and sometimes a cigar isn't just a cigar: it's an early warning device . . . if the wind is blowing in the right direction, i know almost as soon as i enter the Ramble if Triple Stogie is occupying my favorite bench . . . this used to be annoying; now it's arousing . . . who knew that cheap cigar smoke could be such a potent sexual stimulant? . . . is this the birth of a fetish?

it could be worse . . . as a teenager, David, my dead ex, used to spend hours cruising the roadside rests in eastern Ohio hoping some closet case would suck him off . . . the smell of shit gives me a hard on he once confessed . . . but not yours he added quickly . . . thank god for little favors.

stocky and in his mid 30s, Triple Stogie looks like he belongs behind a pizza counter in Bensonhurst, where all my fantasy men reside and speak with thick Brooklyn accents . . . but i suspect he lives near the Park given the frequency of his visits . . . he has been a regular for almost a couple of years now . . . initially, he showed up during daylight hours with three cigars wrapped in plastic sticking out of his back pocket . . . Triple Stogie didn't pay much attention to me or anyone else . . . he just sat down, lit up and stayed put until he was all smoked out . . . a lot of guys strive for the butch look; he achieves it aromatically.

last spring Triple Stogie switched to a nighttime schedule, expanding his audience and adding a glowing ember to his performance . . . somebody usually sits near him within moments of his arrival . . . when riding past on my bike in search of a vacancy, i always expected to find a head buried in his lap but he seemed committed to private shows only . . . one night, i finally got my own ticket.

the early bird catches the worm . . . when i claimed the bench before he did, to my surprise, he sat down at the other end . . . would he try to wait me out? . . . his body language answered my silent question . . . he spread his legs and glanced over occasionally, usually after spitting out some tobacco on the ground in front of him . . . i groped myself as casually as a baseball player . . . he did too . . . showtime.

we both took out our cocks and began jerking off . . . yeah, stroke that big dick he growled before blowing smoke in my direction for the first time . . . periodically, he leaned his head back so that his seven inch cigar stuck straight up in the air . . . whenever he inhaled deeply the bright orange glow of the tip might as well have been a neon sign flashing PHALLIC SYMBOL . . . with the cigar still in his mouth he scooted over a little closer and began slapping his thick, heavy cock against his hand . . . oooooh, audio effects too!

the smell, sight and sound of Triple Stogie's erotic shtick got me pretty close . . . i kept hoping he would introduce touch and taste too before he brought down the curtain . . . but as soon as he finished one cigar he immediately lit up another . . . while the flame illuminated the sexy stubble on his face and the broken line of his Roman nose, his action suggested he wouldn't be using his mouth to blow anything other than smoke rings . . . nor did he seem interested in having anybody join us altho more than one hot guy had been eager to do so . . . Triple Stogie zipped up before anyone could get close enough to see what we were doing . . . i eventually let some shirtless runner go down on me . . . Triple Stogie took out his dick but he refused to let the runner do him, too . . . i'm watching him stroke his meat, he said, nodding in my direction as he pushed the guy away roughly . . . my orgasm ended our encounter . . . i left quickly with a bad case of curiosity.

is Triple Stogie an exhibitionist? a sexual ironist spoofing Freudian psychology? or is he into some baroque kind of safe sex? . . . that's part of the appeal of these anonymous encounters: U never really know what's going on in someone else's head . . . the mystery can keep U coming back for more.

Triple Stogie nearly broke the spell when he rejected me a few nights later . . . could his private shows be one-night only? . . . then, twice this week, he sat next to me and performed enthusiastically . . . what gives? . . . maybe he doesn't recognize me . . . or has his audience shrunk because of the chilly weather? . . . in that case he's fucked . . . New York City's strict anti-smoking laws will prevent him from taking his act indoors . . . i, on the other hand, can always subscribe to Cigar Aficionado.