where were u? demanded the Blue Light Special when i picked up the phone late Tuesday afternoon . . . i looked for u at the gym but they are so stupid at Columbia that they couldn't tell me if u were there or not. in Germany they can page u. don't u usually go swimming around noon?

i wasn't quite sure how to react to the news that i was being stalked . . . U wouldn't ride your scooter all the to 116th Street looking for me would U just because i slept thru your 1 a.m. message and decided to wait a bit before returning your call? . . . it's true, i might have been at the gym if a job interview hadn't been moved up but still . . . i told u when we were there the other night that u couldn't get in without me anyway . . . yes, i know, but i thought if i told them i was a student at NYU they might let me in.

lying bothers me, what can i say? . . . so instead of confronting him about what he had done, i took him to task for what he had said . . . but it turned out there was more: he had gone to the Ramble looking for me, too, after he had stopped at my apartment . . . i wasn't sorry he had a class that night . . . a little breathing room would do us both good.

i groaned when my buzzer rang around 11 p.m. . . . the Blue Light Special stood at my door with his bike and an irresistible smile . . . yes, i had a rehearsal in lower Manhattan he said as if he had been just around the corner instead of 5 miles south on a night when the temperature already had dropped to 26 degrees . . . we need to talk i said.

the smile disappeared when i began expressing my concerns . . . u can't just show up at my door without calling or try to track me down at the gym. . . . so do u want me to leave? he asked . . . i didn't, really, but i did want some answers . . . what do u want from me? what's going on here? . . . at first he didn't respond, he just looked hurt.

u are like some Frankfurt banker he said everything has to be on your schedule. i am an actor. if i feel like doing something i do it, no matter what the time or how cold it is. i once flew 100 miles to see a boyfriend without telling him. he was glad to see me.

did U ever see Sunday, Bloody Sunday? . . . it's about a bisexual love triangle with Peter Finch and Glenda Jackson . . . he's a gay doctor, she's a childless divorcee and they're competing for the affections of a much younger and more attractive artist, a free spirit who takes advantage of what each has to offer . . . at one point in the movie, which examines the compromises we make in our search for love, Peter Finch observes we can get by on very little.

U see it's like this: i have been getting by on very little . . . sure, there has been a lot of sex, some of it great, but romantic gestures are about as common to my experience as tsunamis in the Indian Ocean . . . which means they can have a similar impact . . . call it sad, if U like, but when i watched Sunday, Bloody Sunday not long ago for the first time since 1971 i lost it after Peter Finch gently delivered the line to a couple whose daughter might live but never fully recover after she took a turn for the worse under his care . . . i felt like i was watching the Rosetta Stone for the kind of gay life that i have led and it devastated me.

so now there's adorable guy telling me he just had to see me . . . i caved . . . he made it easy, too . . . u weren't expecting me tonight so i will leave he said around 2:30 after we cuddled and talked . . . and i know i must call. what are u doing tomorrow night? . . . i watched him leave the warmth of my bed and walk down the stairs, insisting it's not that cold and refusing my offer to lend him a pair of gloves.

as soon as he was gone, the little voice in the back of my head--the one that does sound like a Frankfurt Banker come to think of it--reasserted itself: are u out of your fucking mind? u just know there's gonna be hell to pay.

u like to watch, don't u? said the Blue Light Special as he modeled yet another bathing suit from his bag of tricks . . . would u like to have a threesome and watch me fuck somebody else?

this wasn't exactly what i wanted to hear less than a month into our relationship or whatever we're having . . . Thug Lover says we're fuck buddies . . . he's probably right although i never imagined a fuck buddy who stayed over three or four nights a week . . . the Blue Light Special recognizes that my feelings run a little deeper . . . returning from Pavonia Newport he told me that the last guy to cause serious tension between him and Thug Lover was schnell verlieber, or quick to fall in love . . . was he teasing or warning me?

but hey, i want this to work . . . even if a threesome involving a guy as desirable as the Blue Light Special is likely to do A-bomb damage to my ego maybe i can minimize the fallout by arranging it with someone who finds me attractive on my own . . . and who better than JockinNYCLA1 who never fails to IM me? . . . in one of our chats, he told me that he fantasized about being fucked by a tag team.

the Blue Light Special signed off on his pic and profile Monday morning when we got up . . . half an hour later JockinNYCLA1 rang the buzzer . . . it's cold out there he said as he rushed through the door . . . that's why i look so red. can i use your bathroom a minute? . . . the Blue Light Special gave me a disappointed look and shook his head but i wasn't prepared to send the guy home just yet.

JockinNYCLA1 was smart enough to start sucking both our dicks as soon as he emerged from the bathroom . . . by not playing favorites he extended his welcome briefly . . . we moved into the bedroom where he removed his clothes and revealed a hairy body as red as his face and gone to seed . . . so now, standing before me, i have a man with whom i've been having the best sex of my life and somebody who i wouldn't look at twice on the street . . . imagine the contrast between Brad Pitt in sexy white box cut briefs and Jon Lovitz naked and u will get the picture.

the awkward encounter ended when the Blue Light Special excused himself to go to the bathroom . . . guess your buddy just isn't into it said JockinNYCLA1 . . . no, i guess he's not . . . he could tell from my limp dick that i wasn't either . . . no problem he said . . . just let me use the bathroom again . . . what's going on in the bathroom, dude?

he wasn't like his picture said the Blue Light Special . . . actually, the difference between JockinNYCLA1 and his pic wasn't much greater than most AOL hook ups but the Blue Light Special didn't have any basis for comparison . . . i was less inclined to blame the failure on the guy than the situation . . . i only did this because i thought u wanted to i said . . . well of course i did but not with him.

a change in tactic was necessary . . . if we're going to cruise online together u are going to need some body pictures i said . . . i spent the next couple of hours caressing the Blue Light Special with my digital camera . . . as the winter sun poured through my Levelor blinds he gave me every look he had against the wall and on the sheets . . . i was careful not to include his face in any of the X pics but he grabbed the camera to record the blowjob i gave him in the reflection of my Gary Numan poster . . . are u my fluffer? he teased before adding i've never let anyone photograph me like this.

we looked at the pics on the camera's LCD screen before he left for class . . . these are the real u i said pointing to the images in which he was smiling mischievously . . . none of the pictures u showed me the other night captured your boyishness . . . he preferred the ones that made him look tough.

before going to sleep that night, i slowly reviewed the pics one more time with all the lights turned off . . . every bright image felt like a kiss that would last forever.

look, i'm no fool--bed doesn't provide the best context for getting to know someone--but still when the Blue Light Special invited me to see the apartment he shares in Jersey City i didn't anticipate his living situation would be fraught with so many complications . . . no, i was happy he had decided to let me a little further into his life even if it meant an hour-long commute on a Saturday night when truth be told i would rather have been catching up on my sleep.

have U ever been to Pavonia Newport? . . . u can't beat the views . . . the Blue Light Special resides on the 17th floor of a luxury tower that fronts the harbor . . . Manhattan has never looked more like the Emerald City but a one-bedroom apartment shared by two roommates has never looked smaller . . . i sleep here on a little mattress he said, pointing to a fake white fur rug near a Christmas tree he had decorated that afternoon with real candles . . . think Oliver Twist re-imagined as contemporary porn movie about a gay houseboy down on his luck.

here, he said, handing me a photo album . . . u said u wanted to see snapshots of me. u can look through this while i shower . . . as i began paging through it, i wondered if perhaps he had given me the wrong album . . . this seemed to be a chronology of another guy's travels around the world . . . silly me . . . the Blue Light Special appeared in them soon enough . . . what initially had been described as a brief encounter that began with an on-line hook up in Frankfurt turned out to be a serious relationship with the guy in the photo album that had lasted nearly 5 years and included their move as a couple to New York City shortly after 9/11 . . . in the most recent pages, however, the Blue Light Special had been replaced by a number of tough looking latin and black men, several of whom had posed nude . . . there's the one who stole his wallet he said joining me on the white leather couch . . . we had a threesome with him. but we don't really like the same type of guys.

if the Blue Light Special was embarrassed by his mild deception he didn't show it . . . nor can i say it surprised me . . . what did throw me was when his former lover/current landlord walked through the door while i held his photo album in my hands . . . Thug Lover greeted me cordially enough . . . i thought u had gone to the Westside Club said the Blue Light Special . . . i did and i got what i needed . . . he headed for the refrigerator to make himself a snack . . . and then i decided to come home.

great view i said trying to ease the tension with a little small talk before adding i know all about u now . . . when the Blue Light Special told him that we were going to pick up some water at Shop Rite before his discount coupon expired, Thug Lover laughed and said u are in for an experience. he spends all his time gossiping with the Hispanic women there about the best deals.

the things U learn going food shopping with a houseboy at 11 p.m. . . . like my roommate doesn't like orange flavored water . . . but the Blue Light Special made up for it by giving me the grand tour of Jersey City, one he had conducted many times previously for a steady stream of German visitors . . . he probably knew more about the area, which he had explored extensively on his bicycle looking for places to cruise, than many natives . . . he kept driving north in his roommate's company van until we reached Weehawken . . . this is the first place i take people he said . . . they're very excited to arrive in New York City but they're usually too tired to do much. this view of midtown makes a very big impression on them before i take them home to sleep.

the setting couldn't have been more romantic for a Hollywood screen kiss but we never touched and i don't think it was only because we were surrounded by heterosexual couples . . . is tour guide included among your responsibilities? i teased, alluding to the arrangement he had with Thug Lover . . . in return for a significant rent reduction, the Blue Light Special cooks and cleans . . . on occasion, he reduces how much he pays even more by providing massage service . . . i have my own table . . . oh, really? . . . yes, but he just increased the rent because i've been taking up too much space in the bedroom with some books and records that i have inherited since we started living here. so i charge him more now, too.

Thug Lover had closed the door to his bedroom by the time we returned . . . he slept alone in his jailhouse fuck bed (i knew it was called that because it had appeared on a captioned postcard in his photo album) . . . the Blue Light Special packed a change of clothing into his bag of tricks and we left.

we spent much of the return trip discussing why Thug Lover had cut short his visit to the West Side Club . . . i got the sense he was trying to assert his claim on you when he made fun of how u shop. it's pretty obvious things aren't completely over between u . . . then, staring at the ceiling of my rent-stabilized bedroom, the Blue Light Special admitted that he couldn't afford to live in New York City on his own especially after being spoiled by his high rise lifestyle . . . then don't u think u are playing a very dangerous game? i asked . . . can u really afford to piss off your ex-lover and landlord? . . . after insisting yet again there was nothing sexual between them he giggled and said he treats me better after i stay out all night.

oh.

isn't sleep deprivation a no no under the terms of the Geneva Convention? . . . if so, do these terms apply to prisoners of love? . . . or lust?

here's the thing: last weekend i got less shuteye over 72 hours (8, max) than during any other period in my life (except maybe the 2003 White Party in Miami . . . but then it was Ecstasy and desire keeping me up not a human being).

i met the Blue Light Special Friday night at Columbia . . . a swimming meet upset our plans and sent us back to my apartment for another peek into his bag of tricks instead of the dinner i had suggested . . . he parked his scooter (yes, he actually rides a Speedy scooter and somehow brings it off despite the fact that 40 is approaching as rapidly as a bullet train) . . . he withdrew a beautifully bound album . . . it was filled with professional black and white shots of him mostly shirtless . . . few captured his boyish sweetness but even before he shyly confessed his adoration of Marky Mark, it was obvious who his upper body role model had been.

next he removed a series of small books featuring erotic male photography inexpensively printed by Bruno Gmunder in his native Deutschland . . . pictures of dicks don't do much for me especially with the real deal sitting next to me but we paged through each volume commenting on the specific appeal of the models or goofiness of their poses . . . this must be your favorite i teased, holding up the volume that showcased Ion Davidov, a Bel Ami star . . . yes, he said but the spine is broken only because it is the oldest . . . i didn't exactly understand why we were strolling down his fantasy lane but casually admitted that we could add another dimension to several of the Hungarian models in his Men of Kristen Bjorn book by using the VCR in my bedroom.

the Blue Light Special concluded the show and tell portion of the evening by changing into a new outfit . . . standing before me in a skimpy red Speedo that barely concealed his erection and that probably would have raised more than an eyebrow in the Columbia locker room he demanded so do u want to eat or do u want to party? . . . was he aware of the implications of his word choice? . . . or should i ignore the drug connotations of "party" on the grounds that English is his 2nd or 3rd language (he learned Portuguese because he thinks Brazilian men are the hottest in the world)? . . . as i followed him into the bedroom like a dog about to be rewarded with table scraps he suggested why don't u put on some fucky music . . . now that's more like my idea of partying: mixing sex and music, my two drugs of choice.

and party we did . . . like it was 1999 . . . i honestly can say that looking into his amazing blue eyes as i slowly thrust my cock deep inside of him i felt as if i were making love, not fucking, for one of the very few times in my life . . . it didn't hurt that a DJ Encore's remix of Frou Frou's "Breathe In" (cuz i love u now, can't help but love u now) helped me keep perfect rhythm and a rapturous smile on his face . . . our connection was so strong that it swept away all my defenses but the cuddling and whispers for several hours afterward sealed my fate.

if only he hadn't asked to watch the Montreal Men after i showed him the only porno tape i ever have purchased: Bo Garrett in Smoking Hunks #63 . . . U see, old coots in good shape like Wayne Rogers can still get it on with the best of them i lectured . . . bored by my cigarette fetish, he asked don't they ever fuck? but he insisted on watching the Kristen Bjorn dub straight to the end . . . i fell asleep before i could point out the guy who had stayed at my house in the Pines wondering if the Blue Light Special could make me as popular at tea.

u are like an incredibly addictive drug.

that's what i told the Blue Light Special upon returning from Copenhagen . . . i waited a day before calling him because i didn't want to seem too eager . . . he returned my call late at night and seemed a little evasive about making a date . . . before we said goodnight, i casually mentioned that i had brought him back a couple of gifts.

the phone rang the next evening while i was having dinner with M, my god daughter . . . do u think it's him? she asked . . . it was, but nerves prevented me from picking up . . . i've never seen u like this she said as we giggled, listening to his message like a couple of teenage girls at a pajama party . . . u are always so stoic . . . he let me know he would be in my area Friday evening . . . an 18 year-old freshman at Columbia who has never had a boyfriend spent the next two hours giving me advice as i explained the situation and my fears, omitting only that we had had sex in the Ramble when we met . . . u are way too analytical she warned . . . just let it happen.

i made plans to meet the Blue Light Special for a swim at Columbia, my alma mater, hoping it would be a way of moving our relationship out of the bedroom even though it also required paying a $15 guest fee, a transaction he avoided by examining the basket where students could leave shoes for the needy . . . he looked even better than i remembered after he put on a blue Speedo . . . though we swam in separate lanes, occasionally he looked over and grinned . . . the chlorine turned his dyed blond hair slightly green . . . do u think that's why the lifeguard was looking at me? he asked.

although he was attired in the same pants (front side white corduroy, back side blue jeans, a rather awful but unforgettable combo) and Abercrombie & Fitch sweatshirt that he had been wearing the night we met, he also had two backpacks and carried a shopping bag . . . he suggested we walk back to my apartment, pressing his body into mine at every opportunity . . . u should have added the grain and the vegetables last after the beans had a chance to soak up more water he said, explaining exactly what might have gone wrong with the Luccan farro soup i had made for M from a recipe in the Times and had just served to him . . . my friends have told me not to give up cooking entirely for acting he explained . . . the Blue Light Special had graduated from culinary school in Germany.

i brought him my gifts on the couch . . . he looked blankly at the key chain with the lovely Egyptian ankh (are u sure u want to send that kind of signal? asked C,one of my traveling companions, when i bought it) but enthusiastically offered to try on the expensive underwear from Peak Performance, a ski clothing store in Malmo, Sweden . . . no hurry, i said, not wanting him to think that i had picked it for this purpose . . . although i probably had . . . the subconscious works in powerful ways asserted C when i had protested the keychain had been the only bargain at the Carlsberg Glyptotek.

i brought something i want to try on for u anyway he said taking one of his backpacks and the shopping bag into the bedroom . . . first he emerged wearing a skimpy red bathing suit and a brown felt cowboy hat . . . gulp . . . then he added a metal chain . . . at which point my rigid sense of fetish gear kicked in . . . hmmmm, each of these elements works well on its own but together they look a little dorky i thought . . . but he got the last outfit exactly right: black hot pants and a leather harness . . . OMIGOD . . . this must be how J. Howard Marshall felt the first time he saw Ana Nicole Smith topless.

the Blue Light Special sat down in this outfit, his dick already hard, clearly expecting me to make my move but i was stricken with DOMP (dirty old man paralysis) . . . is this what i have become? . . . was this private fashion show the quid pro quo for the visit to the gym and the gifts?

aw fuck it who cares i thought . . . we went into the bedroom and the sex was even more intense than the night we met . . . even if the Blue Light Special is hustling me the financial tab thus far--$68.45--has been dirt cheap . . . if i calculate his rate on the basis of the three delirious nights we have spent together so far it works out to about $10 an orgasm or $2 an hour (not including the time we have spent talking on the phone) . . . leave it to me to find Manhattan's cheapest rent boy.

the emotional cost, however, has been much, much higher . . . i could easily fall in love with u i said before he left Saturday morning for a trip to Southampton . . . the Blue Light Special smiled and fucked me as long and as hard as i ever have been fucked in my life . . . i would have preferred a slightly more romantic declaration but i was determined to prove that i was as versatile as he . . . at least the cobwebs are gone.

yes, there's no fool like an old fool . . . the Blue Light Special is playing me like a piano . . . how else to explain his call that afternoon to let me hear the waves as he walked along the beach? . . . or his call later that night to let me know he would be free Sunday evening after he cooked a belated Thanksgiving dinner for the German friends his roommate was entertaining in their Jersey City high rise with spectacular views of New York City's skyline?

now M probably would question my cynical interpretation of his motives but it was she, after all, who said u are right, he's way too hot for u when i showed her the digital photo that i took the morning after we met to prove to myself that i hadn't dreamt our encounter . . . what does the Blue Light Special see in me? . . . after all, i'm 14 years older than him and with a body like his he could work at Splash . . . what gives? . . . analytical minds want to know.

the Blue Light Special sounded pretty overextended when he told me all the things he had scheduled for Sunday (rehearsing, seeing a teacher perform in children's theatre) before coming to my place but when 7 p.m. rolled around i began watching the clock as frequently as a bad student in detention . . . where is he? . . . i can't wait to see him another minute longer . . . finally, an hour after barely managing to distract myself with Manhunt: The Search for America's Most Gorgeous Male Model (Rob, cocky doesn't always pay), i dialed his number . . . to my surprise, he picked up right away.

i have been so busy he explained preparing the dinner, cleaning the dishes, mopping the floor, making soup for tomorrow but i will be on my way soon if u still want me to come . . . of course i wanted him to come but only if he wanted to . . . then he started telling me how he might not be able to stay on Monday because his roommate's guests were going to treat him to the Guggenheim which was too expensive to afford on his own and how one of his acting partners had paid a $30 fee so that he could join her for an add-on class . . . all this money talk poured out of him very quickly, without any prompting, reviving lingering but suppressed suspicions that he might be yet another friend of Tina's . . . which also would explain his remarkable sexual energy and the bags under his eyes.

yes ok i will be there in a little while he responded with more resignation than enthusiasm when i said i still did want to see him if he wasn't too tired . . . but seconds after i hung up i called him back with suddenly cold feet . . . u know what? i'm tired. let's do this some other time i said, hanging up before we had a chance to discuss my decision any further.

it's over i said calling D, a friend, immediately . . . i want to break this habit when i still can even tho this guy literally made me cry with happiness yesterday . . . blame it on the sleep deprivation . . . while D didn't entirely understand or share my suspicions he did agree not calling when u are two hours late would be enough to end it for me . . . maybe that's why we're both spinsters: we place a higher premium on punctuality than the messiness of dealing with another person.

but D couldn't provide the kind of solace that a visit to the Ramble might so i began dressing to go out . . . i don't drown my sorrows, i get them sucked out of me, weather permitting . . . how sick is that? . . . just as i was about to leave, the buzzer rang . . . i knew immediately who it was, i just couldn't believe it.

i rushed downstairs and there stood the Blue Light Special, at the entrance to my building, holding his scooter in one hand and a plastic bag in the other . . . what are u doing here? i told u not to come i said as sternly as a parent admonishing a wayward child . . . he smiled and said i told u i was going to bring u some Thanksgiving dinner, didn't i? handing me a bag filled with turkey, stuffing and mashed potatoes.

of course i asked him back up . . . what would U have done? . . . but i also bared my drama queen soul . . . he denied having a drug problem except maybe too many poppers and declared i told u i never had used crystal meth, only G . . . and when i asked him what he saw in me, he said i'm just looking for some fun . . . fair enough, i thought, but also insisting as an actor u cannot be unaware of your effect on other people . . . that observation got him to admit my friend who wants to sleep with me calls me a cocktease he admitted . . . more like an emotional tease in my case i accused before reminding him that during our discussion of Bad Education u told me how some people derive their power over other people through sex.

do u want me to go or stay? he asked . . . i can go over to a friend's apartment here in the neighborhood to return these wigs. or i can try them on for u if u want . . . so the Blue Light Special has a friend in the neighborhood and an endless bag of tricks, some less erotic than others . . . u might as well stay if u want i said even tho his drag profile couldn't compete with Gael Garcia Bernal's.

i managed to maintain some emotional and physical distance between us by making it a point to show him how i used AOL to troll for sex . . . the demonstration even included extending a tag team invitation to some cute Chelsea bottom once he expressed interest in a solo encounter with me . . . nothing would have been more destructive to my self esteem if it had happened but entertaining the prospect had the desired effect.

the power has shifted, hasn't it? asked the Blue Light Special when i made no attempt to cuddle with him after fucking him silly in the bedroom . . . maybe, i said . . . do u know that lyric from "Someone Saved My Life Tonight"? . . . when Elton sings "u almost had your hooks in me, didn't u dear?/u nearly had me roped and tied" that's kind of how i'm feeling right now . . . but by the time he left Monday morning i couldn't tell who had taken charge of our relationship or its dynamic although i was convinced i would never hear from him again.

i mean really, would U call me?

so when i picked up the phone Monday night and heard his unmistakable German accent i felt a rush as powerful as a hit from a new bottle of poppers . . . once more he succeeded in confounding my expectations . . . whenever i'm asked about what i want in a boyfriend i always reply somebody who can keep me on my toes.

u were right when u told me that i needed to spit out the words with more contempt in the speech i'm rehearsing from Richard II. my teacher told me the guy is still King, after all, defending his territory.

no question about it, dear, i'm not quite free of your hooks yet . . . the Blue Light Special can keep his rapture meter running for the time being.

who knew that being uncut could spare U the need to explain your politics in addition to its sensual advantages? . . . or that men in uncut societies have decidedly different cocksucking techniques?

nevertheless, during a brief trip to Copenhagen over the thanksgiving holiday, a willowy gay waiter did teach me how to say jeg stemte ikke pa george bush in situations where i was required to open my mouth before i took off my clothes . . . how to explain U didn't vote for the leader of the free world isn't a phrase U find in the Time Out guidebook . . . committing it to memory wasn't really necessary since most Danes speak perfect English but i thought even a halfhearted attempt to use their native tongue would convey a greater degree of sincerity . . . U see, avoiding embarrassment has always been one of my top priorities and our recent presidential election definitely qualifies as a geopolitical faux pas of the highest magnitude.

so there we were, a trio of overspent American spinsters, at the Amigo Sauna, exhausted from jet lag and a schedule that had included yawning at the Kunstindustrimuseet, a design museum so cluttered that it left us feeling as if some Nordic packrat had thrown open his attic for inspection . . . drinking glog (hot mulled wine with grapes and almonds) at Tivoli, a magical place that proved when it comes to lighting, enough is enough but too much is just right, a maxim i once thought applied only to my sex life . . . stumbling across a tiny Egyptian incense holder in the shape of male genitals with testicles bigger than those found downstairs on an enormous, impeccably displayed nude statue of Antonius at the Carlsberg Glyptotek . . . marveling at the seamless architectural connection between the past and the present at the Black Diamond, a new millennium building facing the inner harbor that flows seamlessly into the centuries old Royal Library over a busy highway . . . admiring the entwined tails of four dragons that rise erectly above the oldest Stock Exchange in Europe in an unmistakably phallic assertion that money is power . . . peeking at the historic rooms of the Amalienborg Palace where the House of Glucksborg once bred princesses who sat on the thrones of Russia and England and where i was cruised by an attractive blond queen in a greatcoat whose dominion was confined to the room she guarded . . . commiserating with Karen Blixen (aka Isak Dinesen) at Rungstedlund where she perfected her Out-of-Africa-in-a- turban shtick after her husband infected her with syphilis, a biographical detail i found particularly resonant because the number of cold sores on my lips was increasing as rapidly as the value of the Euro after kissing the Blue Light Special all night long a week before . . . and viewing the coastal grounds at the Louisiana Museum, named by a man who married three women named Louise, where Calders and Moores sprouted like different classes of gigantic mushrooms, and where Sweden, tomorrow's destination, beckoned across the Oresund Sound through the fog.

but for now getting blown by a great Dane, oops, i mean getting a great Danish blow job remained the only activity on our itinerary for Sunday.

prime time appeared to be over by 6:30 p.m. but we paid our 99 kroners (approximately $20) to the attendant, whose classic Scandinavian looks were marred by a frequent facial tic . . . handing us each a threadbare, fraying towel and winking involuntarily, he said the fun is upstairs as if to apologize for the facilities which did pale in comparison to those we found in Amsterdam and Berlin (yes, we are on an alphabetical mission to work our way through the bathhouses of the world) . . . in our quick barefoot inspection of the Amigo, we discovered that the darker the area, the stickier the floor.

it's been my experience that U do better in these situations if U strike when the iron is hot and it usually burns hottest within moments of your arrival . . . by the same token, however, U don't want to settle for the first eager cocksucker . . . they're easy to spot because the regulars tend to steer clear of them even if they're attractive . . . been there, got done by that . . . variety is undoubtedly the spice of life, which increases the demand for fresh meat.

a solid 30something guy whose strong legs, arms and chest suggested manual labor, not working out, clearly wanted to taste my well preserved New York jerky . . . all it took was a single backward glance before he followed me into a cubicle and closed the door behind him . . . i kept my expectations low because my barely visible lip sores prevented me from kissing or going down on him even though he was studly enough to demand worship . . . but after playing gently with my nipples, he sat down on a raised mat and started giving me an extraordinary blow job as i played with his thick uncut cock . . . unlike most guys, whose technique rarely varies from deep throat, he used his mouth and tongue to concentrate on the highly sensitive area of the glans usually covered by my foreskin

it took all my willpower not to reciprocate . . . instead, i sat down next to him and he leaned into me and moved his head back so that we could kiss as i held him close . . . taking care not to touch his lips i flicked his tongue with my own and kneaded his chest hard as he jerked himself off . . . his orgasm came as a great relief . . . he said something in Danish but rather than expose my nationality, i smiled and left.

this encounter got me so horny that i ended up cruising one of my sisters for a good five minutes . . . uh oh, let me just drape that dropped towel back around my waist and move right along with my face burning as if i have just emerged from the sauna . . . each of several different viewing rooms had its own flavor of porn including one that featured an orgy of men wearing Restoration wigs and another where chicks, not guys, were getting fucked . . . i preferred the garden variety porn projected in an elevated room where U could stand and feed your dick into a hot wet mouth in the room below if U felt like it . . . but my recent brush with incest made me a little shy about taking advantage of this opportunity.

with our allotted time at the bathhouse about to expire, i settled on another big guy more as a matter of convenience than desire . . . he was lying nude on his back in a room showing S&M porn in brown sepia . . . i lay down opposite him and took out my dick without further ado . . . this time-honored tactic recognizes if u are going to move on, u need closure especially in a bathhouse.

when Cocksucker #2, who was also uncut, began using the same extraordinary oral technique, i couldn't believe my good fortune . . . but after we both shoot our loads on the floor and he, too, addresses me in Danish it hits me:

U can add circumcision to the list of Ugly American characteristics.