My Journey Out

Toronto Chris is telling me a story about his 16th birthday party (keep the jokes to yourself about it only being a few years ago). He feels like he’s a 2nd rate family member. His married sister with child gets the majority of attention. Chris’s family never asks to much about TC’s life. Dig a bit deeper and you realize this is a family, that despite closeness, really doesn’t share much by way of feelings. In fact, they seem to have a lot of secrets amongst themselves. “I know my father loves me, but it’s tough to see sometimes”, TC normally concludes.

Men struggle with expression of their feelings (just read any match.com profile), brown men even more (macho macho) and then add in some über sensitive homo factor and you have quite a bubbling cauldron of stuff bobbing about. TC isn’t far from his own father. He doesn’t like to express his own feelings for me. I know it though. Despite all the growling, he’s still sleeping at my front door each morning, waiting for me to start the day. Actions speaking louder than words.

TC is very private and I’m not. He continues to worry about the ‘sugar daddy’ imagine we portray together, though frankly, that’s far from the truth (I’m working on making him a sugar boy). Once I get him started, the things he worries about is a long list.

Monday he’s off to Europe in what may be a last big adventure for a while, I’m only sorry I can’t go with.

It you think Single in the City whines on his blog, you should hear him whine in his emails. Like a cat trapped in a garbage can. He’s not good sick. But in between we discuss important topics. He, the professional gay guy, and me, a rank newbie. Both of us bemoaning how the system works.

The Washington, DC metro area has 5.4 million people, roughly there is ~ 1.5 million adult males, let’s figure 5% are homo, that’s 75,000 boys in need. Figure 2% of these are closeted, in denial or just plain crazy. That leaves a grand available total of 45k homos available for immediate delivery.

Unfortunately, there were only 100 homos and a handful of bitches at JR’s the other night, leaving 44,900 unaccounted for. I wanna know where you’re hiding at. That sounds like a lot of missing homos and perhaps I need to file a report with the authorities.

Unfortunately, statistics can get pretty depressing. If you’re situated in lovely Oklahoma City, OK — the math works out to a mere 9k available adult homos. Barely enough to keep Single in the City satisfied for a one year. My message is there is more out there to be found. Many similar to Single in the City (now Sick in the City) looking for love. But perhaps looking for love in all the wrong places (wasn’t that a song).

Toronto Chris UPDATE: The brown tiger is back living with his parents, growling already, but safe away from big white hockey players who devour brown treats. He’s in theory already packing for Europe (1 bag, 900 pounds of stuff). He’s thinking about his living situation, it’s gonna get interested about 1 October.

I write. Sometimes it’s not the most inspirational of messages. Thoughts of glum and doom. Mostly doom. Doom is always a crowd favorite, just watch any of the cable news channels (and why is there no news reporting, just constant people expressing their opinion about the news?).

But in the midst of this endless down, there is a small crowd of readers. Older guys, decrepit fucks, telling me about the Frankie Valli days, but their messages are of inspiration and hope. Somewhere along the way, they found their way. They write to tell me it’s all gonna work out. They write, trying to pretend they’re not throughly amused at my ‘situation, encouraging me to have faith. Just wait til I take the tennis ball off their walker. That’ll fix’em.

Toronto Chris and I spent several hours on Skype video talking, wandering about the house. He’s not letting go of me. I confessed my whole Friday night experience and vow to fly straight, lesson learned.

Stumbling about I happened upon a great movie/story about Christopher Isherwood and his ’till death to us part’ relationship with Don Bachardy. A 30 year age different, they got together when Don was 16. Story in hand, I advised Toronto Chris that I still had some room to run. A faint growl was heard.

Read the NY Times Article

I am inspired by these stories. Campy as the both of them were. It work and worked for a long time.