my sex life still holds some surprises . . . i just paid a hustler i picked up in the Ramble $4 less than it would have cost me to get into the Adonis . . . how many of the bodies U see on screen there have scars they got from Golden Gloves boxing like Jose? . . . smooth Latin flesh stretched as tight as a drum over welterweight musculature . . . and the hands, oh the large manly hands that limply clasped mine when our transaction concluded . . . Mama must adore him . . . Jose insisted that i ride him back from the park on my handlebars . . . i did, eagerly, as far as my block, and not only because i wanted to press my pumping ass against his crotch as he straddled the seat and gently gripped my waist . . . but as much as i enjoyed my Butch Cassidy moment, i didn’t need my neighbors seeing me in the company of a street tough . . . even one without an erection . . . still, he didn’t waste any time as soon as we got inside my apartment . . . are u ok? he asked, for the third or fourth time . . . Jose’s bedroom eyes were much more articulate than his speech . . . while it occurred to me that he might be dangerous, i began tugging at his clothes . . . he wanted to know have u got any fresh movies? . . . did he mean flesh? . . . with women? no? how about books? . . . finally somebody would get some use out of Sappho’s Art of Loving Women, a coffee table book a deeply obtuse boss had given me! . . . but cynic that i am, i continued to believe (hope?) his often stated preference for girls was a hoax and that the hickey on his neck was homosexual . . . he insisted paging through the book but i didn’t allow it to get in the way of his gorgeous face, one that begged to be photographed by Bruce Weber . . . shave the fuzz above his full lip and make up the scar that shoots out from his right eyebrow and U would have a magazine cover boy that could launch a thousand wet dreams . . . . Jose was way cuter than Menudo, in part or in whole . . . i didn’t give two shits about my pride when he fucked my face while looking at gauzy pictures of bare breasted women discreetly embracing . . . nice book, but not good enough he commented after ejaculating a small quantity of semen on his ridged abdominals . . . it took me a little longer, but not by much . . . i went into the living room to retrieve my wallet, hidden on top of a biography of Truman Capote, out of temptation’s way . . . when Jose finished dressing, i handed him a $10 bill . . . u are worth a lot more . . . he looked at me as coldly as he could through his warm brown eyes . . . u got car fare? he demanded . . . true to form, i refused, tho if he’d asked me to give him a ride on my bicycle again, i would have, without a moment’s hesitation . . . a deal’s a deal after all.