Stories of my past.

I realized yesterday that it was not only the job market that booted me back to Indiana those many years ago. It was also the appalling stories I came away with because of said adventure. Some may argue that those are part of the adventure but I say they just left me scared.

First I must say that is really is unfair how we in the gay community categorize people. It really is just one group we criticize and pigeon hole. We call this group everyone we personally wouldn't sleep with. Older gay men do receive a lot of this scrutinizing. Example we might refer to them as a sugar daddy or a troll. Really neither are things that we strive for typically. I mean really who wants to pay for sex and who wants to hide under bridges and eat goats?

Not I.

The thing is there are some very nice older gay gentlemen. But sadly they like Lesbians don't venture out after the sun goes down which is when most gay men go down. The following two stories have nothing to do with nice older gentlemen. Well one has what I thought was until two words were uttered and made me think "Not so Much".

While I spent my time in Orlando trying to find a job I decided maybe I could meet some new people. The friends I did have down here really didn't go out that much or at least not when I wanted to so I did a lot of exploring on my own. *Sidebar this is also when I decided to not go to bars on my own.* I found a nice little bar called... the rainbow cactus?,... the blue cactus?,... something cactus???? In any case there was a desert theme at work. Which really was reflected well in the desert like conditions of the bar. That is to say there was really no one there. I sat at the bar and a rather nice older man, I would say in his early 60's sat next to me. I just want to say that I like men around my age and at this time of my life I was about 25 and not really interesting in men that were older than my father. But I will have a conversation with just about anyone. That doesn't mean I will sleep with you or have a profound impact on your life. We sat there for about 30 minutes discussing lots of things like where I came from and what I was looking for in the way of work. After a while he bought me a drink which was nice I wasn't one to turn down free booze especially when I was without a source of income. About three drinks in he looks at me, places his hand on mine and says "You have the most perfect hands." That to me was the strangest thing I had ever heard in my life and quite possibly the worst pick up line. I also am not a fan of the unwelcomed touch. But I was young and naive so I rolled with it and said something I look back and wished I had never let slip out of my mouth. But to be fair I still believe in normal circumstances it was a very logical question. I looked at the "gentleman" and asked. "Why are they perfect?" His response even 9 years later makes me shudder. "For fisting." *Those would be the two words that made me think "Not So Much"*





Yea I am going to let that one sink in, so to speak.






I willed myself not to vomit and composed myself long enough finish my drink in one gulp and say "thankyoubutIneedtobegoingnow........." As I bolted for the door. As I said that I imagine a me shaped cloud of dust still sitting at the bar finishing my drink, because really I ain't wasting free booze.

And people wonder why I am skittish around people and avoid eye contact and conversation.

This weekend was a fine example as I came into Zonies two of my friends were trapped in a conversation with a very drunk, incoherent and what I assume was a homeless man. If he wasn't homeless his drinking problem made him appear that way and that is reason enough to avoid like the plague. I walked in and went straight passed them and to the bar. I have come to just not engage them in he first place. That is how you get invited to start a ventriloquists act.

Yea I said it.

The second story is a little more graphic, well for me it was but no less disturbing. I am not sure if this happened before or after the first story but either way I still throw up a little in my mouth when I think about it. This story takes place before sun down and at a bar that was described in the gay newspaper as "A neighborhood bar." Always be suspicious and always carry Purell. I pull up to the bar around 8ish it is still sunny it was summer in Florida it's always sunny. Anyway the bar is a cinder block building and if you didn't know there was a bar there you wouldn't know it. But that could be said of most gay bars in Orlando so I didn't think much of it. The parking lot was full of cars. I usually take that as a good sign but there were probably a lot of cars in the parking lot of the Hindenburg disaster too.

I go in and this is where I should have just turned around and left, ah hindsight. As I walk in my eyes need to adjust to the near total darkness. There is a light bulb hanging above the pool table and a flickering neon sign behind the bar. I count 3 people in the bar itself. Me, the bartender and someone who actually may have been dead. I go to the bar and order a beer because that is probably the safest thing to get here and I wonder were everyone is. The bar isn't that big and aside from the bathrooms this appears to be the only room in the place. As I sit there the bartender takes the empty from from the man I thought was dead and threw it into a metal trash can and the bottle pretty much explodes and I am hit with shards of glass.

I over hear the bartender say something about someone outside on the patio. Huzzah the patio of course every bar in Florida has more outside space than inside. So I head out. Again my eyes need time to adjust from the near total darkness I was in to the blinding light of... well light. As I round the corner to an open grassy area enclosed by a 12 foot fence I notice to men roughly in their 60's getting it on in the bushes. When I say getting it on I don't mean making out. I mean full on, live sex acts.


Shudder... vomit... shudder again.

It really was comical my response I didn't stop moving from the time I rounded the corner and saw what I saw to just circling and heading back out the way I came. I only stopped because a very short man stopped me. I mean quiet literally put his hand on my chest and stared straight at me and asked "Where are you headed?" I said "Out." He said "Sweety you need to stay." I was like no I really don't. I just looked at him and said "I don't know what is going on here but I need to go." He cleared up a few things when he said "Oh you didn't know this was a sex club?"

And to that I just dropped my beer, pushed the old dwarf aside and bolted for my car.

And so the moral of this story don't ever believe what is written in a gay newspaper and nice old men are rarely just nice.