Being A Daddy: Variations on a Theme, Part II
Like I mentioned on Monday, I’m in the envious place of currently juggling five daddy lovers. I told you about Jamie and Matt.
Then there’s Dennis.
Dennis, a handsome blue eyed lrish native, 42, just likes hairy older guys and fell for this aging faggot who he likes to call uncle (hey whatever works, right?) instantly, right down to my “cute”nose. A fierce bicyclist with furry legs of steel and a lightly furry swimmers build, “nephew” Dennis, like Trust Fund Matt, can carry on an intelligent conversation and has taught me a lot about prevailing European politics and the European Union that Ireland wants to stay a part of despite Britain’s xenophobic-motivated decision to pull out. We’re also fellow creative souls, I the blogger and fiction writer, he the music writer, who do our thing not for money but for the satisfaction it gives us.
As l suspected early in the game and Dennis confessed to me after our third romp, he was brought over by an older American he met ten years ago at the Gay Olympics in Chicago. They no longer have sex – the guy’s on meds which are a definite erection killer and frankly is beginning to like ‘ em younger. Me? Both Matt and Dennis are old enough to be my sons, and as they say vice is nice but incest is best. They also sort of share something else: Dennis, who plans to become a permanent U.S. resident come the new year, is actually quite financially comfortable for a guy his age, with a significant amount of money in the bank, a pension once he reaches 55, and even property back in Dublin which he rents. The difference is Matt fell into it and doesn’t how to handle it; Dennis worked for it and knows exactly what to do.
Forty eight year old Ernie lives in Miami but works in Lauderdale as an lT programmer. With Ernie, things are a lot simpler, no grandiose conversations or waxing and waning about his life. He just likes Daddy Ray’s daddy dick up his very, very hairy man hole, a request to which Daddy Ray is more than happy to comply.
And guess who’s back in my life? Ted, yes Ted of my “Heeding the Red Flags” series (), who after two years of playing my fuck buddy left in a huff and called me an arrogant asshole when l told him the candy train was over, and l’m not talking about M and M’s.
A month later who contacted me on Scruff but Ted. “How are you doing?” he texted in his rounded metrosexual vowels. Me? I would have written in my usual New Yorkese: “So, how ya doin’ buddy?” Again being a no bullshit guy and knowing what he was leading up to, l just spit it out: “So do you want to play again?” “I’d love to but are you sure?” he replied five seconds later. My response? “Let’s rewind the videotape and start fresh.” A day later he was back in my bedroom as if nothing had happened, and this time we got it on without the dubious benefit of Lady T.
Now you know why some of us describe Lauderdale as Teflon Town?
A few weeks ago, another handsome hairy, bearded guy, in leather chaps and a leather shirt, who looked vaguely familiar hit me up on Scruff. “Remember me?” he messaged.(I looked at where he was at – Chicago – and then it all came back to me. “You’re half Egyptian, half Italian, right?” (A fucken dynamite combination.) “Yea, we played at the gay guesthouse you were staying at in Halstead.” “You’re the one who lost his dad at 39 to steroids?” I messaged. His lover had been a bodybuilder who went overboard on the chems to bulk up and fucked his liver. “38,” he corrected me, ” but like l told you then if l was going to have another dad, that guy would be you.” He likes his dads short, he’s 5’11, and unlike so many of the flakes l meet down here who have shit, Jack who will be turning 40 in January, has a good job as a bank officer, built his own home in the sticks and is a regular responsible guy who would make any dad proud.
We chatted a bit more and l invited him to spend Thanksgiving weekend with me. The annual Leather Ball is scheduled for that weekend and Jack dug the idea of us going as dad and son.
But even if nothing comes of this little fantasy, it’s still nice to know that my sons – past and present – remember their Dad.
Or to paraphrase Sally Field when she accepted her Oscar, they like me, they really like me.
At least this week.