Getting to what matters
So in the beginning it was as if everyone was watching silly cat videos and flip flapping about. Now people seem to be taking the time to get real about how to spend time on the secret quality of life things they've always wanted to do. Well, and here I am with absolute lust in my heart, entertaining my free massage exchange partner (a married big, strong Latin Daddy) whom I suspect is a bottom AND who brings out the bottom in me (he he--I'm versatile go figure). So maybe this bottom to bottom vibe creates a kind of tension in our sex flow. Of course his overt Catholicism and Latin-religious-homophobia doesn't help. But I'm "seeing" and looking at the totality of this man I believe for the first time since our free massage exchanges began months before the Pandemic hit. He has his wife and family and he's not at peace with his bisexuality, yet, we continue to practice therapeutic touch, sometimes with fantastic passionate overtones--as was the case yesterday when he came to me in the morning and we did our "exchange." Anyway, we conjoin. We connect. I don't think I can do with with a forty-something man, there is too much of a generation gap. My poet friend KT advises me to check out Costa Rica where, he tells me, the younger Latins value White Daddies. I wonder if that's true of non-rich White Daddies? LOL! It's definitely on the bucket list when this awful mess is over. Beaches, nature reserves, just my style. Who needs these stale, sterile streets? But for now must make the best of it. I am here and must see this through, until such time as I am free. Anyway it is a relief to be touching someone regularly during this time. I'm grateful. He is like a part-time massage lover of sorts. Then I was blessed last night to have another hot, DL, mature Latin (oh how trim his tummy and how fabulous his voluptuous calves, to touch and kiss and possess). "C" (yet another "C" like the free, exchange partner) has been coming to me for years. He too is so craving a man's touch but lives the straight and narrow lifestyle. God I'm so grateful to be fully bloody queer and loving it! Good rate too with the latter C. He was the first client all week. I have a feeling this week is gonna be pretty slow, what with all the fear in the air, on the streets. The paranoia is palpable between people. I try not to dwell on it. Then onto being alone again. Which is fine. I was making poetry videos with Kenny this past Saturday, will see about posting herein. Someone is using the hash tag "Saintorres" which is vaguely distressing. Probably KT. But who cares? Must work on remix of China Sea tonight. My engineer made the 94 BPM tempo solid. Now I just need to add some depth via more MIDI tracks, some contemporary KONTAKT sounds...should try to do another vocal/piano track, also maybe an original. Baby steps. What's the rush? Haven't seen my room mate for days. He got caught in the snow out in the deeply Jewish depths of Brooklyn doing his "delivery gig." He must be smelling really funky. Can't complain-nothing as fantastic as a room mate who is hardly ever here!!!!! I laid down on a snow plow in Union Square Park tonight for 15 minutes and meditated. I truly love the thinned out population of NYC. As usual in my neighborhood, N.Y.U. children are out all over the place. Still pumping Mummy and Daddy's money into some of the half-opened restaurants and acting all "La-de-Da" like there's no CO-VID. The boys are so asexual it's funny. I do not waste my time cruising them. An utterly lost cause. I need mature men.
So grateful to that awful neighbor who moved out of here--Sedillo was his name. He was so hot, but such a psychotic little bitch. N.Y.U. student naturally. Never recycled. Acted quite sane and cool until CO-VID came. Then he turned into a real "Mr. Hyde." I hate mentioning names on here but WTF? Good riddance to bad rubbish. I can attempt to forgive, but I will never forget. I should be grateful, as he provided me with a valuable lesson. Keep your hands off hot N.Y.U. 30 and 40-something men. Stay away, stay away. They look beautiful but they are as deadly as Brown Widow spiders. Touché. Besides that I do not shit where I eat. Amen.
It's interesting. Sometimes the upstairs neighbor is so quiet I can't even tell if she's there or not. Other times, she walks like a water buffalo clomping through the rice paddies of Vietnam. God please if I move, and if I end up in another apartment building, please dear Lord I beg you PLEASE no upstairs neighbors! Well, at least she's has been respectful in that I don't hear her bed knocking about with fuck noises. Thank God for small favors. Must be getting it at the BF's place. If the bed-fuck-knocking continued, it would indeed merit the installation of some sort of "pulley/suspension bed apparatus" for these "you can hear a pin drop" East Village overpriced, over gentrified, walls-as-thin-as-a-house-of-cards infrastructure. I am grateful I'm here. But I'm quite over it too. Maybe her weighty tread corresponds to that "time of month" for her? I once knew a female whose periods were in perfect sync with the phases of the moon, so she said. I believe she bled more during the full moon. I can't remember. Margeurite and I were fast friends but then I loaned her $300 bucks shortly before 9-11. Within a month, post 9-11 I demanded my money back. And got it folded up within a sheet of paper, stuck in an envelope without even a thank you.
As I age, my tolerance for females seems to erode like beach front property being swept away by winter storms. Should I be grateful I wonder, that the heavy tread of the water buffalo-like upstairs neighbor inspires me to softly sing innumerable improvised versions of my own private "Serenity Prayer song" softly delivered with a hard-core Nashville nasal twang? Thank you dearest water buffalo! Er--a few weeks ago, you were more a woolly mammoth. I guess her spirit animal (as I hear it tromping above) changes, probably again, according to her menstrual cycles. Ahh, sweet mystery of life!