My First Time

It had been raining for, pretty much, the whole day.  Interestingly though, it didn't seem to be gloomy and depressing but more like those little drops of liquid sunshine we'd been told so much about as children.  It seemed to truly be about renewal and re-purposed use of the space.  Why think negatively about it, right?

Truth be told, it was the start of a new experience for me. I was embarking on new experiences - as I have been on a daily here in New York.  The rain merely mirrored my thoughts on the day and all the happenings within my life since my arrival here - it had been a continuous refreshing of my mind and spirit so that I could be better prepared to live in each moment.

As I left the restaurant, the rain had not subsided.  As I strolled down the Brooklyn streets, I found myself singing in the rain (in my mind, that is).  I called my parents to tell them of my day.  I was sure I'd be on the phone with my mom for a little while, so I stopped in the doorway of a closed store to shield myself from the rain.  I was dressed rather business casual (but with VWayne appeal) but nothing too flashy.  I was knee-deep in a discussion on the virtues of maintaining a positive attitude in life when he approached me.

He was an attractive older Caucasian (is that a PC term anymore?) gentlemen - perhaps late 30s to mid 40s.  He wore khaki slacks, the long sleeves of his plaid shirt were rolled up, a gray sweater tied around his waist, dark brown shoes, and a seemingly matching dark brown messenger bag across his chest.

He seemed to walk toward me as if he knew me - quickly down the street, then slowing when he was about 5 feet or so away.  I wasn't standing very far from the subway, so I assumed he was making his way into the station.  I didn't pay much attention but still noticed his movements - being cognizant of my surroundings is, after all, my favorite pastime.

He made eye contact and smiled.  Of course, I've been taught to be cordial so I flashed him a polite smile and continued my conversation. (these pleasantries may stop going forward)  A couple moments passed and I realized he was still hovering within that same 3-5 foot radius around the door I was in. He smiled again.  A curious smile appeared on my face.

What he did next freaked me out a bit and opened my eyes to a phenomenon women talk about all the time.  On his 3rd or 4th trip past me, I watched him remove a gold band from his fourth finger, left hand before placing it into his brown messenger bag.  I did my best to disguise my disgust - both on my face and in my voice while I was speaking with my mother.  The sheer fact that he continued to slowly circle me as if I were chum in the sea and he was some sort of great white shark bothered me already.  Add to this that he basically tied a bib around his neck before going in for his meal, well ... yea.

I ended the conversation with my mother "good night, I love you.  Kiss my dad."  I could tell he assuredly saw this as his opportunity.  He turned toward me with a smile (significantly wider than those prior) and raised eyebrows.  I figured the thoughts in his mind had something to do with the bulge he then sported within his khakis and how he might use me to assist him with this.  I can't imagine the level of disappointment he must have felt as I walked right past him without acknowledgment.  As I descended into the subway, I assume there was a great deal of deflation in his ego, not to mention his pants. Sucks to be him.

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I survived my first cruising experience in New York.  While it may not have had the happy ending most might expect from such an encounter, it was still worth going through at all.

Friends ... (How Many Of Us Have Them?)

A man's life story could be told in the company he keeps.  To review a timeline of the friends in one's life could tell you much of what you need to know of an individual. Those who remained, those who went, shows growth (or stagnation, in some cases). It isn't the NUMBER of friends one has, but the quality of those friendships along with each person's individual qualities.  As I look at my current friends, I am reminded of many memories and I can see some glimpses into the memories yet to be made. I'm blessed in many ways. Despite the fact that I clearly see the deterioration of some friendships, I know it's for the best.  But right at that same time, I can see those who are hear to stay. I love my life and I love my friends - past, present and future. <3 <3

What A Trip

Based on actual events ...

Headed into the city to spend some farewell time with my old coworkers before I leave for New York, I see him. He isn't unattractive, per se, but I immediately know he isn't my "type." He's the kind of gay that isn't afraid of speaking up or out. This isn't a bad characteristic but he is assuredly "catty" or "messy" in his overall, fairly loud, demeanor. He's wearing what looks like (from what I can see through my dark shades) a dirty pea green t-shirt, some torn shorts - the kind with tattered edges at the bottom, and some dusty brown flip flops.  It kind of looks like he might have had to walk a bit before he got to the train station because his feet seem to have a layer of black dust on them.  He could use a haircut, at least a brush, and he wouldn't look terrible - he'd be at least somewhat presentable ...again, I said he isn't ugly.

He hasn't seen me yet - at least I don't think - but I know once he does, he will speak and try to spark a conversation.

Sure enough, when he comes up the stairs - I'm sitting right at the top of the stairs in the single seats against the left window - he stops, kinda taken aback (his reaction is so extra!). I'm doing my best to not look his way, but I notice this along the periphery. Once he regains his composure - after maybe 3 seconds - he continues up the stairs. Just when I think he will bypass me and I can relax, he speaks.

"How you doin'," he says in one of those whispers as if he doesn't want to draw attention to himself and, more importantly, me - just in case I'm not his type of guy (gay).  He does this as if he cares what others might say. I can immediately tell he has a louder voice, oozing femininity. Now, this isn't a terrible thing when kept within a certain level, however I don't think this is the kind of guy he is.  I am somewhat dreading where this might go.

My mother didn't raise me to be rude so I respond - after I realize he actually did speak - with a short, "Fine, thanks. You?"  I'm hoping he will understand it isn't an invitation to converse but merely an exchange of pleasantries.

"Oh, I'm good, sweetheart."

Oh, dear God.

He continues past me but decides against the empty seats further back, choosing the seat directly behind me instead.  This should be interesting.

I immediately begin looking for my ear buds to blast Aniba Hotep and the Sol Collective, but don't retrieve the, before he begins speaking short, random thoughts aloud - to no one in particular, of course.

"Sexy, sexy, sexy ... Just my type ... Ooo wee."

He's beginning to get louder - he can't help it, nor does he care.

I'm still scrambling to get my buds into my ears.

Just when I begin hearing Aniba's smooth, sexy, sultry swoons, I hear one last piece.

"Damn! Mm-mm-MM." I can hear, in my mind, him licking his lips.  Ick!

I am hoping he will get the picture but I fear I'm trying to alter reality with my mind somehow.  I think to myself, "If he taps me, I'm just going to die!"

Moments later, the guitar riff has taken me to another place and I'm jamming with the band, 

          He say he needed me

          He say he want it baby.

          He say I'm such a freak

          That he could almost taste it.

          I try to play it cool

          But I can't hardly ta--

He taps me.  I try to ignore it.  He does it AGAIN, of course.

I can't decide if I'm pissed or just annoyed. He doesn't tap me on the shoulder, like a normal person would, but on the side of my ribcage just under my arm.  He is really testing me now.  Without turning around, I pull my right bud out and lean toward as to say, "yes?"

"Do you have a pen?" Back to the whispering I guess.

"Huh?"

"An ink pen, do you have one?"

"Sure," I say. I look for something I don't care to receive back.

I know I might be sounding a bit "judgmental," perhaps "snobbish" or "uppity," in the words of many men who have been spurned by someone who had previously caught their eye before.  I just am over this whole exchange.

Between songs, I hear him on his cell phone, LOUD, of course, chatting it up with whomever.  OK, perhaps that's a slight exaggeration, but it feels like he is overpowering Aniba's powerful vocals.

          I'm so into-

          I'm so into-

          I'm so into-

          I'm so into-

          I-I-I'm so into into youuuuuuuuu

He taps me again.  This time it is more of a rubbing on my ribcage. I can't tell if its the pen or his finger but I've just about had it.

I turn my head slightly to the right, see the pen between his dirty fingernails (long, unkept coke nails that they are), grab it, place it back into my bag and try to get back into the web Aniba's spinning around me.

Deep breath.  Exhale slowly.

"Is it my stop yet?"

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Music lyric credit: "Don't Stop The Feeling" & "I'm So Into You" 

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What I look like today: