what would U do if a 23 year old Italian whose name ought to have been Rocco asked U to film him while he sucked your cock, fully clothed? . . . i walk in, hand u the camera, go down on u and leave as soon as u shoot he typed after asking a million and one questions including will u shave your balls for me? . . . it sounded like a set up but with each new cell phone bulletin announcing his whereabouts as he crossed town in his SUV to get here i realized he wasn't kidding and began peering out my window . . . sure enuf, right on time, up strolled a young guy carrying a video camera who looked like he would sooner bash than blow me, but my weakness for men who look like they belong in Benshonhurst gave me the courage or stupidity to buzz him in . . . how ya doin' he asked casually when he walked in, all 6 feet 2 inches and 220 pounds of him . . . once he demonstrated the zoom function and i lay back on my bed naked, he came up for air only to ask r ya gettin it? . . . not only was i getting it, but i even had the presence of mind to turn the lens vertically so i could get the entire length of my cock as well as his handsome face as it went up and down . . . just ask Barbra Streisand how critical flattering camera angles can be! . . . he made sure to look into the camera every few minutes and during our chat, he had directed me to make sure that i got the cum dribbling from his mouth after i ejaculated . . . it turned out he even had a special effect . . . by supplementing my semen with his saliva, he doubled the volume of my jism . . . i only do this once in a while he explained after returning from the bathroom with a towel for me . . . i'm not into men's bodies and i have a girlfriend but i like doing this . . . whatever floats your boat, fella . . . now give me the camera so i can replay America's Kinkiest Home Videos before u take it home to jerk off.

shortly after Sidney Poitier eloquently delivered one of the most inspiring, generous acceptance speeches i've ever heard for his honorary Academy Award, D called to say that DA wouldn't be going to the Equinox party after all . . . he says u can have his ticket . . . fortunately the Oscars dragged on for another couple of hours giving me more time to recuperate . . . there's an expression for guys like us i said as i hopped in the cab with D: there's no fool like an old fool . . . when we pulled up in front of Octagon on East 33rd Street a little before 2 a.m., i really didn't expect we'd find many people . . . i mean didn't all gay boys want to see Gwyneth Paltrow show her nipples at the Oscars? . . . apparently not, because the space, tho much more intimate than Roseland, already was filled with a decent crowd who, for the most part, avoided black completely . . . who needed more X with such a great vibe and so many attractive men? . . . but once we started dancing to Susan Morabito's music, far better than anything i had heard at the Black Party (tho she, too, succumbed to the Doobie Brothers), keeping my energy and losing my inhibitions seemed a lot more important than getting an erection . . . as usual D preferred the perimeter where there was more room to dance . . . i marvelled at the people around us . . . the tiniest hunk U ever have seen with an adorable man i recognized from the White Party who had to double over before they could communicate . . . a guy who resembled a frog surrounded by smooth, youthful beauties, several of whom kept smiling at me . . . fortunately, it wasn't long before D hooked up with the lumbering beast who had rimmed him at the White Party but who had been dancing with a skinhead in camouflage overalls when we arrived . . . this gave me the freedom to roam and i soon found myself face to face with slim, sexy, social S, who began introducing me to his tribe, most of whom were from Boston . . . i felt like he had given me the key to circuit city and within moments i was on the inside looking out for the very first time . . . i flitted from one guy to the next but kept returning to a man who had given me an unforgettable kiss before releasing me back into the writhing mass of flesh . . . MM eventually grabbed my hand and led me to a couch where we kissed and explored each other's bodies . . . will u stay here if i promise to come right back? he asked . . . sure . . . 5 minutes passed, then 10 . . . so this is how circuit boys dump u when they've had their fill! . . . i couldn't find D back on the dance floor but the key S had handed me still worked and almost immediately unlocked a cluster of three guys . . . we formed a box . . . one guy pulled out all of our limp dicks ("E dicks," according to MM) . . . u need to smile more said the tallest one to me as he played with my foreskin . . . sorry, fella . . . how about if i stick my index fingers in your ass and the guy's to my right while all four of our mouths meet in the middle instead? . . . all the time dancing to the beat, mostly up and down, sweat pouring off my back in torrents, our bodies melding into a single organism . . . sexual osmosis for the duration of a song i no longer can remember . . . so this is what i have been resisting . . . one guy drifted away, then another, leaving me with someone who didn't really appeal to me on his own . . . i guess the whole is greater than the sum of its parts in these situations . . . at that moment i spotted MM, now wearing a shirt . . . he beckoned me over to apologize . . . i went to look for my lover to tell him that i wanted to take u back to my hotel room but i couldn't find him . . . i knew u wouldn't be waiting for me when i returned . . . do u want to go? . . . i gulped . . . u mean stop dancing just when i'm feeling like Eliza Dolittle after she's fooled everybody at the ball into thinking she's someone she's not? . . . oh, what the hell . . . like they say, a bird in the hand and there was that goal still left unfilled by the Black Party . . . i informed D i was leaving and accompanied MM to his room at the Belvedere where, until we were interrupted by three returning friends, i spent two of the most blissful hours of my life . . . to use MM's phrase, we "pleasured" one another but the experience went way beyond the sensual for me, as intense as that aspect was . . . if S had given me the key to circuit city, MM explained its mysteries . . . the first thing u must always remember is that everything that happens on the dance floor is play . . . if u expect to go home with somebody who really turns u on, u r going to be disappointed he warned . . . does that mean what happened with us was the exception to the rule? i wanted to ask, but didn't, recalling that D had broken away from MM after i had first danced with him . . . no matter, i stayed in the moment, hoping the imprint of his body would last forever . . . or at least until the next circuit party.

when deciding what time to arrive at the Black Party keeps U occupied for a week, U know U have fallen off the deep end . . . DA and i opted for 2 a.m. . . . why toss and turn in bed with giddy anticipation when u can bump and grind on the dance floor? . . . the line in front of Roseland stretched all the way to Eighth Avenue . . . tho stern expressions were de rigeur, we were giggling like a couple of schoolgirls as we critiqued the outfits which, for the most part, were much darker than my camouflage pants and D's black nylons . . . this event is the only time it's ok to be tacky in our world i pronounced when one fellow, who clearly ordered his attire from International Male, strutted past in FLARED leather pants. . . inside, there were plenty of bareassed men wearing chaps and more harnesses than U would find in the stables at Belmont, instantly proving that clothes don't make the man, bodies do . . . only a muscular black fellow wrapped in silver chains who looked as if he belonged on an antebellum slave auction block provided any frisson (his loaded image flashed into my mind later that night during the Oscars, which were as much a celebration of black pride as acting ability) . . . U needed a crowbar to get on the dance floor and armor or a flak jacket once U got there to prevent the (metal) studs from ripping your flesh . . . somehow i managed to resist the lure of the back room upstairs which would have been more difficult to enter than a tight ass without lube . . . D found us around 5 a.m. and our X kicked in just as Victor Calderone's melody-free set was peaking . . . is he really playing the Doobie Brothers? . . . . are these slowdowns that regularly follow the hard driving beats drug lulls? . . . call me hopelessly unhip but i was longing to hear Cher's new single, "Song for the Lonely" . . . it would have given me more energy than any drug . . . fortunately Michael Fierman did not leave the crowd to its own devices when he took over the booth and reached back to the 80s for the Pet Shop Boys . . . was it a coincidence that the crowd began to thin? . . . no matter, it shortened the line to piss, and left more room to dance, to rest and to set your sights on somebody . . . while D and i were avoiding the guys who had engulfed DA (no amount of free K could have enticed me into that bridge and tunnel group), i spotted a familiar face thru the crowd . . . much to my surprise and delight, S recognized me after our single encounter in the meatrack last summer . . . i'm going back to the Paramount to rest up for the Equinox after party he explained when i reached for him . . . for the first time, i was sorry i hadn't bought tickets along with D and DA, whose tolerance for what i call excess always has been much greater than mine . . . a cute boy with a cumcatcher wearing a neck collar, harness and leather hot pants kept smiling in our direction . . . oh yeah, i know him from El Mirage said D . . . he expected ME to drive the bus . . . i interpreted that as permission to move in on him . . . at the same time some short guy in black sun glasses with nipples like thimbles moved in on me . . . will u do me a favor? he asked after putting my hand on his exposed but so-so dick . . . will u go down on me? . . . Thumbelina's plea left me nonplussed . . . lust has gotta be spontaneous for me, fella, especially on the dance floor . . . i turned my attention back to the boy in hot pants, who said he was from Barcelona . . . i held him from behind while we danced, pressing my crotch into his butt . . . do u square dance? he asked . . . your rhythm has a nice swing . . . then: would u like to see? before unsnapping and removing his pants . . . i couldn't wait to pull aside his jock and probe his ass, which had been pre-lubricated . . . my lust was definitely spontaneous this time . . . still, despite the anything-goes atmosphere, which included a humpy blond guy swaying next to us stark naked, inhibitions and D's proximity prevented me from fucking him . . . Barcelona boy removed a business card from his sock when it became evident i wouldn't be using anything on him other than my finger and tongue . . . will u remember me? i asked . . . u r the only guy i give my card to today he said . . . this response almost fulfilled my goal of picking up somebody so i decided to leave, utterly exhausted after dancing almost non-stop for nearly 13 hours . . . D had some crystal-fueled hottie from Laguna Beach in his clutches but when he invited him to go home, the guy said i don't leave with people i meet at these events . . . it's obvious that all three of us (DA had departed in complete disgust before noon) need to take remedial hook-up classes at circuit boy school.

audience reaction in a movie theatre knocked the complacency right out of me yesterday . . . towards the end of Y Tu Mama Tambien, a great Mexican coming-of-age movie, a beautiful older woman falls to her knees and begins loosening the belt buckles of two drunken teenage boys, both of whom have already fucked her, albeit ineptly . . . they're at a loss about what to do with THEIR mouths, so after an awkward moment they kiss, tentatively and then enthusiastically, surrendering themselves to the pure lust of the moment . . . the audience of upper west side liberals in an art house, for christ's sake, emits a collective groan . . . now mind U, we have just spent the better part of two hours watching the frankest depiction of adolescent sexuality U ever have seen on screen including scenes where the boys chase each other around a locker room naked and jerk off on separate diving boards at an empty country club, coming at the mention of Salma Hayek . . . but just when i'm congratulating myself on how much i can enjoy the sex lives of three heteros, even get a little turned on, the audience reminds me how much MY sexuality disgusts them . . . it's a good thing i didn't have a bag of popcorn . . . i might have stood up, screamed you fucking assholes, it's only a kiss and thrown it everywhere . . . instead, i'll just go to the Black Party tonight and act out.

sure, like just about everybody else i know, i occasionally make snide references to Chelsea boys . . . in my day we called 'em "clones" . . . they lived in the West Village, danced at 12 West or the Saint, fucked at the Mineshaft or the Anvil and summered in the Pines . . . in other words, they defined themselves by their homosexuality, embracing a scene that made the gay urban professionals like me who flocked to the upper west side more than a little uptight . . . Chelsea boys may live a little farther uptown than their ancestors and they generally have better bodies with goatees and shaved heads replacing shoulder-length hair and Mark Spitz mustaches, but since many aren't old enough to recall the fate of so many clones, they even have begun to share the same sexual abandonment that for so long has been enjoyed only by the dead . . . and now that i've reached a point in my life where, like so many Chelsea boys, i, too, am counting the days to the Black Party, i can admit that much of my disdain for the scene has always been that of an envious outsider . . . until last night, when a pair of 30something lovebirds cruising online invited me down to their apartment on Eighth Avenue between 15th & 16th Streets . . . it takes a lot to get me to travel that far on my bike when it's 32 degrees outside but with pictures like theirs i probably would have swum to Staten Island if necessary . . . they were so hot that i had a lot of trouble believing 1) they existed and 2) they would invite me inside . . . the Latin guy who answered the door wearing only camouflage shorts looked like he should be behind the bar at Twist . . . gulp . . . my boyfriend's taking a shower . . . he'll be right out . . . i cataloged the furnishings (kitchen table, a ratty red couch that looked as if it belonged in a Wild West bordello, a chair, stereo, TV and computer) in their dreary fifth floor walk-up while he got me a glass of water . . . a pint-size Colt model, whose chiseled face had been mostly obscured by a white cowboy hat in the pictures they had sent, soon emerged . . . an even bigger gulp . . . glistening with oil, he was attitude-free and eager to get started . . . their huge sleigh bed took up most of the only other room, where they said they already had spent much of the day, and had enough down pillows for a sleepover after an orgy . . . we started off slowly, just like the club music coming from the living area, while i got the lay of the land, so to speak . . . i couldn't imagine what they needed me for until i realized my dick was twice as big and hard as either of theirs, without a cockring, which they both wore . . . but when the sex started to get as "intense" as their profile had promised, i sacrificed condom use to the heat of the moment and found myself behaving as if i were the star top in a bareback porno movie being directed by the guy who answered the door . . . that's right, fuck his face, he loves it . . . c'mon, shove it up his ass hard while he sucks my cock . . . ain't love grand? . . . this went on for nearly an hour until they both came . . . i didn't, knowing that there would be plenty of time for that in future fantasy replays . . . we don't do this very often, explained the director who showed me to the bathroom and pointed to a stack of white towels plentiful enough for the clientele of the New York Sports Club . . . they're clean, he said, grabbing one . . . i hope your boyfriend's asshole is too . . . we didn't find much to talk about while i dressed altho they both complimented me on my . . . punctuality . . . sigh . . . as i unlocked my bike downstairs, another cute Chelsea boy walking his dog smiled at me and looked back a couple of times . . . i rode back to my safer and wider world where there are fewer men who can make me lose my mind.

r u familiar with the concept of "transparency" online? . . . i'm talking about AOL's buddy list feature which allows u to see when somebody u know has signed on . . . i think a lot of guys must use it as a fuck buddy list, adding men who they want to fuck and men they'd like to fuck again . . . not me . . . i think it's invasive . . . and not only because B told me what happened to him . . . when he created his buddy list, he enabled the feature that makes it sound like a door is opening or closing when one of your buddies signs on or off . . . i stopped going online because as soon as i did i heard a dozen doors slam shut, he said, only half joking . . . now keep in mind that B is more likely to send an IM that says "u misspelled versatile" than "hot profile," but still . . . isn't there already enough to bruise our egos in the real world without allowing computer technology to do more damage? . . . of course AOL also gives u the option of making yourself invisible, the internet equivalent of caller ID blocking, something i discovered only recently . . . a couple of months ago, i finally caved and started a buddy list when this nice, hunky guy really got under my skin . . . but for some reason his name never popped up on my screen . . . then one day i noticed he was in an M4M chat room . . . i did a member search, which said member is not currently signed on yet there he was plain as day, dropping his gorgeous rod in a fishing hole . . . he must have blocked me . . . how dare he! . . . does he really think i'm going to pester him? . . . do i have to tell u that i destroyed my buddy list with almost as much grim determination as i deleted David's name from the Manhattan phone book when we broke up and he moved to Florida? . . . David would have said not so fast . . . when u assume things about another person, u make an ass out of u AND me he would have cautioned, quoting a therapist who must have spent more time reading aphoristic self-help books than studying Freud (which, by the way, isn't necessarily a bad thing) . . . and David would have been right, of course . . . i discovered that the guy for whom i'd sacrificed my anti-buddy list principles remained invisible no matter which one of my screen names i was using (okay, okay call me Sybil; my principles, such as they are, never stopped me from creating multiple identities, but hey, like the Pet Shop Boys sing, sometimes i think i'm too many people at once and going online allows me to indulge them all tho not at the same time, dammit) . . . so it turned out not to be about me after all . . . my self esteem quickly rose to a functional level . . . i even hooked up with the guy once more (his move) but that doesn't mean i'll be joining the buddy list brigade again any time soon . . . ignorance IS bliss . . . besides, there's always the search member online feature . . . and even if that doesn't work, it can't stop u from spotting the guy on the street, walking home from the gym with his lover.

when i was little, my grandfather took me to a sporting goods store where he purchased some fishing tackle . . . the fly fishing section fascinated me . . . it had dozens of colorful lures, each one guaranteed to appeal to a particular kind of fish . . . kind of like the AOL cruising experience . . . think about it: what are screen names and profiles but lures for the fishermen who drop their lines in M4M chat rooms, the local fishing holes . . . the lurkers outside the rooms, whose names u never see until they nibble at your line by sending you an IM, are the fish (okay, okay some guys are both fishermen and fish but humor me) . . . and size queens really aren't all that different from anglers who always want to catch the biggest fish!

the point of this silly prelude being that i just created a new screen name and profile which seems to hook bisexuals, a new species for me and one an out gay man is unlikely to encounter offline . . . like the guy Sunday night . . . it took less that three rounds of IMs to make a date after we exchanged pics . . . he had the lights turned down a little too low when i arrived but he didn't waste any time escorting me into the bedroom and shutting the blinds . . . i'm so glad u came over he said more than once laying down on his bed where we had straightforward sex that quickly led to mutual orgasm even tho he refused to let me fuck him . . . he pulled his sweat pants back as soon as we finished but if cuddling was out of the question, conversation wasn't . . . he told me about his failed marriage and how child support payments for his young son were eating up the salary he earned as a systems analyst for a leading financial services company . . . will u tell him u are bisexual? i asked . . . no, it's bad enough he already thinks i'm "fancy" / what do u mean? / here, i'll show u . . . he led me into his kitchen, through a living room very decorated with Erte prints and knick knacks from the Far East . . . i collect these, he said proudly, turning on the light that illuminated shelf after shelf of TEAPOTS . . get me outta here! . . . the kid must be relieved Dad lives in Manhattan, not Manhasset, far away from all of his little buddies . . . if i was tempted to sing i'm a little teapot, short and stout, u can imagine how a group of adolescent boys would react.

an encounter with a second bisexual last night left me searching my new profile for clues about its appeal . . . maybe they're misinterpreting the phrase "swing when you're winning," which alludes to a new Robbie Williams CD, not "swinging both ways" . . . once again, a very quick hook up, unusual only because he apologized for sending me a pic of his dick before providing one of his face . . . do u like? he asked, after i opened the cock shot . . . as much as i can see / what do u mean? / all dick and no face doesn't quite do it for me / oh, sorry . . . as it turned out, this exchange told me everything i needed to know about the guy . . . like his predecessor, he was no slouch in the looks or body departments . . . as soon as he walked in he said i'm really horny, grabbed my dick, and spent the next half hour giving me Linda Lovelace head . . . after i shot my wad all over his face, he licked me clean and jerked himself off almost immediately . . . i didn't dress, hoping he might stick around for a probing question or two . . . ain't it great when AOL works? i asked . . . i really don't know he replied . . . this is only my second or third hook up online . . . i don't need cock all the time but i just broke up with my girlfriend so . . . it's all about oral for me . . . nothing else about the gay lifestyle appeals to me . . . i don't like kissing, anal . . . 75% of the self-identified gay men i've had sex with didn't blow me as well or as enthusiastically as this fellow who insisted he was going to get married, have kids and give up cock . . . just like that.

so now that i've landed two, what generalizations can i make? . . . they don't jerk u around . . . neither fish sported any of the markings i associate with gay men in turn-of-the-century NYC (tight t-shirt, goatee, buzzed or shaved head, tattoo, piercing, 2xist underwear, etc) . . . their screen names and profiles lack the sexual explicitness favored by the more colorful fish u typically find in M4M chatrooms . . . they define their masculinity, something both emphasized in their profiles, based purely on their physical appearances since it's a quality that i don't usually associate with collecting teapots or sucking cocks . . . they cool down very fast after sex . . . in short: hot sex, cold fish.

why is sex the only area of my life where i remain completely irrational? . . . if somebody walked up to me on the street and offered me a thousand bucks just for being me, i'd say take a hike buddy and never look back because i know that if something is too good to be true, it probably is . . . yet more than once i've ignored a cardinal rule of online cruising and agreed to meet someone who doesn't have a pic . . . in fact, horniness ran roughshod over good sense twice last week . . . one guy with a profile that proved that the whole is not the sum of the parts was so persistent after i sent him a dick pic--he never failed to IM me whenever i signed on--i thought what the hell, if he's willing to come to my house and suck me off at 2 o'clock in the afternoon, what have i got to lose? . . . nothing but my self respect which, truth be told, i lost the moment i photographed my penis to increase my chances for AOL hook ups and reduced myself to a piece of flesh otherwise known as the currency of the realm . . . there was nothing particularly wrong with the guy if u don't mind someone who probably saw Judy at Carnegie Hall in '61 and hadn't changed his hairstyle or his cologne since . . . and while he managed to get me hard, against all expectations, with his skillful, mentholated mouth, my brain, the part that always seems to be missing in action when i'm giving my address to somebody sight unseen, chose that moment to kick in . . . so instead of kicking him out or quickly reaching orgasm, i'm listening to this annoying little voice, also known as my superego, lecture me . . . now let me get this straight it says are u the same guy who told David u could never hustle because u wouldn't be able to get hard if u didn't find somebody attractive? so how come u are letting some old geezer who oughta ease up on the breath mints suck your dick in your own house? . . . pity? . . . get a job or start charging! . . . at your age, they're not going to be willing to pay much longer . . . of course i don't come and put an end to both the cocksucking and upbraiding by finally telling the guy on his knees in my vestibule this isn't going to work . . . never again, i vow and then Friday night some faceless guy with bubble butt pix that have my eyes popping like a cartoon character knocks at the door . . . quel surprise, his face and back have more pits than a bushel of cherries but once again, instead of saying this isn't going to work, i feel sorry for him thinking i'll just turn the lights way down . . . fortunately i didn't turn them so low that i can't see the hemorrhoids or warts on his asshole . . . now i feel like i need a body condom and tell him no, i won't be rimming u tonight or anytime soon, ever in fact, but still he doesn't get the hint . . . i let him jerk off and this time the little voice isn't screeching at me so much as trying to walk a mile in this guy's shoes . . . a face pic isn't going to do anything to get him laid . . . i mean, really, what the hell is he supposed to do? . . . what do u do if u are gay and old or ugly or both? . . . u hide behind a computer screen and troll the M4M chatrooms, knowing that P.T. Barnum had it right . . . a sucker IS born every minute!

A DOG'S TALE

is it possible to be jealous of a dog? . . . u bet it is . . . David had a single condition before he agreed to leave the SRO hotel where he was staying and move in with me: that he be allowed to retrieve Smokey, a mostly labrador mixed breed he had left behind in Newton Falls with his parents . . . i love dogs as much as the next guy, but the two of us and a big dog in a Manhattan studio? . . . not practical, i argued, an argument that carried absolutely no weight with David whose stubbornness inevitably trumped my rational objections throughout our relationship . . . when he brought her back, i can't say she impressed me much . . . and when he called out to her, lengthening the "o" in Smoooooooooookey, i cringed in embarrassment . . . i loved New York City for its sophistication and here i was strolling through Riverside Park with some midwestern hick sporting a bad haircut who had named his mutt after some goody two-shoes bear . . . worse yet, the two of them seemed to cuddle more than we did . . . u would fuck her if u could, i said when i was feeling neglected . . . u don't understand our bondDavid explained, always patiently . . . i first saw Smokey tied up in the snow on my way to work . . . i said to myself if she's there on my way home i'm taking her . . . and i did . . . David's past fascinated me . . . he had moved to Denver to get away from his family after the older brother he idolized had hung himself . . . he occassionally sold his body at the bus station to get food for him and Smokey (meanwhile i was studying for tests or writing papers that explained the difference between philosophers who had been dead for centuries in a contemporary civilization class) . . . Smokey predated me in David's affections and she didn't give him nearly as much attitude . . . plus i couldn't deny she had a far sweeter disposition than either of my childhood pets . . . David's erratic schedule meant that i had to walk and feed her more and more . . . she also served another critical function in our relationship, one which David took advantage of long before i ever did.

no matter what time David returned from whatever off off Broadway show he was working on, he always took Smokey for a walk . . . usually a long walk . . . a boy and his dog, i would rationalize . . . they need their time together . . . but one night, while awaiting their return, i took the garbage downstairs and found Smokey at the building entrance, dragging her leash and wagging her tail . . . an hour or so later, David finally came back, distraught until he spotted Smokey on her favorite perch, the sofa bed she eventually turned black . . . she got away from me, he said . . . i didn't buy it for a minute and kept pressing him for a more satisfactory answer until he admitted he had been getting a blow job when she wandered away . . . i learned two things that night: 1) taking the dog for a walk was his euphemism for cruising the park and 2) Smokey was a lot smarter than i had given her credit for, navigating her way home from Riverside Park through at least one busy intersection and making several turns in different directions . . . we bonded and she soon became one of the most frequently walked dogs on the Upper West Side.

by the time our relationship was coming to an end, we had moved closer to Central Park where the opportunites for anonymous sex were unlimited . . . if only Smokey could talk, i used to say, usually on nights when she got two walks . . . altho she never "got away from me" i do recall an evening when i picked up her leash, which i had dropped when i was having sex with somebody in a cul de sac, and found that she had dragged it thru shit . . . the perfect metaphor for my sex life, i thought having become the kind of guy who had sex more often standing up outdoors than in a bed . . . David and i weren't even sleeping together anymore and while there wasn't much rancor between us, i was surprised--and relieved--when he agreed to leave Smokey in my care after deciding to follow one of the chorus boys who had been fucking him to Florida . . . u know how she hates hot weather i pleaded . . . what i didn't mention was that Smokey had begun serving the same purpose for me that she had for him when he was hustling in Denver: an inexhaustible and non-judgmental source of affection.

who gets the pet can be a delicate issue for gay men . . . when David eventually returned from Florida, as i knew he would, he didn't try to reclaim Smokey which came as a welcome surprise, as emotioanlly dependent on her as i had become on her . . . does this man commit to anything or is he simply acknowledging that i'm probably the more responsible caretaker? . . . fortunately, our decision to share a house in the Pines offered the perfect joint custody arrangement . . . as soon as we arrived each weekend, we would remove Smokey's collar and replace it with a string of plastic pearls . . . with her graying snout, proud bearing and rheumy brown eyes, our housemates agreed she looked like an old dowager of uncertain ancestry . . . everyone quickly learned how to make her howl by saying sing, Smokey, sing . . . she even had her very own stupid pet trick, which we would make her demonstrate everytime someone new visisted the house: we would affix a leaf of iceberg lettuce to the roof her mouth and announce that she was doing her snake impression when she rapidly moved her tongue in and out of her mouth trying to dislodge the lettuce . . . we loved tormenting Smokey by simultaneously calling out to her to see who she would come to . . . i won only if it was close to her dinnertime which didn't bother me as much as u might expect . . . after all, she and David had been together three years before we met . . . i admired her loyalty and recognized that she had forced David and i to stay in touch during a difficult period when i would have preferred to cut him out of my life altogether . . . our housemates often would comment on the maturity of our relationship . . . we even shared a bedroom . . . and then David met the love of his life.

H, the guy who organized our house, was an older man who had gotten David a high paying job as a set decorator for As The World Turns . . . he didn't believe in writing down rules but enforced his as mercilessly as an alpha girl . . . there was hell to pay if we ran out of lemon curd for the scones he made every Sunday . . . H had invited one of his "haircut boys" to be his weekend guest (one of our cute housemates, whose hair H also cut free of charge, had explained their relationship) . . . for some reason, everyone predicted that he and David would hit it off . . . and they did . . . while i was still at the beach, they left the house to go for a walk . . . when they returned for cocktails--was it stingers or sidecars that summer?--i asked where's Smokey? . . . she started to follow us but we sent her back said David . . . what do u mean u sent her back? i demanded . . . she's around somewhere David said lackadaisically . . . his thoughts were more focussed on finding a place where he and haircut boy could have some privacy, not on finding his/our dog . . . but when Smokey didn't turn up after a thorough search of the house and the surrounding area, even David realized the situation was serious . . . we filed a missing dog report with the Pines Animal Welfare Society . . . haircut boy couldn't have been more solicitous (or ineffectual) but the tension between David and i was so intense that he fled to tea along with the rest of the house . . . within an hour the phone rang . . . a dog fitting Smokey's description had been reported . . . we really thought she must have wandered over from the Grove because nobody would be caught wearing pearls after 6 in the Pines joked the woman, a former Miss America contestant, who gave us a nearby address where we could pick up Smokey and a line that helped everybody forget the late afternoon's unpleasantness . . . Smokey and i even drove David's future lover home the next evening . . . funny, how we share the same name.

Smokey enjoyed two more seasons with me in the Pines, including one with David and haircut boy, until she grew too feeble to make the trip . . . we did lose her one more time, briefly, when she wandered into the empty disco on our way to the harbor . . . another good story, much more amusing than when she took a dump on the upper deck of the ferry during her final crossing . . . David moved into J's ground floor apartment around the corner from my third floor walk up which made it easy to drop her off there the last summer of her life while i continued going to the beach . . . when Smokey grew increasingly incontinent and started to fall down the stairs, i told David, who recently had been diagnosed with HIV, it's time to put her down . . . he refused and insisted that she move in with him and J . . . i don't know how J put up with it . . . he had lost his longtime lover to AIDS less than a year before he met David and now he had another sick lover and a sick dog to take care of . . . Smokey steadily deteriorated for a month or two . . . when she stopped singing for her supper, even David admitted it was cruel to keep her alive . . . we made an appointment with a local vet . . . the three of us--David and his two J's--held hands while the vet injected Smokey with sodium pentobarbital . . . it usually requires only one injection, said the vet when she continued breathing for what seemed like a long time . . . David and i looked at one another thru wet eyes and smiled . . . it took twice as much poison to kill our dog . . . another good Smokey story, but one that David wouldn't be able to tell very long.