Washington - Then

Originally this post was going to be simply titled: Washington. You see Washington has become totemic in my life – when KA says Washington, we’re not discussing politics. But as I have been writing in my mind I realize there is the Washington I have remembered for the last eleven years, and there is what I now see through different eyes. This is the Then.

Four years went by between Boston and Washington. The desires that existed on the mean streets that night did not dissipate – no surprise there. In November 1994, a little after I reached the milestone of forty, I found myself going to Washington for back-to-back conferences with a Saturday night in the middle. KA by this point was a strong supporter of my taking the opportunity to explore. To those of you who are wondering what is wrong with her, the answer is her motives were born of living with my increasingly homoerotic fantasies. She needed to know who she was living with and that could not be answered without my in a sense asking. The only rules were I would tell her everything but his name and if we kissed. Rules even I could manage.

Eleven years ago and it is still pre-internet as we know it today. I am focused, I read the phone book, I find the GBLT hotline, and I learn where the bars are: DuPont Circle for those planning on taking the tour. I am organized – contacts, no glasses, leather jacket, condom in the pocket. Saturday night – I am set.

My conference is in Northern Virginia and I head into town. The bars are there, just where they are supposed to be and I go have a drink. Now I have not become Mr. Pickup since Boston, and even when a cute thirty year old walks in, I cannot make the move. In a little bit a guy my age sees me and comes over to talk. I cannot claim to remember the conversation but as clear as day I remember him making a point by putting a hand on my forearm – his left, my right; at that moment the possibility became real. He was gay, as one would expect in a gay bar and he could drink. He did not think I was for real – another suburban married dude whose feet would turn to ice. Our little dance went on for hours – talking, hands wandering and finally in another bar, the hour growing late, he gave me his final test – would I kiss him. I did.

We took a cab back to my hotel – I was tired and he was wasted. We got to the room and I wanted to suck him as soon as we got in the door. We undressed – not the slow sexy type I fantasized about, but there he was, naked on my bed, legs spread and my chance to finally work on a cock without it appearing through a hole in the wall. And work I did, I sucked, I nibbled, I found his balls, my hands wandered freely. I had made it. Only problem was – did I mention he could drink? - he was clearly going to pass out without cumming, so it was nap time.

A little nap and he was back with the living. I remember him going to the bathroom, while I got ready. He came out and there I was, on my stomach, KY out, ready. He commented on my preparedness. He did not understand thirty years of waiting; he had not listened carefully to the fade on All The Young Dudes.

This time he was ready and for the first time, I was fucked by something not made out of rubber. I was in one sense in heaven – the Promised Land – and in another sense disappointed. I waited thirty years – where’s the fireworks, the bells and whistles.

We were ready to nap again. Of course you guys reading this maybe wondering about me. It seems that night my role was clear – I was there to pleasure him – a pure bottom as I have since learned the terms. I humped him and came, but he wasn’t really there for that. We slept, me in his arms, a strange sensation. In a strange way that felt more gay than being fucked.

We woke again. This time silently he put my legs up on his shoulders. He entered me. I was his. I could not believe how deep he went and it felt good but as he kept going and seemingly going deeper, it hurt some. But at that point there was the feeling of no turning back. At that moment I became the bitch of my fantasies.

It was near dawn, and we may have napped again; in the half light of the pre-dawn, he dressed to leave. Not much was said – there was never that much to say and we did have a lot of time to kill in the bar; did I mention he could drink. I gave him cab fare back to town. I always thought he helped himself to another twenty along the way – never much cared. It was done.

Not long after the phone rang – KA knew where I was going and had not heard from me in quite a while. I told all (except for the name and the kiss). It’s funny – I think I remember his name now but had forgotten it for the past decade and the kiss, well there never really was anything to remember.

As the song goes, I’ve said enough, I’ve said too much. There is more – the fallout, the realizations then and more interestingly the realizations now. But that is another post.

It is finally time to leave Washington behind, in so many ways.