Wrong Wrong Wrong

Interesting night at the Lure last night. Lots of folks there that I know, but didn't have a lot of time for chit chat as I met up with a hot man in leather. We spent a while getting each other all hot and bothered, but then came the chill: he lives in Yonkers, I live in Jersey City. I hate when that happens. Got my boots serviced by a freaky boy who was drunk off his ass. And then I met Them. I had met Them briefly at Walt's 50th Birthday celebration, but I didn't think much of it. Half of Them is a bartender. He's a really big guy with long hair. The other half is equally grand. We are talking aspects and physiques that would make a Colt model feel inadequate. To be sure, I've seen them around. And hated their guts. I assumed that they'd be assholes: snide, just waiting to make me feel less than they were, scanning the room over my right shoulder for someone they'd rather be talking to, a motherlode of attitude and self-regard.

Uh-uh. Really nice guys. Friendly, out-going, askers of questions, complimentary. I guess it was junior high school residue. Those feelings of inadequacy were coming from me, not them. Now, it's not like I'd have a chance of hooking up with either one of Them. They're probably the bedmates of porn stars the world over. (They mentioned that Al Parker's real name was Drew Oken, and that the first time he had man-sex was with a Hell's Angel in the back of a hearse at Woodstock, probably something they heard from Al/Drew himself.) But, I don't know that I'd be so inclined as they're not what I'm after. So that's a draw.

But I should have known better. They're leathermen, and kinky people in general are the best you'll find anywhere.

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