New Orleans Life
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New Orleans Life cajuncock
The woods were a known gay cruising area bordering a nudist camp. Each day men went there looking for satisfaction with other men. Each day different men would hunt the woods for hard cocks and willing ass holes. Mostly, they were older men-some much older. I did not like most of them. After a few months I became a known regular. Most of my hook ups were with guys under 40, mostly tourists or married local men. One particular guy became a regular, visiting me at home. He was good in bed, my regular.
There were other local married men who I saw as a neighbors and friends. I was a stranger in the town. People were curious about me and asked question, not directly but in a more subtle manner. I was pretty open with my answers. I had a very regular routine. I shopped at the local supermarket on Fridays, went to the Saturday farmer's market, spent time at the nearby beach, an hour away. One thing that I didn't share with them was my sexual orientation. Often on Sundays I'd drive into the city around noon. There I spent the afternoon at one of the gay sauna clubs. I'd have dinner then hit a local sports bar to watch whatever was on the TV. Usually, there'd be a number of straight men, most in their twenties. About sunset I'd head for a small gay bar with a well known backroom. This particular backroom had a rear stairs that went down to an active but musty cellar. Here I could engage in all sorts of actvities with whomever was available. Sometimes I'd meet guys from the sports bar and we'd play around. We were a pretty tight knit group communicating via email when we knew of a "special" party at someone's place. These parties were limited to those in the know and only about ten men were normally invited. Drinking, weed, bareback sex were on the agenda. Most participants were in some sort of relationship and on the down low. I never left unsatisfied.
A little background: I was 38, 5'10, 170 pounds, a nice firm body when I sold my consulting business up north and I moved to New Orleans. I invested wisely and have a steady income. It was pre-Katrina and the city was a mixture that attracted everyone from oil rig workers to college students. The gay bars were notorious for their open sexual operations. I decided that city living was not for me and had bought across the lake. I'd also bought a small apartment in the garden district that I used when I didn't want to drive home. After several bad relationships in the city, I'd sworn off of any long term attachments. Since I had plenty of privacy and room at my home, I'd rent a room to one of the university grad students. These often ended when the renter tried to form a closer bond with me. I was gun shy to say the least and aware of the many games the locals would play.
My weekends were spent in th French Quarter bars hunting for instant gratification. I was seldom disappointed. I did take a number of trips overseas and to other gay resorts. So overall I was content with my life. The local cultural scene gave me opportunities to meet other single men, some I even shared my bed with. There were plenty of gay tourists all the time. I was talked into becoming a local guide for the city's tourist bureau. Once or twice a week I'd lead small groups on walks in different parts of the old city. Since I spoke 2 languages- French, Italian, German- my groups were often international in nature. That's how I met HIM. Carl was in his early thirties, tall, blond and good looking. He took one of my two hour walking tours of the Garden District.
At the end of the tour in Jackson Square, he hung around as I answered questions from other members of the group. Alone at last, I turned and asked him if he had any questions. He replied "Sure, where can we go for lunch?" I was taken aback but curious so I led him to the St. Charles streetcar stop. While we waited he apologized for being so forward. I was curious about him. Over lunch he explained that his German company sent him to work in their new offices in the city. They gave him a stipend to cover his expenses and he was looking to rent a furnished place. I suggested that he call me in a few days and I might have some information for him. He then launched into questioning me. No, I was not married, no, I didn't live in the city but across the lake, Yes, I was gay. The last one got my attention. I asked him if he was gay or bi. He admitted to experiences with both sexes. We talked about the gay life of the city. After our meal I gave him my number and told him to call me in two days about an apartment.
Heading home across the lake, I phoned a gay friend who was a realetor. He gave me a rough idea of what was available. Once home I got on the net to search for more information. I printed out a page with a number of possibilities. Two days later, Carl called and I told him that I had some leads for him. We arranged to meet for lunch at a place on Magazine St. I arrived early, got a table, and ordered a beer. Carl arrived a few minutes early himself. We both ordered lunch and I handed him a copy of the listings along with a map of the city. We spent most of the time going over the list. I offered to take him on a short walking tour back to the streetcar line. He was impressed with the area. Arriving at St. Charles, I invited him to my place nearby for a drink. Over drinks, we discussed his plans. He asked why I chose to live across the lake. I explained that I preferred to be away from the throngs of tourists and to be in a typical Cajun cottage. Knowing that he had a company car I invited him to come over sometime for dinner in a real Cajun place. He told me that after seeing the mobs of tourists he could understand. I explained that there was a gay bar near my home that often featured live music. It suited my needs for company and entertainment.
The next week he called to tell me that he'd found a place, signed a lease, and moved out of the hotel. He asked if the dinner invitation was still good. I told him whenever he wanted to come over. He suggested the next Thursday evening. It was all set and I gave him directions along with my address for his GPS. For some reason he was on my mind a lot during that week. I decided to order a catered meal from one of my favorite local restaurants. I also found a few good bottles of wine and champagne to go along with our meal. I cleaned the house, excited that I'd have a visitor.
Carl arrived carrying flowers and a bottle of champagne. I put the bottle to chill with the others and we sat on the screened porch talking and hearing the sounds from the nearby bayou. I opened one of the chilled bottles to share as we talked. He was curious about why I lived alone. I explained that I'd had a number of bad relationships and was gun shy. I had to explain the meaning of gun shy as an American expression. He laughed at the strange expression in the US. Dinner arrived from the restaurant. I explained that although I did cook I thought that a catered meal might give him a better idea of local cooking. As we ate, he had more questions about my personal life. I told him of the consulting firm I'd sold and now my quiet life, ok sort of quiet life, here. I also explained that my family was originally from here. I was sort of coming home.
After dessert and more champagne we again settled on the porch. The sun had set and the sounds of the night were soothing. I suggested that he might want to stay rather than driving across the lake to the city. He agreed and said he'd go into his office late. Like many Fridays, most of his staff either came in late or left early. The nights in the bayou were often chilly this time of the year. So we retreated into the house. I gave him a tooth brush, towels, and showed him one of the guest rooms with the bathroom shared by my own bedroom. Inside the house it was warmer so we both decided to just wear our underwear and sit watching the evening news. Carl saw two of my self published books on local gay history sitting on the coffee table. He asked me about them. I told him that writing was a hobby. Mostly I wrote gay erotica stories for my friends. He asked to read one for his bedtime. I printed out one and gave it to him. I said that it was near bedtime for me and left for my bed. I did my nightly bathroom ritual before slipping into bed with a good mystery.
About 20 minutes later Carl knocked on my door and came in. "Your story was very good, too good. It left me with the need to share with you my desires, my feelings. He sat on the edge of my bed, pulling back the covers to expose my naked body. He caught his breath saying "You have a fine body. It's too bad you've chosen not to share it." As he spoke he moved his hands up my legs. My body reacted instantly... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hope you enjoyed this story, comments welcomed - jaskejr@hotmail.com