Being A Daddy: Variations on a Theme, Part I
A few weeks ago all three of my regular fuck buddies decided to take a hike, and for a while there l felt like box office poison on the hook-up sites and apps. (“Box office poison” was a term Hollywood pundits dreamed up back in the 1930’s to describe stars whose movies were no longer profitable for their studios.)
Then, almost overnight, l had a slew of guys chasing me, and currently l’m juggling five daddy lovers. Hell, it’s actually becoming so bewildering l think l’ll need a scheduling app. I know, l know, right now you’re saying everybody should have such problems, you lucky fuck.
I wouldn’t say l’m lucky, just blessed.
There’s Jamie, who’s 53 but looks 30, scrawny, moderately hairy with a mouth that doesn’t quit. (Ten hours down on my crotch may break the Guinness Book of Records on cocksucking.) His stamina aside, l’m most proud of how l’ve helped him lift his self-esteem out of the sewer. Apparently he was in the habit of pleasing everyone but himself but he’s a cute guy with a compact body and some nice equipment and l not only told him so but showed him so. “Nobody ever sucked my cock, period, let alone the way you do.” He replied. Hey, l hold the 1999 Mid Atlantic States’ Cocksucker of the Year Award. He’s also not taking any more shit from so-called friends who critique him. Now when they bug him he’s beginning to utter my two most favorite words in the English language, maybe because they’re simple and direct: “Fuck off.” I told Jamie when someone brings too much negativity into your life (negativity – a very overused word in the seventies and eighties) and they ain’t your boss or your sugar daddy or your momma whose basement you’re still living in because you’re broke, drop ’em.
He told me about a buddy he hadn’t seen in a while who instead of asking Jamie how he was doing went into his litany about wanting to commit suicide. Listen, people truly serious about doing themselves in just do it. The ones who keep talking about it are looking for attention. The guy refuses to take his psychotropic drugs or re-enter counseling so at a certain point you have to cut ’em off. Which is exactly what Jamie did. That’s my boy!
Then there’s 47 year old Matt, a bearish, bearded, even furrier than me hunk of man who confessed he had eyed me from afar for years. Finally the stars were in alignment and we connected. The chemistry was instant and l discovered quickly not only was he physically stimulating – he’s also doubled degree and super smart, so that in between doing the nasty we actually had serious conversations about politics, economics and the world-at-large. Hell, l think he’s been the only guy in my checkered gay career who l described as Machiavellian to his face as he went down on me and knew what the hell l was talking about.
When a guy one time at a bar in Tampa totally not for me finally asked me indigently what l was looking for, l answered simply: “My clone. If l had a twin brother, we’d never leave the bedroom.” Well Matt may be a bit taller than me – Christ who isn’t as l continue to shrink – but he’s been the closest guy to my ideal man whom l’ve run across in a long time. And since we’re both “Daddies” it was fun to compare notes on our respective boys until we realized no one quite satisfied us as we did one another. Strange, ain’t it?
Now Matt comes from a wealthy black Irish family that traces its roots to the days of George Washington – real estate was and continues to be their game – and the lucky fuck gets a payout every month from a family trust fund, so he doesn’t have to work. In fact he was so naive when he moved out of his family’s mansion in Boston to attend Parsons School of Design in New York, one of the most prestigious schools of its kind in the country, he just thought electricity was free. That is until Con Ed knocked on the door of his Manhattan apartment and threatened to shut him down for non-payment
I mention all this since despite the trust fund and despite the fact he now lives in Florida where the cost of living is a lot lower, he’s perpetually broke. So Fellow Dad Ray is helping him to budget. After all, l didn’t retire at 55 because l knew nothing about money.
Friday: Dennis, Eddie and a Surprise…