isn't it always the way? . . . just when u manage to convince yourself that something is a complete waste of time, it comes through for u and manages to wipe away all your previous frustration . . . i'm talking about on-line cruising which substitutes for the beach and the park from November through March . . . at first, the experience seemed full of possibilities and almost as easy as ordering in dinner but four years on it seems more like so many screen names, so little action . . . until one recent Saturday afternoon when i felt like i won the AOL equivalent of the Powerball lottery . . . PeterG9454@aol.com IM'd me, not for the first time, but for the first time since i had spotted him in R's Picture Gallery one rainy afternoon in the Pines . . . he can't be for real, can he? i asked . . . oh yes he can replied R who also flashed his highly-recommended grin . . . i didn't tell R that more than once i had accused PeterG9454 of being a fake . . . maybe this explained why he continued to IM me . . . truly hot guys with great bodies and fetish-free profiles probably aren't accustomed to rejection . . . so as soon as i ascertained that he did remember me, i confessed that since his JPG had been independently verified i was ready to send him mine . . . two exchanges later we had a date . . . i didn't doubt he would show--guys who mean business don't usually waste a lot of time playing 20 Questions--but i did wonder if he would stay . . . not that i have a bad self-image, but i do know when some body--or face--is out of my league . . . i greet my AOL dates in bright lighting so that we both can see what we're getting into . . . height was my only advantage so when he suggested that we move into the bedroom after an obligatory grope, i felt exactly as i did when Rudolph waved me into Studio 54 . . . once inside, i began to glow . . . we removed our clothes in slo-mo and gently ran our fingertips over each bodies . . . tender kisses and nibbles too with no rush to orgasm . . . porn as u might see it on the Lifetime channel minus the dialog . . . the only thing i can remember him saying is you'll have to come over to see the flat screen TV i bought on Ebay . . . hope does spring eternal even if it means waiting months for the bulbs you plant to bloom.

THEN
does travel make u more vulnerable to romantic delusion? . . . or do Europeans satisfy my determination to find somebody completely different from New York homos whose world begins and ends in Chelsea? . . . my trip to Berlin, the second city we chose to visit as part of the Thanksgiving tradition of alphabetical touring i started with C & D last year by going to Amsterdam, raises these and many other questions . . . nothing like falling a little bit in love, against all my better instincts, to get those neurons firing . . . who could have imagined, beginning our gay equivalent of the pub crawl as we did in a dark room in the former East Berlin, that a week later i would be obsessing over a man who has yet to respond to my trans Atlantic declaration of surrender? . . . you didn't need to be fluent in German to enjoy the Greifbar which had been recommended by a couple of chatty lesbians we met earlier in the day at a coffeehouse (raising the question of why they would be familiar with a place that completely ignored their needs) . . . the dark room reminded me exactly of the smokey basement in the Jewel Theatre, a guilty pleasure long since purged by Rudy when we still hated him and where i never had to talk much either . . . from there we followed the trail of gold stars in the Berlin equivalent of HX to a venue which would have required us to check our clothes, a step that we three sisters were unwilling to take, even as drunk as we were on dark, sweet beer . . . u have to admire their entrepeneurial spirit, observed D as we made our final stop in what appeared to be an East German's living room and where i finally found a guy who opened his lips when we kissed . . . C, a somewhat inhibiting presence, returned to Russia the next day, in between our visits to the new Jewish and Film museums, which left D and i free to indulge our preference for less enlightening pursuits . . . we checked into the Gate Sauna, not far from the remarkable Potsdamer Platz . . . nothing like an old, fat and balding crowd to make a couple of fit, attractive Americans in their late 40s feel like porno stars in a Bel Ami production . . . should we go? asked D, the first time we ran into one another wearing blue towels and cheap flip flops . . . ever the pennypinching pragmatist, i insisted that we give it some time . . . context, after all, is everything, i whispered, and if one hot guy shows up the odds that one or both of us will get him are definitely in our favor at the moment . . . have more prophetic words ever been spoken in a bathhouse? . . . i noticed a big hunky man with a choirboy face and a hefty dick giving me a couple of sidelong glances in the shower but when he let the door to the steam room slam behind him just as i was about to enter too, pride kicked in and i decided to peddle my charms elsewhere . . . it wasn't long before i hooked up with a stocky cocksucker with skin even smoother than mine and a whole lot younger . . . he was giving me wunderbar head when D walked in and sat right across from us, oblivious to the fact that he was making his slightly older sister blush with discomfort . . . fortunately D moved into the darker recesses of the mist, an area i had avoided for the very reason that made him exit in a slight panic: twice as many insistent hands as cocks or mouths and no faces . . . shortly after i had my first sexual release of the trip, the place suddenly seemed a lot more crowded . . . still raring to get the full value of my 24 deutschemarks worth (less than $12), i walked downstairs to the video room where a lone, half reclining figure masturbated while watching a huge black cock fill the screen and anything else in sight . . . i joined him, sitting a discreet distance away, and soon realized it was the big guy from the shower . . . he started to return my glances only after i pulled out my very weiss cock, rather self-consciously, given my childhood recollection of blonde frauliens going crazy for schwarze GIs . . . i didn't move any closer until he gestured me to do so, figuring he probably wanted me to worship him, something that i was willing to do but not willing enough to risk rejection for . . . much to my surprise, he went down on me first, initiating half an hour of the best sex i've had in a long, long time, not only because of the heat it generated, but because of the tenderness he showed after i had allowed him to dominate me . . . what r u looking all starry eyed about? D asked as i was leaving the room . . . when i told him that the reason had just preceded me he commented handsome guy! . . . too bad it didn't end there . . . we smiled shyly at one another in the shower room a few minutes later, but i can't say that i had any desire to talk to him and not just because i didn't know if we spoke the same language . . . but when Nanno overheard D and I discussing where to eat before leaving the dressing room, he spoke to us in perfect English . . . D, who is as comfortable chatting people up as i am with feeling them up, kept the conversation going and within a minute or two Nanno announced he would be willing to join us at the Turkish restaurant he had just recommended . . . my regular skimming of the New York Times every day had prepped me enough about German current affairs to do my best Barbara Walters impersonation en route to the restaurant . . . he hadn't voted for the recently elected mayor because he was the only gay candidate but because he was the best candidate . . . he insisted that we were wrong to draw any conclusions about the differences between East and West Germans because after unification Germany was whole again . . . he remained non-committal about sending German troops to the Afghanistan and gave the impression that September 11 had inconvenienced him personally more than it had upset him . . . what is the point of the ECU if i have to carry my passport when i fly to Paris again? he complained without ever acknowledging the horror of the event that had precipitated worldwide changes in travel security . . . i might have forgiven his nationalistic streak if he hadn't started rhapsodizing about Celine Dion . . . a little knowledge is a dangerous thing . . . interrogation and enough jet lag to make me cranky had transformed my beautifully put together Teutonic hunk into a queen with bad taste in divas about to celebrate his 40th and who didn't usually like men without hairy chests . . . or maybe jealousy finally had reared its ugly head: he kept looking at D and touching him repeatedly throughout the meal . . . after ordering a second round of beers when the severely good looking Turkish waiter finally cleared our plates, Nanno finally asked his first question, one that clarified his real agenda: so are u two boyfriends? . . . no . . . were u ever? . . . no . . . will u ever be? . . . i waited for D to answer that one first . . . i concluded he must be looking for a threeway (wish i knew how to say that in German!) . . . well, he ain't gonna get one . . . and then Nanno surprised me a second time by inviting us to his home for breakfast the next day . . . even though i was OVER him, it would have been difficult to refuse, particularly when he suggested that his sister might be able to get us a private tour of the Reichstag . . . so what if he likes D? i rationalized . . . he's not even D's type . . . besides, i'd love to see how a gay bookshop clerk lives in Germany. . . we agreed to call him the next morning . . . another surprise when we parted: after first kissing D on both cheeks, and then doing the same with me, Nanno looked a little startled when my lips didn't immediately meet his for a third and final kiss . . . have I misjudged him? . . . is jet lag interfering with my emotional radar? . . . D thought i was crazy when i insisted that Nanno had been flirting with him, even though Nanno had revealed that his hands were among those that had frightened D out of the steamroom while D had been holding his stout cock . . . the whole evening brought back bad memories of another D, David, my only boyfriend who, in fact, resembled Nanno a little but wait . . . D is in the David role here, not Nanno, with me once again feeling like the troll . . . a good night's sleep helped suppress my insecurity and by the time we rang Nanno, i was very excited about our date no matter how many people were involved . . . D suggested we bring something so we bought flowers and argued about the selection very much like lovers would have . . . i can't believe u think that big pink flower goes in this arrangement he criticized . . . the cab dropped us off in a Grammercy Park-like neighborhood in front of a beautiful six-story building with a lot of faux Art Nouveau detailing . . . Nanno, wearing his glasses, asked us to remove our shoes and handed us a pair of slipper socks when we entered . . . his apartment proved his assertion that Berlin is the cheapest European capital and offers the highest standard of living for the middle class, though it probably helped that he makes his rent checks payable to his sister . . . D hated the Sandro Chia lithographs that hung everywhere in two of the three large rooms with very high ceilings plus kitchen and 2 baths (with heated floors !) . . . i had eyes only for his book and CD collection, so extensive that part of it had to be accessed with a stepstool . . . basically u r all about music and books then? i asked after he played several cuts from his favorite CDs including "Swing When You're Winning," the new release by Robbie Williams . . . and sex he added with a huge grin, flashing his perfect teeth . . . looks like you found your twin . . . laughed D . . . an hour later, during a conversation with a lot more give and take than the night before, Nanno and i were confessing that we both were control freaks who yearned to be dominated . . . maybe we all should go to bed so he'll find out that D won't give him what he wants i thought . . . or maybe i should tell D that i'll meet him later and try to pick up where we left off in the steamroom with Nanno . . . instead of pursuing either of these adventurous options i agreed with D when he said we had better leave if we wanted to do what we had planned . . . despite the steady, cold drizzle, Nanno offered to walk us to the U-Bahn and agreed to have his picture taken with me . . . he deliberately positioned himself on top as D took the out-of-focus shot . . . no double cheek kissing when our goodbye train pulled into the station . . . D planted a chaste one on his lips . . . so did i . . . but when the doors closed and we started to pull away Nanno kept looking back and forth from me to D when i had hoped i would get the last look back (in my book, the "look back" signifies real, rather than feigned, interest) . . . is that why i couldn't wait to go downstairs into the darkroom at Tom's Bar later that night where anonymous sex has rarely felt so unfulfilling? . . . why didn't Nanno pick up when i called to say auf wiedersehen the next morning? . . . as soon as i got home i put Robbie Williams in the CD player and composed a feverish e-mail that left little doubts about what i was feeling . . . will i ever learn? . . . should i try to find the lyrics to "You're The Top" in German and e-mail them to him?

NOW

fuck my Berlin ballad (wish i knew how to say that in German!)