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Last serious boyfriend was in 1981.  We grew up next door to each other. His older sister granted me my first kiss with the tinge of sex about it. He never kissed me. We parted so he could play the dutiful straight son.

And was married to my, ahem, son’s mother, 20 years. I cleaved until we cleaved.

Relationships since were usually initiated by others, mostly 39 to mid 40s women, intelligent, assertive, opinionated, possibly bisexual, with a masculine femininity about them.

First, post-divorce, was an executive secretary to CFOs, Fortune 500 no less and later one of the largest medical non-profits in the country. We sang in the same choir. Her shoulders were sore. We parted quite amicably.

Presbyterian Pastor. Quite the nerd. Discussions of multiverses and spoke of god as “she.“  Excellent conversation and gentle reminders that, “Pastors need love, too.” She took a calling elsewhere, we tried, we drove, we still drifted apart. Long distance relationships suck.

A professional social media executive. Father had been a professor, African-American out of Louisiana and her mother a well educated woman and, for the record, white. We never had coitus, but some damn fine time was had by all! She was bisexual and liked to tell to tell lovely stories of elevator encounters with near strangers while blessing me with her damn fine tongue and delicate touch upon anything I directed her to. All hail the mighty and oft forgot taint!

Then lovely and direct Marie, 39 when we met. I was 60 when she rather expertly took my (other) virginity for her 40th birthday present. Had a nice strap-on rig that she had used with her old girlfriend. And her knowledge of the prostate rivaled mine! A delightful evening. Also learned much about the Galveston drag scene, at least at the time, at her lead. Distance, then more distance, when she took on professional work in Galveston, lead to an amicable parting.

A major issue was, that while I was rather good at pleasing women, I wasn’t much of a fan of coitus. The women, in their way, satisfied many kinks. and taught me at least a little more about pleasure. They also reminded me that vaginas just don’t attract me. It seems like I love bananas (because they have no bone.)

Meeting men has been an exercise in what I can only describe, using the latest references that apply, dealing with behavior that equals that of Spacey towards young men or Weinstein.  If someone on an excess of prescribed testosterone grabs my crotch or just takes his clothes off after because, well, why not, again, I may just resign myself to celibacy. This does not have that much appeal, either.

Then something happened that surprised me and caused me to reflect on my own desires and needs.  A couple of years ago, the boyfriend from my youth, the last serious boyfriend from 1981 and before, called me out of the blue. He never married, likes bad girls that drink a bit, like him. Many short term relationships that usually end badly.  So, we got together and frolicked liked old times.  I still love him and I might even marry him if he asked nicely, but he is not out and sex with me is still fun, but socially unacceptable to his peers. So we parted. He has called twice since, but I’ve ignored him. Good sex, but I am not up to being a sexual convenience.

A couple of years drift by.

And then I met this man and I sort of fell for him.

He wants take it slow. I have got admit that I don’t have a clue as to how to proceed.

But proceed is what I long to do. I don’t care how long it takes, I want him.

This also scares the hell out of me. Feelings thought lost have sprung anew. Wish I were younger, but he is, a bit, and so cute. Sigh.

A gentleman who seems like a gentle man.

Intelligent and well spoken.

Lips. Did I mention lips?

Cute and seems to be aging well.

I think it would be fun to make him happy. Oh, the many ways and possibilities.

Good night,

David