Was it Something I Didn't Do?
During my "personal ad phase" I was surprised at the number of gay and bi guys around NYC interested in getting together with a rather ordinary fortysomething married man. Each time I advertised, I would usually receive a dozen or more responses. And hardly any were from crazies, but rather other rather ordinary middle aged guys, looking for a bit of excitement.
One of these was Greg, who sent a brief eyecatching note to my post office box with his telephone number. He turned out to be working just a short walk from my office in lower Manhattan. We arranged to meet in the Lobby of the famous Woolworth Building, and from there we found a nearby coffee shop to become acquainted.
Our first meeting went well, ending up on a park bench in City Hall Park. We had some things in common, not the least of which was a respect for marriage and family life. Greg did some financial work for New York City and was also a part time actor. He was at the time appearing in a production of Wait Until Dark, off-off-broadway, in fact in New Jersey.
Greg shared all kinds of intimacies with me during our first few meetings, including the fact that he was a recovering alcoholic. He invited me to go with him to an AA meeting at which he was scheduled to speak. I didn't make it there, but we did get together at a nearby Bath soon after.
Physically Greg was tall with a medium build, brown thinning hair, and a very neat, careful way of dressing. He would remove microscopic bits of lint or specks of something from my shoulder or lapel as we spoke. Undressed he also looked good. He had small love handles, but a basically flat belly, hairy chest with nice tits, and a fat cut cock. It was maybe seven inches in length, with a big head. I liked has ass too, which was nicely shaped and just the right size.
Greg and I seemed to adjust well sexually, both of us being affectionate and fond of touching, rubbing, tweaking and kissing. Also, of course, licking and sucking. The room that we rented in the bath had walls lined with mirrors, so for, I think, the first time, I could see myself with a cock in my mouth. It was kind of shocking and nice. I stared at this unfamiliar/familiar person (me) slurping on a big ole dick. It was a definite turn-on. I also liked to lick and suck on Greg's balls, which were big and hairy.
Greg was very oral too, and as I said, quite touchy-feely affectionate in his manner. Our first sex was most definitely a success, I thought. It was exciting and hot, and it lasted all afternoon. We parted with plans to be in touch. As we stood dressing in the locker room of the bathhouse, I picked up Greg's cock, squeezed it in my hand and told it how much I was going to miss it. Yeah, I know. But although I was acting like a teenage girl, I was actually a 43 year old executive, who had spent too much of life acting macho and serious, so losing it for a few minutes was probably a good thing.
I wish I could say that our second meeting was equally idyllic. Nah. We were to meet at the same bathhouse, but there were mixed signals about time, and Greg was very late. He finally showed, did not apologize, and I was a little pissed-- not the best way to begin an afternoon of lovemaking. We got sheets from the front desk, and made up a bed in one of the tiny bathhouse private rooms. This time we were quieter, less affectionate, less spontaneous, and less joyful in every way. Oh yeah, we had sex. But it was more or less a matter of getting the other guy off. The spark that had ignited our first meeting was missing.
At one point, Greg flipped over on his stomach. He didn't speak, and neither did I. I stretched out on top of him, my still hard dick nestled in the valley of his asscheeks. I kissed his neck, his shoulders, and slowly moved all the way down to his ass, which I covered with kisses. This was apparently less than Greg was looking for. Soon afterward he turned over, and said that he had to leave.
I called Greg about a week later. He dismissed me curtly, promising to return my call. I tried one more time, a few weeks later. Again, Greg declared himself "as busy as a one armed paperhanger," and ended the conversation quickly. I knew the affair was over, and felt badly. I had failed. A relationship that had begun with such promise and warmth quickly evaporated into nothing.
Later, in analyzing what went wrong, it occurred to me that maybe Greg was looking for some heavier action. I remembered that during our first meeting, we talked briefly on the park bench about sexual likes. I got the impression that Greg, like me, was looking for vanilla sex. But recalling his words more carefully gave me a new insight.
"You know, I like the usual stuff," Greg had said. "I'm not really into S&M or anything like that, but maybe I could get into it. We'll see what happens," he declared at that time. I had forgotten about those words, until I was left with the phone in my hand wondering what went wrong with my carefully chosen sex partner.
I discussed it in group therapy some time later. "When he flipped over on his belly, was he asking to get fucked, do you think? Is that why he didn't want to see me again?"
A gay guy in the group said, "Not necessarily. Who knows? Not being interested after a couple of dates is not unusual. His kissoff to you was a typical faggot goodbye."
Maybe my gay group member buddy was right. But I do think in retrospect that my boyfriend, the actor, the recovering alcoholic, the neatness freak, really was looking to get porked. Well, shit, Greg, you could have asked.