We left Sporter’s almost immediately and jumped into LB’s Subaru. I pushed a cassette into the stereo and blasted Siouxie and the Banshees as we made our way through the light nighttime traffic to Medford, JD directing me the five miles there. He lived at home with his folks at the moment, having just left a bad situation (JD was always just emerging from a bad situation). As we exited off I93 I asked where we could find some privacy. After much tooling around and red-light facesucking, we settled on an athletic field on the campus of Tufts University, under the bleachers. Ever-practical LB had a blanket in the car.
Opening his pants, JD had a huge fat white dick lined with blue veins running down to the foreskin (which I wasn’t expecting but appreciated ever so much). After much gobbling and probing, I flipped him on his back and delivered a frenzied fuck using spit and precum for lube, punching his chest with my fists and bending low to blow him while still up his round meaty ass (one of my specialty numbers). We came together in a mini thermonuclear explosion.
Dropping him off after an exchange of numbers (he knowing when to call so as not to get LB), I raced back through Downtown and up the Jamaicaway, taking the dangerous curves at 60 mph. I washed up a bit and crawled into bed next to LB. He stirred, asking the time. “Late”, I replied.
JD and I settled into a routine. We arranged with our employers to take the same days off. I would get up early, drive LB to work and meet JD at Dover Station on the old elevated Orange Line. We’d chat about our lives and little kitchen-sink dramas. I would try to find his limit of toleration in hard-core Death Disco and Punk with the likes of The Birthday Party or Flux Of Pink Indians on the stereo, but he’d only laugh and strum out the beat on his thigh. He labored under the illusion that I was a Southie tough, and I did nothing to disabuse him of it.
Our lovemaking grew more intense, more intimate, more sexually daring. I’d had many sportfucks and I’d had loving relationships, but never the two together before. Within the proscribed rules of engagement, JD and I let down barriers and bonded in a deeply emotionally way. But I was unwilling to give up the comfort of the home LB and I had nurtured, and JD was unwilling to get responsible. I knew that he did drugs and ran with a rough crowd. He loved me passionately but couldn’t bring himself to make a commitment, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask for one.
LB went on a business trip about four months into this. I dropped him off at the airport that evening and tore over to Medford to pick up JD, who had packed a bag in anticipation. For one week we played house in that apartment in Jamaica Plain, both on our best behavior. JD would meet me for drinks after work, I’d prepare a dinner for him. I was utterly enthralled and completely overwhelmed by the depth of my feelings. And JD surprised me with his domesticity. I caught myself wondering what if…
On the last day of LB’s business trip, we went to a swimming pool on the Esplanade along the Charles River at JD’s suggestion. He flirted shamelessly with several guys in the locker-room as we changed into our suits, and I found it all wonderfully endearing. We sunned ourselves on lounge chairs on that summer afternoon, rough-housing around the pool (until we incited the ire of the lifeguard) and laughed and laughed. After taking a shower and changing, we took the short stroll over to Sporter’s for a beer. Although the dance room was closed during the day, the DJ was in there practicing his mixes and working some new lights. As we both knew him quite well, we asked if we could slip in and enjoy the music. On that magical afternoon, the DJ put on a private party just for us, and we danced and carried on, eventually collapsing into each other’s arms.
On the way home, we got very quiet. Neither one of us wished to break the spell or go back to our ordinary lives. That night we went to bed early and cuddled tightly.
I knew that we’d broached an unspoken boundary, pushed the limit on the parameters of our relationship. JD and I had discussed options and the future a thousand times, and each time drew the same blank. I couldn’t continue any more with the status quo, it was tearing me up. I was wracked with guilt over what had become a through cuckold of LB, and was determined to pick up the pieces of my life with him. JD knew something had snapped as I threw his bag in back, and I drove him home in silence. We wouldn’t see each other for over two years.
By then LB and I had broken up and I had moved back into downtown. I had a great job with Scandinavian Design and had carved out a new life for myself. The store had over a dozen windows looking out on Park Square, and I’d while away my time watching people pass by. That was when I saw JD sauntering past. In a flush I ran out the door and called out. I practically attacked him, grabbing and shaking and burst into tears, full of oaths. After a moment he eased me back and introduced me to his companion. I looked up, a bit confused, and saw a glum, skinny young man glaring back at me. To me he looked no better than the ratboys who worked those same blocks after dark and, in fact, that’s just what he was. JD looked good, but thinner and less well-kept. He had dark rings under his eyes and the two of them looked tired. JD tried to make plans for later, but his boyfriend would have none of it. He’d heard all about me and was less than pleased with having me rematerialize. With long sideways glances, they continued down the sidewalk. I excused myself and had a good long cry in the stockroom.
Thus continued a pattern between us: When I was free, he was involved, when he was free, I was embroiled in yet another flawed relationship.
But we would sneak each other in and out of our lives, regardless. Sometimes I’d locate him and we’d have a couple hours of intense fucking during a free afternoon. He had an annoying habit, however, of showing up at a bar with some improbable piece of trade, coked out of his gourd, and suggesting threesomes which the trade would find singularly unappealing. Drugs took over JD’s life, making him more impossible than ever. I’d still try and see him, but the effort was rarely rewarded, and I put him out of my head as much as I could.
Life moved on, five years passed. I had burned trough a highly combatitive four-year relationship with a beautiful South American, and lived in New York for a year. Everything in my life was altered from when I’d met JD, but I still had a burning love for him. It was unrequited, as we had lost contact and I didn’t know where he was. Friends would tell me that he had moved to LA or Florida, no one knew exactly where. JD was just gone.
Then, just after Thanksgiving in 1989, I was getting some breakfast at a café in the South End where I lived, my back to the door. It was very busy and there was a clamor of cups and plates and that high, hard laughter heard whenever gay men are gathered. Over the din, I heard an unmistakable voice bitching about not finding an empty table. I looked up from my paper and there he was, vastly transformed. The years had been unkind to the beautiful man I’d met at Sporter’s. He’d lost so much weight and his face had altered into a charactiture of himself. His strong jaw had hardened into a set grimace. His nose had taken over the center of his face as his cheekbones seemed to break through his ashen skin. His temples were sunken, and his hair was almost all white, although he couldn't have been more than thirty-five. His bright blue eyes were sunk deep into their sockets. To be honest, for a second the only image I could think of was Wayland Flower’s old Madame puppet, but without the high coloring. I stood up and went over to him quietly.
“Hey”
“Oh my God!” hugging with some of his old strength.
“You want some breakfast? I have a few minutes.”
Eyelock… Forced Smile… Face Touching…
I bought JD a nice big breakfast and we brought each other up on our lives, laughing a little bit desperately. Neither of us wanted pathos to creep in and an artificial gaiety prevailed. We soon discovered that we lived less than two blocks away from each other. And we were finally both free. He invited me over for a drink that evening.
Opening his pants, JD had a huge fat white dick lined with blue veins running down to the foreskin (which I wasn’t expecting but appreciated ever so much). After much gobbling and probing, I flipped him on his back and delivered a frenzied fuck using spit and precum for lube, punching his chest with my fists and bending low to blow him while still up his round meaty ass (one of my specialty numbers). We came together in a mini thermonuclear explosion.
Dropping him off after an exchange of numbers (he knowing when to call so as not to get LB), I raced back through Downtown and up the Jamaicaway, taking the dangerous curves at 60 mph. I washed up a bit and crawled into bed next to LB. He stirred, asking the time. “Late”, I replied.
JD and I settled into a routine. We arranged with our employers to take the same days off. I would get up early, drive LB to work and meet JD at Dover Station on the old elevated Orange Line. We’d chat about our lives and little kitchen-sink dramas. I would try to find his limit of toleration in hard-core Death Disco and Punk with the likes of The Birthday Party or Flux Of Pink Indians on the stereo, but he’d only laugh and strum out the beat on his thigh. He labored under the illusion that I was a Southie tough, and I did nothing to disabuse him of it.
Our lovemaking grew more intense, more intimate, more sexually daring. I’d had many sportfucks and I’d had loving relationships, but never the two together before. Within the proscribed rules of engagement, JD and I let down barriers and bonded in a deeply emotionally way. But I was unwilling to give up the comfort of the home LB and I had nurtured, and JD was unwilling to get responsible. I knew that he did drugs and ran with a rough crowd. He loved me passionately but couldn’t bring himself to make a commitment, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask for one.
LB went on a business trip about four months into this. I dropped him off at the airport that evening and tore over to Medford to pick up JD, who had packed a bag in anticipation. For one week we played house in that apartment in Jamaica Plain, both on our best behavior. JD would meet me for drinks after work, I’d prepare a dinner for him. I was utterly enthralled and completely overwhelmed by the depth of my feelings. And JD surprised me with his domesticity. I caught myself wondering what if…
On the last day of LB’s business trip, we went to a swimming pool on the Esplanade along the Charles River at JD’s suggestion. He flirted shamelessly with several guys in the locker-room as we changed into our suits, and I found it all wonderfully endearing. We sunned ourselves on lounge chairs on that summer afternoon, rough-housing around the pool (until we incited the ire of the lifeguard) and laughed and laughed. After taking a shower and changing, we took the short stroll over to Sporter’s for a beer. Although the dance room was closed during the day, the DJ was in there practicing his mixes and working some new lights. As we both knew him quite well, we asked if we could slip in and enjoy the music. On that magical afternoon, the DJ put on a private party just for us, and we danced and carried on, eventually collapsing into each other’s arms.
On the way home, we got very quiet. Neither one of us wished to break the spell or go back to our ordinary lives. That night we went to bed early and cuddled tightly.
I knew that we’d broached an unspoken boundary, pushed the limit on the parameters of our relationship. JD and I had discussed options and the future a thousand times, and each time drew the same blank. I couldn’t continue any more with the status quo, it was tearing me up. I was wracked with guilt over what had become a through cuckold of LB, and was determined to pick up the pieces of my life with him. JD knew something had snapped as I threw his bag in back, and I drove him home in silence. We wouldn’t see each other for over two years.
By then LB and I had broken up and I had moved back into downtown. I had a great job with Scandinavian Design and had carved out a new life for myself. The store had over a dozen windows looking out on Park Square, and I’d while away my time watching people pass by. That was when I saw JD sauntering past. In a flush I ran out the door and called out. I practically attacked him, grabbing and shaking and burst into tears, full of oaths. After a moment he eased me back and introduced me to his companion. I looked up, a bit confused, and saw a glum, skinny young man glaring back at me. To me he looked no better than the ratboys who worked those same blocks after dark and, in fact, that’s just what he was. JD looked good, but thinner and less well-kept. He had dark rings under his eyes and the two of them looked tired. JD tried to make plans for later, but his boyfriend would have none of it. He’d heard all about me and was less than pleased with having me rematerialize. With long sideways glances, they continued down the sidewalk. I excused myself and had a good long cry in the stockroom.
Thus continued a pattern between us: When I was free, he was involved, when he was free, I was embroiled in yet another flawed relationship.
But we would sneak each other in and out of our lives, regardless. Sometimes I’d locate him and we’d have a couple hours of intense fucking during a free afternoon. He had an annoying habit, however, of showing up at a bar with some improbable piece of trade, coked out of his gourd, and suggesting threesomes which the trade would find singularly unappealing. Drugs took over JD’s life, making him more impossible than ever. I’d still try and see him, but the effort was rarely rewarded, and I put him out of my head as much as I could.
Life moved on, five years passed. I had burned trough a highly combatitive four-year relationship with a beautiful South American, and lived in New York for a year. Everything in my life was altered from when I’d met JD, but I still had a burning love for him. It was unrequited, as we had lost contact and I didn’t know where he was. Friends would tell me that he had moved to LA or Florida, no one knew exactly where. JD was just gone.
Then, just after Thanksgiving in 1989, I was getting some breakfast at a café in the South End where I lived, my back to the door. It was very busy and there was a clamor of cups and plates and that high, hard laughter heard whenever gay men are gathered. Over the din, I heard an unmistakable voice bitching about not finding an empty table. I looked up from my paper and there he was, vastly transformed. The years had been unkind to the beautiful man I’d met at Sporter’s. He’d lost so much weight and his face had altered into a charactiture of himself. His strong jaw had hardened into a set grimace. His nose had taken over the center of his face as his cheekbones seemed to break through his ashen skin. His temples were sunken, and his hair was almost all white, although he couldn't have been more than thirty-five. His bright blue eyes were sunk deep into their sockets. To be honest, for a second the only image I could think of was Wayland Flower’s old Madame puppet, but without the high coloring. I stood up and went over to him quietly.
“Hey”
“Oh my God!” hugging with some of his old strength.
“You want some breakfast? I have a few minutes.”
Eyelock… Forced Smile… Face Touching…
I bought JD a nice big breakfast and we brought each other up on our lives, laughing a little bit desperately. Neither of us wanted pathos to creep in and an artificial gaiety prevailed. We soon discovered that we lived less than two blocks away from each other. And we were finally both free. He invited me over for a drink that evening.
