The End of The Road

The End of The Road

Having been straightjacketed the whole winter by George, now safely deposited at our home in PA ,who thought a wild Friday nite was watching a Sanford and Son marathon on TV Land, l am ready to become a pig’s pig. So while he watched his beloved Mets in the living room a few weekends ago before my flyback to Lauderdale, I was texting my fuck buddies back home to be ripe and ready for Daddy Ray.

G and l have decided to call it quits after forty four years of living in sin, on the grounds of incompatibility., something we realized early on but ignored because it was just easier. to. Hey, when you’re splitting the bills it’s hard to pull out.

Rightly or wrongly, I’m fighting old age with every fiber of my being while G, ten years and a generation older than me who came out in the closeted fifties compared to me, a child of the liberated sixties, is content with old age swallowing him up. The kicker is since we co-own the house in PA, l will be continuing to pay half the mortgage, taxes, insurance and association fees on a place l probably will never return to. You can understand now why l call G my 78 year old boy.

Looking back at it all now, my endless decades as a jock widow and philandering faggot (G once said watching the Mets  on TV was better than sex), l realize l was never relationship material. I did so much alone because he didn’t want to join me – international traveling, the gym or just going out to feel alive – that l came to like, yes, prefer it. And while l flew up to PA when he suffered a health crisis a few years ago, and took him to three different hospitals last summer for his cardiac condition, he freely admitted he, who hates planes, would not fly down to Lauderdale if some personal emergency happened to me. So if l going to be alone, hell, at least let me be alone to do whatever the fuck l wanna do with whoever l wanna do it with without explaining or cajoling or deceiving.

I think the end came for me when he gripped that l had forced him to come down to spend this past winter in south Florida in MY house. This is after l went up to retrieve him and drove him down in his car (he has macular degeneration and can’t deal with highway driving) and then had to reverse this whole humiliating task last month to finally rid myself of this obstinate, constantly confrontational albatross who rarely agrees with anything l say.

So financially comfortable living in America’s paradise, l am content to lead the aimless life of an ego hungry sexual creature in between writing my next piece of serious erotic gay fiction. If a handsome guy old enough to be my son wants me to fuck him, should l complain?

Hey, like l said to one my docs, retired men spend their time playing golf, collecting stamps, or having sex.

My hobby just happens to be men.

And for those of you who sigh, “How sad. Do you really want to be alone at this point of your life?” I answer:

No, but I was alone a long time ago.

Or will this be my last call effort to find someone on my wave length?

When you’re gay, hope springs eternal.

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