Monthly Archives: November 2002

Tonight I went to an absolutely dreadful orgy. What made it worse was that I dragged a totally hot guy along with me as my guest, and he will undoubtedly never speak to me again.

When the host opened the door looking fully ten years older than he did in the picture he sent me, I should have turned around right then.

My guest and I sat around and chatted with the host, waiting for a few other people. Within twenty minutes, the following people arrived:

—a man with a bizarre rash or birthmark on his face;
—a totally hot guy; and
—a man who was old and (as I later discovered) smelled funny.

We got started, and I was instantly bored out of my skull. My guest, clearly disgusted with the whole proceedings, left almost immediately; I wanted desperately to leave with him, but I was, shall we say, in no position to do so. The old man left too, but not, alas, before I found out that he smelled funny. Which left me, the deceitful host, the disfigured man, and the hot guy. So I just focused on the hot guy.

Thankfully, the rest of the event was mercifully short. Here is a sampling of the thoughts that were running through my head during that time:

“Maybe I should reread the complete works of Jane Austen, starting with Persuasion.”

“Damn—I can’t remember whether I’m on row 5 or row 7 of the sweater pattern I’m knitting.”

“Ice cream.”

“Maybe I should reread the complete works of Jane Austen, starting with Persuasion.”

“Ice cream.”

And now the totally hot guy I dragged along as my guest will never speak to me again. I met him at the one other orgy I’ve been to, which was as delightful as this one was wretched. But the thing is that he was fat then, and now he is 40 pounds lighter and much more built and sexy and quite possibly my soul mate, except for the never speaking to me again part. So I spent the entire subway ride home trying to figure out how to make it up to him.

I mean, I can think of a few different ways, some of which wouldn’t require him to speak to me anyway.

But maybe I should leave well enough alone, because he’s the one who left the bite marks on my ass that got me in trouble with E.S., so maybe he’s brought enough anxiety into my life.

I was floating around on men4sexnow.com last night and saw somebody whose member name was actually jimjones. Plus, he didn’t have a picture, so for all I knew it could actually have BEEN Jim Jones. I was terrified.

Then I realized that it was the 24th anniversary of the Jonestown massacre, and “terrified” didn’t even begin to cover it.

I’m going to stick to nice guys like latinotongue or ahot14ya.

And run like hell if anybody offers me Kool-Aid.

Yesterday, my hometown paper ran a profile of my father, discussing the fact that he is a giant in the field of civil rights law. I already knew this.

What I didn’t already know was that he had already argued and won his first case before the United States Supreme Court by the time he was my age.

I called him to ask about this and he said the article had gotten it slightly wrong, and that he’d won the case not at age 29 but at age 30 (and four months).

This gives me six months to do more for the downtrodden and oppressed than most people manage to do in their entire lives.

Not that this made me feel inadequate or anything.

I am now back in New York, all rested from my long, long weekend in Garrett County, Maryland.

We went to an antique store while we were there, and I bought a reproduction of a sign from 1942 that reads:

STREET GIRLS BRINGING
IN SAILORS MUST PAY
FOR ROOM IN ADVANCE

As soon as I figure out who it is that I pay in advance, this place is going to be awash in seamen.

I spent the entire evening tonight flirting with a fellow guest in D.R.’s vacation home while knowing the whole time that, even if he wanted to have sex (which I wasn’t sure of), we couldn’t because there are simply too many of us here to manage it discreetly.

Why do I do this to myself?

We saw Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets this morning.

If I could cast a spell that would force my enemies to vomit slugs, my life would be complete.

Also, I would be on my back in two seconds for Lucius Malfoy.

Of course, chances are that I’ll be on my back anyway at any given moment, so maybe that’s not saying so much.

I am now in the Middle of Nowhere, Maryland with my friends D.R. and B.N. I am in the country. There is a lake here, as well as a lot of leaves on the ground.

I don’t ever want to leave.

I suppose at some point the religious wacko white supremacist snake handlers will discover that we’re here and come and burn crosses on the lawn until we’re forced to flee the state.

But until then, I’m just going to sit here by the fireplace fire, watch my dog play with D.R.’s dog, eat carbohydrates like there’s no tomorrow, and be blissfully relaxed and unconcerned about my responsibilities back in New York.

This is terrible. I don’t even feel neurotic here.

What is happening to me?

I just saw the following personal ad in The Village Voice:

SANE, SMART, SENSUOUS
GWM seeks same for days full of intellect
and nights full of passion. Be brilliant and
delightfully wicked.

Then, in tiny letters at the bottom, it said:

Also, must be born November 12, 1957.

So close, and yet so far.

Tomorrow, I am going with my friends D.R. and B.N. (who are dating each other) and five of their other friends to D.R.’s parents’ vacation home in western Maryland.

I just realized that this is the first non-work related trip I have made out of Manhattan in about two years.

I don’t know what I will do with myself. There is a lake there. Perhaps I’ll drown.

Or perhaps I’ll have to change the title of this blog to The Search for Love in Western Maryland.

It doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, but maybe the search itself will be more successful.

As my brother and I were crossing the street earlier this evening, a man came up to us and said, “excuse me, I have these two things that I wonder if you’d be interested in.”

In his left hand was a paperback copy of The Gay Man’s Wellness Book.

In his right hand was a steam iron.

I don’t understand the world at all.