My Life Today

My Life Today

I intend this to be my last blog, for a while or maybe forever, who knows. I get the impression nobody reads my ramblings anyway, so what the fuck’s the point? I’ve said pretty much all I wanted to say, but being a born preacher type, from time to time if there’s something to say l’ll say it and fuck the world, right?

But here, I ‘ve decided to offer an honest assessment of my life today. One thing I never did in the eight years I’ve blogged is bullshit you, even when I was against the grain and counter to what our shitty little politically correct sub-culture called gay life professed as gospel. Despite all our advances, or maybe because of them, it’s going to the dogs and becoming more femmy by the day, in part perpetuated and enhanced by our own media or by some RuPaul-inspired twenty something who thinks he knows gay life.

Oh, I can hear you guys now. “Stop sounding like a bitter old queen and be inclusive.”

Fuck inclusive. I’m a guy who wants a guy – in bed and in my life – and all this retro-fem shit, a throwback to the pre-Gay Liberation days of the 50’s, when if you were gay you had to act gay, only gives str8 society more fuel to hate us. Christ, I’m happy I got one foot on the banana peel. If this is the future of gay life, you can keep it.

Now back to my topic – my shitty little life.

At 70 l’m okay, in fact l would say l’m better than most.  l’ve had two successful professional careers, am financially comfortable, am a published author of five works of erotic gay fiction, though few of you read my shit and my publicist – ex-publicist – tells me is too raw for the female audience who are the primary readers of male erotic fiction (what does this say about the American female psyche, huh?).

Writing fiction was something I always wanted to do and, fuck, I did it.

As a lover, l have two incredibly handsome men currently in my life, both decades younger than me, one old enough to be my son, who have feelings for me  – love is often too big a word  – though one is married to a man and the other, burnt by two other relationships, is hesitant to enter another. Plus a third beauty, an infatuation, who I call my Latin stallion and who at 36 is half my age, so when he calls me Daddy he means it..

Fuck yea!

And I’m not shittin’ you when I telll you all three have natural male bodies only Michaelangelo could improve on. Furry, masculine… and romantic in a manly way.

Plus l have my trysts, still sexually desirable at an age when most gay men resort to porn and paid sex.

At 70, I call that bonus time.

Yes, I’ve been blessed.

In the negative column of my life is my obstinate ex-partner, ten years older than me,who l will never desert but frankly has become an albatross. ln these last years l have always been there for him in his health crises, sometimes traveling the fifteen hundred miles that separate us, he at our home in rural PA, me here at my house in Fort Lauderdale. (Two masculine guys with conservative views on the glitz of gay life, we gradually grew apart as he lost interest in me and my need for love which I often replaced with sex was something he was unwilling to give me.) But when it came to my back surgery two years ago, l was on my own, and now l face major surgery on both my shoulders  – my rotator cuffs are gone, baby, gone  – and will have to face them alone with the help, as best they can, to the few people l can count on in my life, my men, and my neighbor who l’ve christened the first girl friend in this man’s gay life.

And of course, there are my three doggies, my two doxies and my adorable chihuahua terrier mix who l sometimes think is channeling some long dead gay relative. But with my girls turning fifteen this year and my little boy eleven l know the day is not far off when God will take them. My ex and l had ten dogs and one cat over the decades but losing a pet never gets easier.

And yes, l have to confess, while l never had any hang-ups about being gay, and would not switch my life for that of a suburban str8 hubbie and dad, gay life has, nonetheless, been a profound disappointment for me. I chose the wrong person for a long term relationship, though understanding we had more in common than we were different, staying in it out of habit (let’s face it guys, when you co-own property, you’re married), realizing too late l had denied myself a chance to meet perhaps someone more on my wavelength. But perhaps is big word. I was never the gregarious type but envied the guys with oodles of buddies. But in the end the sociologists say a person only has one or two true friends in their lives, so maybe I’m not as atypical as l think. Fair weather friends, or guys who cling to use you l can do without. And baby, I’ve definitely had my share of those. In the end l’d rather be alone.

All the best to you in 2018. And one final plug for my new book, “For The Love of Samuel”: an audio version should be out next month. Narrated by – who else – but egotistical me.

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