Went to the Raven last night. And got lucky.
In walks this sixtyish guy I've seen there before. He's got a shaved head, and he's built like a brick shithouse. After some preliminaries, he invited me back. I made some joke about how in NYC, this would involve us going out and hailing a cab back to his place. Simple and efficient. And that sweet, "let me pay, no I'll get this, no let me, no it's fine really" thing. But here in the hinterlands, you follow him home, letting your desire grow as you focus on his red taillights on the road ahead, pulling into the driveway behind him.
As I was letting my desire grow following those red taillights, I became aware that this was a familiar route. In fact, another guy whom I had picked up at the Raven had lead me down these same backroads. "Wouldn't it be ironic...?" I thought.
And ironic it was. Same house. They were roommates, sharing this amazing farmhouse that had been renovated in the Fifties by a japanese artist and sculptor. I mentioned to Last Night's Lay that I had been here before, and he kinda took it in stride.
But I wondered, would I get a Bad Reputation? Sleeping my way through farmhouses of Bucks County? Would those catty girlfriends at the Raven be talking about me?
It could only help things to get a name as an easy lay!
And as Rhett Butler reminded Scarlett O'Hara, "A reputation is a thing that people with courage can get along well enough without having."
Unfortunately, he got stoned before we headed upstairs, so sex was detached. I would have loved to have spent the night, but had to get home, so my father wouldn't wake up to an empty house and have cause for worry. So, kitten punched thoroughly, I was on my way.
It had started to rain, so I took it slow, meandering down the back roads of Bucks County. It was late, so the Christmas Light Extravaganza that is Bucks County this time of year was not in evidence. The roads were dark, and I didn't see another car the entire way home.