This is the fictional memoir of a gay man, told in the first person. 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!
This is the third in a series of books that began with C'est La Vie! (1970-1997), and continued with One Thousand Men (1998). Th stories in this book start in 1999 and continue to the present. I hope you like them!
What A Life! 25
2016, Married (finally!)
Ray and I continued to meet up for hot sex, well, actually love-making would be more accurate, and in the couple of months before summer, we grew closer and closer and did more and more things together.
In many ways he was the man I had always wanted: an artist, like myself, but with words instead of paint. No fixed schedule but always busy with his projects, either self-assigned or his part-time jobs. At the end of April, he was done with classroom teaching at the university, and just had to read the students' final projects--emailed to him--and turn in grades. Accordingly, he arranged with his publisher to start his book tour in late April when his classroom duties were over and could manage his final teaching duties from afar.
I thought it was time for a little vacation and so asked him if I could meet him during his tour in California. Though he had been to the Golden State a couple of times, he had never traveled to several of the incredible national parks there. He had a few days' break between tour stops in northern California and dates from San Luis Obispo south. I suggested that I fly to San Francisco and spend the night, and that we take in Muir Woods, Point Reyes, Yosemite, Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Parks and the drive through Big Sur south to San Luis, and visit Moro Bay. It was a lot to do in a few days but we could get a taste of each place and maybe come back again for a more leisurely trip another time. He agreed and so I made the arrangements and he told his publisher that he didn't need any arrangements between his last reading in SF and his next one in San Luis.
When I got to San Francisco in mid-morning, I rented a car and picked him up in the city and we drove up to Muir Woods to see the redwoods, and then on up to Pt. Reyes for a hike on one of my favorite beaches, where I had painted frequently, and then we drove a few miles farther to Pt. Reyes Station where we had a tasty dinner at a place I had eaten at frequently in the past twenty years.
After dinner, we drove back to San Francisco and the funky motel on upper Market St. where I had stayed frequently and had some memorable sex. I thought that we might enjoy some impromptu encounters that evening.
After our relationship had solidified--though we were not yet a `formal' unit--we had talked about our sexual appetites and I had confessed my fondness for three- and four-ways, anonymous sex, sex parties and orgies from time to time, and he had sheepishly said that those were also his guilty pleasures. So I had told him about some of my encounters with cruising at the motel on upper Market and some of the hot sex I had had there. When I had suggested meeting him in SF, I asked if he wanted to savor the delights of that place, and I would make some reservations.
We got to the motel around nine in the evening and checked in. To be clear: this place is not a flea-bag. It is clean, the beds are comfortable and the baths are well maintained: clean, no cracked tiles or sloppy caulking, or stuff like that. It is, however, a bit dated and the dŽcor is hardly au courant.
Sure enough, when we got there, we took the elevator to our third-floor room with a middle-aged man and a young stud--clearly an escort or a daddy-son couple--quietly huddled in the corner, the man trying to hide the erection in his pants with his clasped hands and not succeeding. We were discreet and ignored them.
Walking to our room, we witnessed two men fucking through a crack between their curtains (probably purposeful), a couple of partially open doors with shirtless men sitting on their beds rubbing their crotches or making overt signs, and several guys on the balconies, doing a slow walk and looking into windows, looking for an encounter.
"Fucking amazing!," Ray said as we opened our door. "I had no idea such places existed. It's all so open too!"
"Well, yeah, you have to remember that we are in San Francisco which, despite all the tech around, is still, I think, the capital of Gay America, and we are a couple of blocks from famous Castro St. the historic center of gayness in the capital of Gay America. So let's get settled in. The night is young. We can see what happens here, or there are a few bars we can check out. What's your pleasure, Ray?"
"HmmmÉ.I've done a lot of gay bars but never a gay motel. So I'm intrigued by what might happen here. We can do a bar later if we want."
"OK. There are a lot of different ways to do this," I said. I explained how we could walk the balconies ourselves; or how we could just stay in our room and sit on the bed; or how we could display ourselves bare-chested; or how we could even strip to our underwear or put on jock straps (I always traveled with a couple!) and stand in our window, kinda like the prostitutes in the red-light district of Amsterdam!
In fact, we tried a couple of different things. Cruising the balconies, we were invited into the room of a thirty-something couple who both wanted to be fucked side-by-side and of course we obliged. And we posed in our jock straps behind partially opened curtains, attracting a couple of guys about our age who came in and we sucked them off. We played with a stocky bear in his late 40s and an effeminate young man in his twenties who wanted to be fucked and have his ass slapped. Fun was had by all and it wasn't even 11:30 yet! So we went out to a bar that I knew was infamous for attracting daddies and sons and picked up a hot guy in his twenties, who went back and spent the next couple of hours with us, sucking and fucking in whatever combinations we could improvise. Finally, it was time to say goodbye to him and go to sleep. A long day was coming up and my jet-lag was catching up with me.
Ray and I had talked about how much we loved each other's company and how much fun the sex had been during our times together. I had been thinking about something more long-term but wanted to take it slow and make sure that we were both compatible, especially living together. We had spent many nights in each other's apartments and I was pleased--as someone who likes to keep a neat, organized, well-decorated place--that Ray's place was similar: clean, cozy but stylish, and place for everything, interesting collections of objects and pictures on the walls from his artist-friends over the years.
Our trip in California presented a chance to be together full time for several days and a way to see how day-to-day life would be together. However, it was a vacation-style time together and I wondered how we might do really living together. I had an idea that I had been thinking about and the trip was a chance to try it out on him.
We had had a great time at all the sights and national parks, done a lot of hiking, and even horse-back riding, and the trip down the coast overlooking the Pacific was sensational as always. At dinner on our last night before I had to fly home and a couple of weeks before he was due to come back himself, I popped my idea.
"Hey Ray," I said, "when you get back from this trip it is only a few days before I'll be leaving for my place in Maine for the summer. I know we had talked about you coming up later for a week or two, but I have been thinking. I'm gonna miss you a lot--not just the great sex and holding you in my arms almost every night and kissing you--but just having you around to talk to and be with. I know we can call and such, but I wondered if you'd like to join me in Maine for the summer. My place is really comfortable. I have a separate studio, and there would be no problem turning one of the extra bedrooms into a workspace for you. I have good internet there, and I know you already do most of your magazine work online. We can hang out, work in the garden together, cook together, take walks, go on excursions, the stuff I do every summer. I have a lot of friends there who you will like and who will like you, and you told me once that you had some friends not far from me. You don't have to make a decision now, and if you want to stay in Philly, I understand that you might need your own space. But think about it and let me know."
"HmmmÉ.John, yeah, I'll have to think about that a while," he said with a serious expression on his face. He took the pose of Rodin's thinker: elbow on knee, fist on chin, and closed his eyes for thirty seconds.
When he opened them he said, "Well, JohnÉ." and he waited with a kinda dour expression on his face.
I thought, "Oh shit, you've fucked this one up John," and I'm sure I wrinkled my brow with worry and what clearly looked like disappointment.
Ray's face suddenly turned from dour to a broad, sunny smile and he said "John, I'd like nothing better!"
"Shit, Ray, you're serious? You had me worried."
"Geez, John, you're so gullible," he said, beaming like the Cheshire Cat.
"Ray, I love you and want you to fuck me," I said with a big smile.
"Well, the restaurant might object, but we can go back to the hotel if you're serious," he said.
The server was passing and I said to him, "Can we have the check please?" I wouldn't let Ray split it with me. We went back to the hotel. He started out by fucking me and I returned the favor. A great end to a memorable, if short, trip.
When Ray got back to Philly, I was already in the midst of getting ready for my annual pilgrimage to Maine: packing up the supplies I would need for the summer, getting some food supplies that are hard to find in Maine and so forth. I didn't need to pack clothes, I had plenty in Maine, mostly things that had been retired from active service in Philly. Ray didn't have to pack much: his laptop, a suitcase of clothing and a box of books for his summer reading.
A week after his return from his book tour, we got in my truck and were off early one morning so that we could arrive at my place in mid-afternoon and get some shopping done and get settled. The water had been turned on, a woman who cleans for me had gotten in and cleaned up any winter dust and mouse droppings, and turned on the fridge and hot water. We went out for dinner at the local sports bar and got a burger, then went home and opted for bed and a nice long love-making session before falling asleep, being awakened briefly around four by the calling of the Barred Owls who often nest nearby, and by the sun--approaching the summer solstice and coming up early this far east and north.
It took a few days to settle in, for me to get my things set up for my summer projects in the studio and to set up a table and comfortable chair in one of the spare bedrooms for Ray's office. By the end of the week we were already into a summer rhythm of work, cooking dinner, tending the garden and planning socializing with friends.
Ray's Maine friends turned out to live not more than twenty miles away and so we got together with them and also with several of my artist friends on a regular basis. Ray was great in the kitchen, helped to keep things neat, helped with the shopping, etc. He was a creative cook. Domestically, we were peas in a pod: we had pretty much the same standards and desires and seemingly none of the small habits that people who live alone for a long time acquire that can be really irritating to people who then occupy their space. Ray was always considerate and asked about things like he was a guest, but, in fact, he need not have done so. He always seemed to make the right decision.
In the middle of August I said to Ray, "You know that I usually stay here until almost the end of October, and that I told you that I wanted to be with you, so we could call it a summer whenever you want to go. I know you have to start teaching again right after the beginning of September. So let me know when you want to be back and we'll close up and go. I can always come back for a few days in October for end-of-season chores."
"John, you are always incredibly considerate, and I'm aware of how much you value your work time here without the interruptions you have at home. " he said. "I actually talked to my university in the middle of the summer about taking the fall semester off. They are cool with that--there are about a zillion writers dying to take my place--and they said I am welcome back for the second semester. I've been teaching a long time, and, what with the good reviews of my novel, I want to keep forging ahead as a novelist. I got a lot of work done so far this summer, maybe half of my new book and I want you to read it and let me know what you think. I'm actually thinking of giving up the teaching--I had been thinking about it before I met you. Anyway, If you want to stay, and you'll have me, there is nothing making me go back anytime soon."
I took Ray in my arms in a big hug, gave him a big sloppy kiss and said "You've made me very happy," and that night our sex was long and hot in celebration.
As summer turned to fall, and we continued to enjoy what seemed to be an idyllic, comfortable existence together, I was thinking more and more about our future. One night after a lovely meal that Ray had cooked and we were sitting around my wood stove with a glass of good bourbon, Ray beat me to the punch.
"Hey, John, I've been thinking, why don't we move in together? This summer has been a great test of how well we get on as partners. I love you and know you love me. Neither of us has to depend financially on the other. Even though `two can live as cheaply as one' as my Grandmother used to say, that doesn't matter. I just want to be with you. Do you want to be with me?"
I decided to play the same trick on Ray that he had played on me.
"Well Ray, I'll have to think about that a while." I looked at him with a very serious, even doubtful expression on my face, waiting until I could see his smile fade and worry take over. After a couple of minutes--which seemed like hours to him, I'm sure--I relented. I smiled a big smile and said, "Nothing would make me happier Ray," and once again it was time for a big hug and kisses.
"You know," I said, "I have been thinking about that and it would be great if you could move into my place. I'd be out of your hair most of the day in my studio, and there is plenty of space in the loft for you to set up a desk, your computer, printer and stuff. You have some nice objects and art, and I would be happy to have them in the loft. We can talk about anything you might want to do to make it more of a shared space. I know that it can be difficult moving from your own space into someone else's. Will you have any trouble with your landlord?"
"My lease is up at the end of the year, so it's not a big deal but if he can find someone to move in immediately there would be no downside for me. I like the way you have things set up and I wouldn't change anything. I would like to bring some of the stuff that I like though, some sentimental things from my family and a couple small of pieces of furniture. And of course my books. I can sell the rest." My loft was big and had always been sparsely furnished, so fitting in Ray's things would not be an issue.
We stayed in Maine through Halloween. Most of the leaves were off the trees, it was getting cool enough that working in my unheated studio, even with a space heater, was getting kinda sketchy. A few days before the end of the month, I packed up my summer work and supplies, we worked at eating down the last things in the fridge, and on Halloween, the fridge cleaned out and turned off for the season, we had a last burger at the sports bar, sat by the wood stove with our last bourbon, and made love one last time in my cottage. I had arranged for the guy who drains the water to come in next week. The staples that I kept there over the winter were packed up in mouse-proof containers. On the morning of November first, we got up early, I turned off the breaker to the water heater, we locked the door one last time and were off to home.
Ray decided to move into my place as soon as we got home, and he and I managed it all the next Saturday, putting his collections on the shelves next to mine, hanging his pictures and getting his clothing stored in the closets and dressers in the sleeping area. His landlord was actually able to rent his apartment almost immediately to a woman who wanted to move in mid-month.
I was back to my studio routine, getting ready for a show in the spring, and Ray put in an eight-hour day each day working on his novel. I had read and critiqued the first half and it was really good. Unusual--but I hoped that it would find an enthusiastic audience.
Before I met Ray, I had booked the second week in December at my favorite gay resort in Florida. I had a premium room, and Ray could share it for a little higher price per night. He had never been there, and I told him it was a bit like the motel in San Francisco: a constant sex party if you wanted that, plus there were lots of other things to do in the area. Ray booked a ticket on my flight. The trip would be our Christmas gift to each other. We had a great time, and plenty of sex with guys from twenty to seventy: a gay smorgasbord.
Our life settled into a pleasant routine of our work, domestic chores, regular lovemaking almost every day, and perhaps once a week, hooking up with a stranger, or going to the baths, picking up someone or more in a bar, and just generally having a nice active sex life like I, at least, had always had.
Toward the end of February, I was very involved with getting ready for my show at my Chicago gallery, coming up at the end of the first week of March. My work had been shipped a week earlier. Ray wanted to come with me and enjoy the opening. We decided to drive out. We could do it in a day but decided to take two.
Stopping for the night on our way out at a chain motel, we were lying in bed after making love, and Ray said, "Hey, John, what do you think about living together?"
"I've been really happy, Ray. Life with you seems, well, just so natural, even if you do snore!"
"I snore! What about you. Do you know how loud you are?"
"I never hear myself. I can sleep through it. Why, do you have a problem?" I said, smirking.
"Well, actually, John, I'm serious. I mean, do you REALLY like living together?"
"Of course, Ray. Why are you asking, don't you know I do?"
"Sure," he said, "I just wanted to know if you like it enough to do it forever."
"Are you asking me to marry you?" I said.
"Well, yeah, John," he replied. "You know, you're a mind reader," he joked.
"So when do you want to do it?" I said, being very serious.
"Would tomorrow be too soon?" he said, being equally serious.
"Yeah, only because it would be good to have some friends there, you know, a REAL wedding."
"OK, John, but no bridezillas or whatever the gay equivalent is."
"No problem, Ray. I love you and want it to be perfect for both of us."
So our decision to marry took all of less than a minute, and we spent a lot of our time in the car on the next day going to Chicago planning the wedding. We decided on a date toward the end of April when the spring in Philly is at its most beautiful, and to have a friend marry us in one of our favorite parks and then have a catered party at our loft which was big enough for 100 guests if we wanted that many (and actually it turned out to be closer to 80).
The wedding and party were beautiful and a lot of fun, respectively, and we basked in the good will of our friends and families, who were all happy for us, including even our aging parents.
After getting married, we settled into a life that was not a lot different than before except that we always had a partner in both love and life and could share our successes and failures together, and plan a future together and be legally responsible for each other.
We worked at our art. I showed in one of my galleries about once a year. Ray got on a roll with his novels and published one every eighteen months or so, and was getting more and more critical success as an author, getting asked to lecture and teach short courses at this university or that. We were busy, busy, busy, in short. We spent our summers at the cottage in Maine and took a week at the gay resort each December, which we alternated with a non-gay resort in Xcalak, Mexico.
We also were enjoying our success and could afford to travel: Sicily, Oaxaca, Japan, Norway, Alaska, and more. We decided that while we were healthy and physically able we should do as much as we could. I like to ski, and Ray decided to take up snowboarding at age 54 and turned out to be pretty good at it!
When I was 58, my doctor became concerned about my rising PSA level and told me to get checked out by a urologist. He ordered a biopsy of my prostate, and several of the samples showed cancerous or pre-cancerous cells. My options were radiation or a total prostatectomy--getting the pesky thing out--and the advice was, that because I was young (since when is 58 young?) the surgery would be best. The caveat was that there was a small percentage chance of becoming impotent.
I discussed it with Ray. The choice of living with the cancer was out. The stats for radiation were no better than surgery, and so I decided to go ahead with the surgery. I said to Ray, "You can still fuck me. You know I enjoy that! And I can suck that big cock of yours and you can cum in my mouth, and you know we both enjoy that. And I can still kiss and caress! Look at the silver lining!"
"I would rather that you can fuck me too and I can suck you."
"Well, hopefully that will still be an option. The statistics are on my side," I said.
So the surgery was scheduled, to be done through a couple of small incisions by a robot operated by a handsome young surgeon who looked about old enough to be in high school.
Ironically, a few weeks later, Ray had a routine colonoscopy that uncovered a cancerous polyp and surgery was indicated for that too. The prognosis for cancer-free life for many years was good for both of us. Ray had his procedure and was in the hospital overnight, and then home in bed for a couple of days. "Sorry, John, no fucking," he joked to me.
"Soon we'll make up for lost time," I replied.
A week later I had my surgery and was in the hospital for two nights and sent home with a catheter and bag for my pee for another week or so. After getting the catheter out, I was leaking urine for a couple of weeks and my erections were what I called "unreliable": I'd get hard and for no apparent reason go soft right in the middle of some great sex. That worried me but was a passing issue and we got to return to all our pre-surgery practices in a few weeks. It seemed like forever at the time but in retrospect was really a pretty short time. A plus--or minus, depending on how you looked at it--was that, with no more prostate, I couldn't make semen, and though I had intense orgasms, nothing spurted out. Cleaner, but as Ray said, "Not as tasty."
So here, in 2021, we are in the middle of the pandemic of the century. I'm close to 63 and Ray is 58. The bars and baths seem like a distant memory. It is really gratifying to have such a wonderful life partner as Ray, and we look forward to a long, happy, and passionate life together, but it would sure be fun to go prowling for some nice, anonymous hot sex, particularly with one of those young studs looking for a pair of--I hope still hot--daddies. This too will pass and we'll get back to life as usual. In the meantime, Ray and I have been re-reading the stories in this series and reenacting some of the encounters, and it has been hot!