07:00

I was nine or ten years old and living in our first Southern California house when two remarkable things happened to me; both of which are, to this day, crystal clear in my mind. The first days of summer rushed in with blue skies and hot, humid air. By a stroke of fortune, my dad had found us a place that was half-way between my elementary school and a county operated swimming pool. Mom let my older sister and I go to both places by ourselves just so we stayed together and waited for each other; reminding us both to be home at a certain time.

I don't know what the rules are at other community pools but, at this one, you had to bring your own towel and trunks. For the small price of a quarter (or was it a dime?) the gate attendant would give you a key to a wall locker to store your shoes, clothes and valuables. Then you *must* take a shower before entering the pool area. I remember the pool was quite crowded and was filled with kids and teens; only a hand-full of parents were there with the toddlers. Man, I had fun even though I couldn't swim a lick. I remember flat out staring at a few older boys and one lifeguard in particular who were diving from the boards (side-by-side, one higher than the other); I enjoyed the pool a lot! Why was I staring?

I heard my sister call me and tell me it was time to leave; naturally I looked for a clock to make sure she wasn't kidding. I climbed out of the pool with chlorine burning my eyes and went into the locker room. Without thinking about anything, I took the key from around my neck, unlocked my locker, got my towel and began to dry off. I had just put on my eyeglasses when my eyes were drawn to the only other person in the room. The boy was older than I, maybe 14 or 15 years old. He had just taken a shower and had one foot up on a nearby bench giving me a perfect profile of his completely nude body. I'm nine or ten; I'm dressed only in a pair of trunks and my eyeglasses and I'm staring at this 14 or 15 year old boy. He was awesome! Blond hair that was just a little long and in the "pompadour" way that guys wore their hair back then; oh, and those blue eyes! My eyes combed down his body and arrived at his genitals which, to me, were absolutely beautiful. His thick, beautiful blond bush amazed me because I couldn't recall ever seeing a bush before (I sure didn't have one!). The size of his genitals beat mine and, as far as I was concerned, my brother's as well. He must have felt my stares. He stopped, hand and body frozen and just turned his head to look me right in the eye. Embarrassed by being caught. I quickly grabbed the tee-shirt and flip-flop shoes from my locker and left with his image seared in my mind! [I never, ever saw that boy again; believe me, I looked!].

That night, in a twin bed next to my brother (in his own twin bed). I got an erection. Yes, I'd had them before; but this time was different. This time I had a memory of the lad at the swimming pool. I silently slipped my tighty-whities down to mid-thigh and began pushing my erection between my pushed-together thighs. It slipped back out; I pushed it back in. This continued several more minutes until, suddenly, a massive muscle spasm racked my body. "What was that?" I remember frantically asking myself. Quickly the undies came back up and I tried to stop breathing so hard. Soon, I was asleep. The next night, the same thing happened again, still thinking of the swimmer boy. The following night, yet again. Finally, one night, not long after, things were going the same way but, when the massive muscle spasm hit, I bravely told myself that I had to see what happened if I went on with it; even if I died, I told myself. Soon, I had my first masturbatory orgasm *with* ejaculation -- at age nine or ten for heavens sake! After that.... It became a nightly event: me, my hard dick being pushed back and forth through my pushed-together thighs and always with the image of the swimmer boy all alone and all together in my mind until: orgasm and ejaculation.

Before the summer was over, we moved again. Still in Southern California, only closer to the beach.

Don't Do What I Do -- Do What I Say

2006-06-28T03:19:00.000-07:00

I don't know how it happened. I don't know when it happened. For some reason friends have always (at least it seems like "always") sought my advice. I recall numerous times in junior high school and high school talking with friends when they would start talking about some problem or another that they were having. Maybe it was with their family or a family member; maybe it was with a friend (male and/or female); maybe it had to do with school or a certain teacher. But, somehow, some way I'd put my two cents in and later on would find out that my advice had been taken in one form or another. I mean, I didn't wear a name-tag saying "Dear Abby" or anything like that. But, people would seek me out sometimes and I discovered that I liked helping people with some abstract detail in their lives. That made me happy.

The problem is, I have problems of my own and have been very limited in opening up to anyone. That is one of the reasons I have suffered so much because of my sexuality. After the military [that will be another post] I was seeing a guidance counselor at the Veterans Hospital for tests and counseling to prepare me to return to college and to settle on a career. The counselor was a former Marine who had a PhD in psychology and had a real easy approach to everything. He was so knowledgeable, so friendly, so trustworthy that I felt I could talk with him about anything. So, one day, I tried. I told him that I had something that has been bothering me for a long, long time and I needed some help with it. He encouraged me to, "Go ahead. We can talk about anything that's bothering you. What is it?" Flushed and embarrassed, for the second time in my life, I told someone that I was gay. [The "first time" will be in another post.] Well... It was what you have already guessed: a "cluster fuck!" A disaster! He said, with the words rapidly coming out of his mouth, "I don't want to talk about that. We can talk about anything you want, but I'm not going to talk about that!" "But Doctor, I really need to talk to somebody about this," I said (in a pleading voice). Again, he spoke rapidly, "I'm not going to talk about it! Now, is there anything else you want to discuss?" Needless to say, I never went back to the man even though I was still needing guidance to get into college. I was put in my place! I had just been told, without him actually saying it, "Go back to your closet, fag! And stay there."

One week later, at the same hospital, I saw a physciatrist walking toward me whom I had met while I was an in-patient. He happily greeted me and asked if something was wrong. Well, I had been sitting outside and must have had a mournful expression on my face; after all, I had been thinking about how much more miserable I had become in the last week. I looked at him and said to myself, "Fuck it! I *know* this doctor is good man! I've got to tell someone about me." So, for the third time in my life, I heard myself telling someone that I was gay. I said that I was really lost because I had talked to the PhD and was shut down by him. Then, before I knew what I was saying, I told him, "My best friend is coming to visit me and I want to tell him I'm gay because I need someone to know; someone who I'm close to, someone I love." Well, this doctor got a serious face and began by saying, "I wouldn't tell him about it right now; at least not until you are comfortable with the fact!" Just as I thought I'd found someone I could talk to about my "dirty little secret," I saw my friend coming up to us and pointed him out to the doctor. The doctor said, "Don't tell him about it right now." Bob, my best friend, came up and I introduced him to the doctor. After pleasantries, the doctor said he had to be going and he'd see me another time. I was smiling ear to ear as he left. Finally, I had someone to talk with! But, it wasn't in the cards. I never saw him again. I thought I could make an appointment and pick up where we left off. Unfortunately, when I called to make an appointment (a few days later, no more than one week), I was told he no longer worked there; he had retired.

The third time I tried talking with another Veterans Hospital "professional" has definitely got to be a later post! Wait for the twists and turns in that one!

What I have related just caused me to become more closed up and is only a part of how I have managed to build a brick wall around myself. One brick at a time. One trowel of mortar at a time. Another brick. More mortar. When you keep building that brick wall yourself, especially when you have others who are helping you build that wall, pretty soon you wake up, find that you are 58 years old, and admit that you're still alone. You won't like it, that I guarantee. So, now, by starting this blog I'm hoping that I can convince myself that there still is hope for me. I have some serious other factors that help keep me in the closet (the closet with the brick walls). You'll learn about them as we go along. But that's all for today. I'm tired and I'm drained.

Forgive Me..... My Parents Were Heterosexual -- Part I

2006-06-28T03:15:00.000-07:00

I guess we all get started the same way: a mom and a dad who were hopelessly in love (or lust) got married and then later pushed out some babies. I, as a "Baby Boomer," have a Southern dad who was fresh out of World War II (although he stayed in the Air Force Reserves for a few years) and a Midwestern mom who met him just before the infamous attack on Pearl Harbor. I came along in 1947 -- after a stillborn brother, a four year older brother and a one year older sister (nine years later: a second sister came along).

Although we were pretty poor, Dad kept food on the table and a roof over our heads. I thought we had a pretty normal family life. Brother and sister fights were not tolerated by mom, neither was tattling! So, being big-boned and a little chubby boy who had to wear glasses, I became the occasional punching bag of my brother. A push to the ground, an elbow to the chest, head-locks, arm-locks, smacks against the back of the head and flicks of the finger to the back of an ear were all fairly common. He'd start something and if I fought back, I got in trouble -- he did too, of course -- but I never understood why I should get into trouble for defending myself. God help me if I ever hit my sister -- even in self-defense! Looking back, I think that was just making a wimp kid.

Like I said, we were pretty poor; for the longest time, my brother, sister and I slept in one bed and of course played the "show me yours, I'll show you mine" games. Then one day, we moved from our snow-covered Midwest house to a house in the sunny Southwest. We moved fairly often as my dad kept getting better and better jobs. Dad even became a volunteer firefighter which led to less time for us to be with him. Not to say he didn't make time for us; it's just that, now, I can remember very few times where we did those father and son things that create the so-called "bonding." Oh how I wanted to be with him more; but the more that time went on, the more strict he became and the gap between us grew. There was no animosity; there were no beatings; love *was* there. But, the closer I wanted our relationship to be, the further away I felt.

Anyhow, one of our many, in-state, moves finally allowed my sister to have her own room; my brother and I still shared the same bed. I don't remember how it happened (or at what age) but we would play doctor -- giving each other "shots" with a bottle cap. [The bottle cap left a neat little mark simulating a smallpox vaccination.] One night in bed we gave each other "shots" on our dicks. Heck, I even remember one time where a neighbor boy and I gave each other "shots" on each other's dick in broad daylight in a field out back of our house. Apparently, his mom or my mom saw us through the kitchen window; when we came in they asked us what we had been doing; we said that we were just playing and we couldn't figure out why both of them blushed and laughed while winking at each other.

For some reason, my brother's dick fascinated me! It took me years to realize that the reason for the fascination was that his dick was uncut whereas mine was cut. Somewhere along the line, in our darkened bedroom I was preparing to give his dick a bottle cap "shot," and I saw his dick was swollen and hard. I asked him why it was so hard and he said he didn't know. I stared at it, more fascinated than ever before. I was maybe four or five years old by now and had never seen a hard-on before so I naturally thought that he must have hurt it. Believe it or not, I did what kids do when they see an "oowie" on someone, I kissed it to make it better and rubbed it for awhile to try to make the swelling go down. If only I had known! :) Our "doctor" play didn't last much longer after that. I recall being disappointed when it stopped.

We moved again, this time to Southern California.

OK. So Where Do I Begin??

2006-06-26T09:31:00.000-07:00

So! How am I going to do this? It's almost 9:30 a.m. (PST) on Monday. Last night, well, I just couldn't sleep. I kept thinking about how I was going to work this blog. I've decided that (at least for awhile) when I do post something, I will do two posts. First, a chronological post of my life (in parts). Second, something that I want to comment on now.

The first part is more or less for me, or those who want to get to know me. The second part is just for musings about what I'm feeling at the moment or for what I'm feeling about someone else's blog, *or* for what I'm feeling about whatever is going on in this befuddling gay world of ours.

Please bear with me. I'm new at this, number one, and, number two, I have so many things that I want to write about that I am already starting to feel overwhelmed.

It's A Start!

2006-06-25T02:33:00.000-07:00

I have thought about starting a blog for quite some time. The trouble is, I didn't know what I'd write about. After reading Jay's blog ("looking out of the closet"), I realized that (as an older gay man) I might have something to contribute for those struggling to come out of the closet. I'm "Half Out - Half In" the closet still and, at age 58, feel that while I might help others I might just be helping myself as well. So... here goes. I don't know what I'll be writing nor do I know how often I'll be posting those writings. Also, I have no idea how long this blog will last or how long I can come up with new and worthy posts; but, I'll do my best to update this as often as possible. Feel free to comment; like every other blogger in the world, I hope this might be worthy enough to make a difference.