This is the fictional memoir of a gay man, told in the first person. The memoir began with the series C'est La Vie!, which covers the years 1970-1997. This series covers the year the narrator turns 40, 1998, and launches an ambitious project to have sex with 1000 men that year. Some of the stories in this series are based on actual experiences, usually embellished a lot, as well as completely fictional ones. They depict sex between consenting adult males. If this offends you, do not read them. These are my stories. Please respect the copyright. If you enjoy them, let me know at johntheartist@hotmail.com. Please Contribute to Nifty.org and keep this wonderful resource going!
In the previous chapter I told about the twins I had brought home from a sex party, how they were making love when I woke up the next morning, and how I did a series of quick drawings of them as they made love, then how they sucked me to completion when they were done. This next chapter does not have any sex depicted, but sets the scene for the chapters that follow. I hope you will read it.
1000 Men: 1998 WINTER
The year had gotten off to a great start, and my project was ahead of the game so far. I fell into a rhythm of spending time at the various bars in my neighborhood, and at the baths, constantly increasing my score as I went. It was true that as the days went by, I encountered guys that I had already had sex with, and in most cases, I turned them down. That was hard sometimes because I don't like being rejected myself--who does?--and I could see they were pissed, or at least disappointed. Gradually, however, the story of my project got out, and so at least a few of them were understanding. Also, being less selective than I might have been if I had been cruising for the pure pleasure of sex with hot guys, I ended up hooking up with a lot of guys that I might have turned down otherwise.
This provided an important lesson that I probably really had known for almost twenty years: that the hot looking guys were not always the best in bed. I had some incredible sex with overweight older guys who gave some of the best blow-jobs that I had ever had, and who were so sensuous, that I completely forgot that they were not muscled gym-rats.
January gave way to February, and then to March. I met up with Chad each Wednesday, either alone, or sometimes with a third or fourth man. We had incredible sex together, but the best part was his personality, intellect, and wide-ranging interest in all kinds of things. We enjoyed grazing the big variety of Philadelphia restaurants, always had a lot to talk about, and somehow that made the sex hotter.
I went to Armand's February and March sex parties, and added about thirty-five more men to my list there, as well as performing with Armand twice more. Deon and Leon were there both times, and we got it on at the party. I also met up with them a few other times, and we did it with Chad one night. They were so free and easy with other men, just like I had witnessed watching them make love together, and when we were together everything seemed so natural. The days started to get longer and the light clearer and brighter. My sexual juices were rising like sap in the maple trees. Despite all the sex I was having, and the success in my project, I was hungry for more.
As March sped by, I started planning for my trip to San Francisco in April. My show was opening there in the middle of the month, and I planned to stay for a month or even six weeks while it was up, partly to have fun, and partly to participate in some lectures and panels that my gallery had organized. They were thrilled that I was completely available for the period of my show there, and had done their utmost to take advantage of my availability. I asked if they could find me a short-term apartment rental in San Francisco. I said that any decent neighborhood would be OK but if they could find something near Castro and upper Market St., I would love that, since that neighborhood would be a great place to pick up other guys, and it was a great, lively place by any measure. They said they would try their best.
I was working on the drawings that had started in my session with the twins, and it had grown to a major project. I was not sure if this would be my new direction, but for the time being it felt good and I felt productive. I was just letting it go at its own pace, not letting it get too serious. It was enough to spread out on my kitchen table and work and I did not really miss having a studio. In a sense, I welcomed it: this work could be more informal and casual than it would be if I had all my painting tools and a serious place to work in. I was reminded of a lot of the masters who did really great work as they were traveling: Frederick Church's oil sketches in South America, Winslow Homer's Adirondack and Caribbean watercolors and Sargent's sketches of the alps: all masterful works done casually without a studio.
I decided to travel west by car. I love the solitude of driving, but it would also give me an opportunity to do some exploring on the way in other cities and on the road, and seeing what sexual adventures lay in store. I had the general idea of a route, and I started to research cities along the way that had bathhouses or a significant gay-bar scene. I talked to guys who had traveled and hooked up at interstate highway rest-stops or at truck stops. I realized that there was a whole world of travel and highway sex out there that I had not explored. I couldn't wait.
At the end of March, I got a call from my gallery that they had found a sublet for up to two months from a San Francisco musician who was going on tour while I was in SF. It was a couple of blocks south of Market and a couple of blocks east of Castro. Just perfect for location, and I didn't care that much about the amenities, as long as it was clean, and the bed was comfortable.
At the end of March, the first quarter of the year was past. My little sex diary indicated that by that point I had had sex with 354 men, well ahead of the 250 I needed to meet my goal. It was gratifying to know that I was ahead, since who knew what the future would hold? Anyway, this could hardly be classed as work. I was still having a lot of fun.