I’ve written a number of blog entries on older/younger relationships or on issues affecting aging in gay men. I started that process a few years ago when I did some blog posts on daddyhunt.com’s website, for their blog “Age Appropriate.”
So, if you’re interested, here’s the link back to the archive for those posts.
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I see lots of advice tips on websites and vlogs on YouTube addressing this topic, almost always from a straight perspective, almost always the straight male perspective. About how not to be a woman’s best buddy when you would really like to be her lover.
This is also an issue in gay land. It can be even more confusing, since we find our sexual partners and most of our platonic friends from the same gender as ourselves. When you meet a new gay man, I’m sure I’m not the only one to want to classify him into either the potential dating/sex category or into the possible friend category–almost immediately. (And I am talking here about actual in-person meetings with guys, what they used to call meet-cute, not casual sex transactions delivered via smartphone or computer app — although those certainly have their place and value.)
And it’s not always apparent which one it should be! Friend or stud? Is he available? Am I attracted to him that way and just as important, does he have an attraction to me? Sometimes further investigation or time is necessary to determine which category this man should fall into.
Does all this seem rather predatory and cold? It seems that way as I’m writing it. I guess a better world would be one where we’re all kumbayah and open to whatever gifts strangers have for us and we have for them, whether that means sex/romance, friendship, neighborliness, networking, help, education and enlightenment, mentoring, or what have you. But I do think it’s honest that people with a sex drive who are looking for possible partners classify newcomers in this binary way.
That said, in gay land I think there’s a pretty quick time limit to figure this out, if indeed sex/romance is really where you want to go with this new person. Because if nothing happens over the course of a few meetings, most of the time that means you are in the friend zone.
So, how to avoid that if your desire is on the personal side?
Be direct. This is no time to hope that being flirty will get picked up on or that he’s going to notice you sighing in his direction. Don’t you love a confident guy who verbalizes his desire by saying such things as “I’d like to have sex with you” or “I’d like to spend more time with you to get to know you in a personal way.” I wish that would happen with everyone. It doesn’t, because
We’re afraid of rejection. Because it hurts so bad. But if you can get over it, because this is numbers game, you can keep moving things along and go on to the next person. If he says no to your advances, you’re in the friend zone and that’s great. Not great if you had that crush, but yes great because “no” is as good an answer as “yes,” because it is definitive and keeps you moving.
Don’t wait too long to figure out what you want with him. After dating/flirting/f****ing with other gay men now for over 40 years I can tell you that you already know in your gut. Trying to decide is just a game we play with ourselves trying to avoid point #2, above (rejection). Honestly there comes a point where that spark that could’ve ignited is gone and he’s going to be your sister not your lover.
And it’s great having friends! Not to say that if you end up in the friend zone with someone you really wanted to go to bed with that it won’t be valuable and wonderful and a really fantastic friendship. I had such a relationship with at least one guy that was truly wonderful. And, on the opposite side, I do know at least one married gay couple that were “best friends” forever before the romance kicked in, so that can happen too.
Bonus related item: People who show outsize interest on social media want more from you than lunch once every six months. You can start making up this list of potential partners from those who “like” every photo you ever post on facebook, who retweet your tweets on a regular basis, who “like” your instagram photos, too! Not foolproof but I think it’s a good indicator that he’s interested in more than being affirmative of your social media presence.
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*in the contemporary United States. I don’t know about other places; I suppose this is a worldwide “law.”
The Blogger at CicLAvia in the valley, outside of OCH’s.
I found this post on the Internet. I often look for stories or articles that validate my own car free choice, just so I can feel some camaraderie and not think I’m the only person in the world who has done this and also thinks it’s a doable idea. (I don’t have many friends in L.A. who are car free; some, but usually it’s not been a choice for them and they’re not particularly happy about it and hope to change this circumstance ASAP).
One of the things that Zachary Shahan talks about in his post is the pleasurability of his car free decision. That is key, isn’t it — if it’s not a good and pleasurable way to live, then why do it? I’ve had enough martyrdom in my life already, I don’t really want any more. Online pharmacy stores help people purchase these drugs from online viagra australia the online pharmacy stores you can surely avail best discounts depending on the order quantity of the medicine. Sildenafil, which is used in both drugs, inhibits this enzyme and allows the blood vessels to dilate, increasing the blood flow to the genital area when sexually stimulated. viagra cheapest online So before going with this ICOS and Eli Lilly’s significant drug pattern you should inform your health awareness supplier concerning all the medications you online prescriptions for cialis need to take price wise but convenience wise as well. cialis free shipping Whenever the flow of blood towards the penile organ is similar to the heart.
I admit that feeling the pleasure is sometimes hard, living in the midst of the most intense car culture on the planet. Also, the writer of this great post is obviously younger than me by decades, and there’s something to be said about youthful optimism in any situation. Isn’t there?
If you haven’t guessed the factor or read the article, I can tell you it’s location. The same old real estate cliche, location location location.
And I think that’s true. The very definition of doable transportation depends on where you are and where you need to go. For myself, I commute to a part time job using a bicycle and public transportation (I take my bike on a subway). For all other daily life activities and shopping, I can walk or ride a bike. For social activities, I usually take public transport or if that’s not really practical, a cab or an Uber or a Lyft, which are always practical in Los Angeles. I happen to live around the corner from a major stop along a major rapid busway. This really does help. It’s a good location.
from “Less Than Zero” (Spoiler): this crime would be transporting a dead body due to a drug overdose.
How we find out about true crimes – this is assuming that we, I mean the majority of the law-abiding population, are not criminals ourselves, is likely relegated to the media: what we see on TV, what we read in newspapers and online publications and blogs, or what we may hear. Or overhear.
I read the usual papers. I’m also a fan (it’s a guilty pleasure) of Cops, the pseudo documentary TV show that follows police departments around on their law enforcement duties. Let’s forget for a moment that the focus of that show seems to be to see how many young men of color’s lives we can destroy by stupid inflated charges and antiquated and moronic non-violent drug laws. Let’s forget that piece for a moment and just focus on the undeniable evidence that a huge number of crimes (and thus, arrests and interactions with the police) occur in the presence of motor vehicles. Am I right?
Here’s a short list:
auto theft
using an auto as a getaway car for robbing a bank or a store or what have you
kidnapping
drug dealing/running
firearms running
vehicular manslaughter
vehicular murder
mobile prostitution
driving without a license
driving without registration
transporting illegals across state lines
using a car for human trafficking
using a car for the location of a crime, such as assault, murder, rape
using a car for drive-by shootings
odometer fraud
ram and scam
hit and runs
speeding while driving
unsafe lane changes and other moving violations
drunk driving
driving while texting
driving without a seatbelt
using a motor vehicle for a drug factory (hello Breaking Bad)
child or animal endangerment (leaving an innocent locked in a hot car)
Verbal assaults, i.e. Road Rage
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And that is a just a short brainstormed list. As far as I know, you’re not going to get a ticket for walking too fast down the sidewalk. I’ve also never seen a cyclist cited for speeding, though I guess it could happen. No, really, cops are focused on motor vehicles. If you look at that list above, it seems a car is actually a prerequisite for carrying out the crime. For instance, when was the last time you robbed a bank or an art museum and took the bus home? It’s been awhile, I bet.
So there you go, another fringe benefit of going car free. Less potential involvement with authorities. I think we can all agree, these days that’s a lot better for everyone.
We made it! In front of the Jalisco State Government Building in GDL
Seems like he’s beckoning.
GDL Cathedral
Detail GDL Cathedral
Plan ahead.
Typical traffic.
Stone Eagle Monument in GDL.
I like the color. We had Birria while in GDL.
Chandelier in Tlaquepaque.
I liked this building, it’s a magic shop.
In front of Vicente Fernandez’s ranch.
With Mexican Superstar Vicente Fernandez.
Mexican History mural in Chapala.
Blogger in front of the mural.
Dave Arnold and I at Chapala (Ajijic)
Plaza Photo GDL.
Old School in Tlaquepaque.
Me and masks. Must have been that insomnia day!
Wires, building, door, rails.
Historic Center shot.
Mariachi Band in the Plaza.
A little bit of found gay on a sidestreet.
It was fashion week in GDL. Literally.
Divine Decay.
On the corner.
Green detail of building.
Dave in front of one of the plaza fountains.
Some big ass doors on that church.
Flower lane in Chapala.
This is beauty School, GDL style.
At the Cafe Madrid, GDL.
Three Mexican ladies and their ice cream in Tlaquepaque.
More of the mural in Chapala.
Another Plaza fountain shot.
Courtyard of the Hotel Morales, GDL
Cathedral Night shot
Another plaza view.
Vicente Fernandez’s guitar-shaped pool.
Building detail, GDL.
Stations of the Cross lit up with little lights, Tlaquepaque.
My future patio! In Tlaquepaque.
Basilica Ceiling.
AA in GDL, next to the Michoacana.
Who? Oh, my brother David and I. To see it. Because I wanted to go to Mexico. Because it was his birthday. Because I was interested in seeing Lake Chapala, where large numbers of U.S. expatriates go. It’s pretty there, not sure it would be too stimulating. Chapala, that is. Perhaps you bring your own stimulation. Affordable most definitely.
So, to answer the question, is it safe to go to Guadalajara? I can answer that. Yes, it was fine. The scariest thing that happened to me over the course of our short, 4 night stay was that one night I had trouble sleeping. I have insomnia sometimes; I can hardly blame that on Mexico. (That damn Obama!)
The people we met there were lovely and they were POLITE. They had MANNERS. I’m not talking just about service people at hotels or restaurants, but people on the street. Imagine that, what a concept! Someone’s mama raised that country right. OK, there were dark alleys, I wouldn’t rush to venture down. There were lots of insanely armed police and security guards all over. I wouldn’t confront them. If you have a modicum of the usual street sense that you’d need in any place like L.A., NY, Chicago, New Orleans, etc., you’d feel pretty safe in Guadalajara. Don’t let the scaredy cat warnings you find on social media and from the state department frighten you. If you’re not going to confront the government of Mexico or the drug cartels, my opinion is, it’s as safe or safer than living in a place like I do, Los Angeles, where really bad things happen to people every day.
OK, end rant. Now for the pictures. I like taking pictures of buildings and parts of buildings, always wondering what is behind the walls, who built the building, who lives there or works there, what their lives are like, etc. So some of these are likely moody that way. Since I live in a place where everything is always new and very dry, old and weathered and moldy (as in lots of humidity) always fascinates me. So enjoy. I will comment on some of the photos directly.
UPDATE October 16 2015 – I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that the Guadalajara area can be dangerous to your health if you’re a member of a cartel or the military or the police. Less than a week after our return, this article on an arrest appeared in the L.A. Times.
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This article from New York Magazine on PrEP is probably my favorite of the many, many articles I’ve read on Truvada. What follows below are my thoughts on the idea of taking a PrEP (pre-exposure prophylaxis) for HIV.
no one I know, but I’d kiss them.
In regards to that question in the title — I did have lots of unfearful sex as a young man, before 1981, in the few years between when I became old enough for sex but before AIDS and HIV arrived. Honestly, that was so long ago now (what is it, 35 years, all my subsequent adult years till now?) I really don’t remember what it was like.
Besides, at that point for me, there was still a lot of other fear around gay sex, specifically, the idea that it was wrong. It took, it seems, forever for me, personally, to get over those lies we were fed as kids. But when I finally did and was ready to embrace the kind of sex I was born to have, there was Mr. HIV and an entirely new set of rules, and especially, don’ts.
I continued to have sex during the AIDS years, but it was according to the safest guidelines possible and was always, always tinged with a great amount of fear. For the most part, it was never the feeling of giving yourself over totally to the moment of passion; it seemed there was always something lurking, and always something being held back.
I’m from the generation who lived through the 80s when every cold, every flu, every bump or red spot on your skin could be nothing or it could be the first sign that you were, in fact, dying.
So I greet this news of Truvada and PrEP with nothing short of astonishment. Color me shocked that marriage equality is now the law of the land, as it should be; I’m equally stunned that there’s such a thing as Truvada and it can be taken to actually PREVENT HIV infection.
I’m HIV negative. Do I take Truvada currently? No. Will I take it in the future? I’ve had some discussions with my doctor about it. There’s an insurance issue; it’s expensive. There’s possibly work-arounds for that, programs which make it cheaper or even free. She (my doctor) was more concerned about long term effects, and made the point that you have to gauge what makes the most sense for you at a certain point in time. I’m single, I don’t have a partner; I rarely date; it’s not the prettiest situation at the moment but it probably doesn’t make sense for me personally right now.
That all could change. What if I did suddenly have dates? (Hey, it could happen!) I would like to think I could have that freeing option, something that I did not have at 26, or at 30, at 35, at 40, at 45, at 50, at 55 and. . . well, you get my drift. I would like to know what it’s like to have sex without the fear of contracting HIV. It’s not a reality that I know.
a couple of other points:
A lot (often it seems the plurality) of the gay men in my age cohort in my location are HIV positive. Truvada would eliminate the HIV barrier that is always there between us, that elephant in the room.
There’s that part of me that wants to be uninhibited and spontaneous after decades of worry (as well as other issues that have negatively affected my sex life, specifically, prostate cancer and its treatment). Why can’t I have this? Please, please tell me why? The last quote in the article I linked to above was another question. It asked, simply, Why Should We Keep Punishing Ourselves?
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“Escape from Los Angeles” is a series of new blog posts. I’m definitely on my journey to discover the next chapter of my life. Blogging about it was suggested by a regular reader of my blog (thank you, Rowan M!)
I’ve written a couple of times before about possibly leaving Los Angeles, here and here.
Probably one of the first things to determine is to decide if this (leaving Los Angeles) is really necessary or not. If it makes sense or not. My mother was always a believer in a “bloom where you’re planted” philosophy and I, as a man who has been sober for over 25 years, am always sensitive to the idea of doing “geographics.”*
So instead of seeing the cup as half empty (which is my default, as a pessimist) I’m trying, at least for a while, to see the cup as half full. Hence, gratitude lists: Every day I’ll write down 3 things in the morning that are working, three things that I’m grateful for for Los Angeles.
I’ll continue to write down my gratitude for L.A. as long as I feel this is productive. Who knows what I’ll find?
geographic, or doing a geographic. Wherever you go, there you are. You always take you with you. A geographic is moving somewhere following the thinking that this move will result in happier or more productive outcomes, i.e., it’s the place that sucks, not me; if I move, I will be happy and successful, etc. It never works.
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UPDATE August 19:
Here’s a couple of other stories on the subject – apparently it’s all in the zeitgeist:
I liked this documentary on Ballet 422, which refers to the 422nd original ballet produced from the New York City Ballet Company. This one comes from choreographer Justin Peck, a 25-year old dancer/choreographer – and it’s his first ballet for the company.
For someone like me, who knows little of the world of dance, it was educational to watch the process of choreography. It’s always been somewhat of an enigma, or it’s like magic. Anyway, I really enjoyed the interplay between the choreographer and the dancers, and the parts that almost seemed co-created, or at least collaborated on. How these fantastic dancers remember what they’re supposed to be doing is truly beyond me! But they do, I guess that’s why they’re stars of the NYC Ballet, eh? Plus of course, there’s lots of eye candy no matter what your orientation happens to be.
The documentary (from director Jody Lee Lipes) also shows the requisite behind-the-scenes, including some parts of Justin’s life beyond Lincoln Center. We see him waiting for the subway, we see him go to his apartment in a borough other than Manhattan. It looks big enough by NYC standards, but then it got me thinking, he, a member of the corps de ballet probably doesn’t make enough money to live in that toniest part of New York.
So I looked up dancer salaries to get an idea. They are in the range, it seemed, of around $50,000 to $80,000 depending on what city they were dancing in and if they were chorus or principals or had a longer season, etc.
I found this information on The DL Reporter (http://dlreporter.com/2014/04/14/ballet-wage-issues/): (Raquel Nieves, author)
Jeremy Telman in his article, “New York City Ballet Dancers Agree to New Contract,” cited that a quick internet search suggests that a member of the corp de ballet makes $1,500 per week. He describes how the average rent in the city of Manhattan for a cramped one-bedroom is $3,150 per month and that it can get hard to find a two bedroom for under $1 million. “If the dancer gets paid for 38 weeks per year, that comes out to $76,000 per year, and that is a good salary in New York City as long as you can share a studio apartment in an outer borough with two or more other members of the corp (or you can marry an investment banker).[3]” Principal dancers, essentially the “A” list celebrities at ballet companies, make roughly about $1,000-$2,000 more per week than the corp de ballet (think below the line talent). Principals make more with the additional guest performance or teaching gig, but only a small percentage of dancers who join the company ever become principals.
So there you have it, on stage, like so many performers including actors and musicians, dancers appear to be so incredibly glamorous yet the society fails to reward artists for this. I also noticed during my viewing of the film that the theater building at Lincoln Center where the New York City Ballet performs is the David H. Koch Theater.
Yes, as in that Koch! Right, the Koch brothers, those infamous John Birch society right wing billionaire polluters from Kansas!
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In July 2008, philanthropist David H. Koch pledged to provide $100 million over the next 10 years for the purpose of renovating the theater and providing for an operating and maintenance endowment. It was renamed the David H. Koch Theater at the New York City Ballet Winter gala, Tuesday, November 25, of that year.
So great, he’s willing to support the actual structure and maintenance of the physical building, but the dancers who fly on the stage? Well, not so much, apparently. They are members of a union [American Guild of Musical Artists (AGMA)] and, well, you know, the Kochs, they just don’t like unions. Their group “Americans for Prosperity” helps states like Wisconsin gut union contracts, which is just another way to race to the bottom and destroy the middle class.
So I guess the dancers won’t really be able to look to David H. Koch for any help with their meager salaries that don’t really allow them to live in the city in which they perform. I guess it’s always been that way for robber barons, i.e., Andrew Carnegie probably didn’t help any turn of the century violinists with their rent either, though he built a theater in which they could perform.
Not that the $76,000 annual salary would make much sense to someone like David H. Koch, who, according to this piece, made $3 million PER HOUR from investments in 2012.
One of the last images in the film “Ballet 422” is of Justin Peck returning to the dressing room after all the curtain calls for this successful ballet premiere to don his costume to dance in the corps de ballet for the next offering in the program, later the same night. A worker among workers, a union man.
I’m not a sexologist. But I’ve noticed the differences between younger and older sex response as I’ve aged. So — this is just my opinion on having gay sex for 40-plus years. I thought of eight differences in older/younger couples vis a vis sex. If I think of more, I’ll add them.
A young man wants to have sex late at night (or is OK with having sex late at night); and an older man takes that song “Afternoon Delight” quite seriously.
A young man considers his first load in a session the ice-breaker; an older man is just really happy if it happens. And then it’s over for now (bye).
In my experience, younger guys can still get hard at the drop of a hat, or the mere suggestion of a drop of a hat. Older men’s response is different, requiring actual physical manipulation (i.e., rubbing, sucking) of the penis to achieve a really good erection.
A younger guy wants to be the bottom for the older guy — this is my experience, anyway, in like 95% of the cases. Daddy is also living for that other 5%. (Some of us get nosebleeds at those heights.)
No matter who takes on the role of top and bottom during the sex, for the spooning the older man wants to be the big spoon and hold his younger lover in the protective caress.
For the older partner, the big O, while still desired and nice, is not so much the be-all and end-all to sex. Affection, kissing, hugging, petting (or whatever you want to call it) as well as oral or anal sex slowly, even without an orgasm, is just as nice.
While the younger man will like to have his sex almost anywhere or in any position, the older man in the couple will like the option of lying down, preferably somewhere comfortable — like a bed. With pillows.
An older man sees the (multiple facets of) value in having an ongoing partner or partners; the younger guy may likely still be in the sowing oats years. Truth is that as you age, fewer men are interested in the oats, though the ones that are, are usually a higher quality!
What have I neglected to add? What do you think?
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I just realized that I forgot to post the actual text of my WeHo memory! The photo of it blown up to poster size will not do, as I don’t imagine everyone has a magnifying glass.
So, here it is. It’s reality, not fiction, so perhaps not as exciting as it would be if I embellished. I erred on the side of truth as I remember it. Text below photo.
My memory of WeHo birthday
MY FIRST BIRTHDAY IN LOS ANGELES/WEHO
I moved to Los Angeles in January 1981, back when there were no computers, no Internet or mobile phones, or any other recent innovations like marriage equality, gay community centers, or the ability to serve openly in the armed forces.
I’d packed everything into a rental car. I didn’t have much, but I did have two crucial items for my new life in L.A.: my bicycle, and my Damron Gay Guide.
Every day was adventure, learning the city and doing my work at the university. But I hadn’t made friends yet, and I didn’t know how to navigate the overwhelming gay community.
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I lived in Echo Park and was carless. I rode the bus, so the main gay districts of Silver Lake and West Hollywood were either a semi-short ride or an excruciatingly long ride away.
I’d ventured into West Hollywood once to get my bike fixed. Old Pacific Red Car tracks were still visible on Santa Monica; those storied outdoor burger shacks still open everywhere. Hot, shirtless hustlers, channeling classic surferboy looks, “hitchhiked” along the Boulevard.
I got the bike repaired and fled!
But my birthday arrived in March and I was 26 and I wanted to do something. I’d never been to Beverly Hills, so I told myself I wanted to see Rodeo Drive—why, I have no idea, it was just a place I’d heard of.
I would ride my bike. It’s 10 miles. A straight route all the way down Sunset, then a quick turn down Rodeo.
That was to be my birthday celebration. I rode out there by myself on a dark Saturday night. Once I got there, all that greeted me were closed, if glittery stores. A few pedestrians were out; certainly not many: no cake shop was around to assist.
To say this was anticlimactic is an understatement. I was lying to myself. I didn’t want to see Beverly Hills; I didn’t care about that. I wanted to see what was always there for me in West Hollywood, and I knew this land of desire was just blocks away.
I’d copied the WeHo pages from Damron’s and brought them with me just in case. There was a place called the Blue Parrot (where Revolver is today). It sounded tropical; I’d had a fantastic gay time in Key West a year before this so I figured this might be a theme.
I tethered the bike to a pole in front. I went into the crowded, boisterous bar and the smiling, flair-juggling bartender made me my first ever West Hollywood birthday drink. I don’t remember what it was and I didn’t stay too long—I had to ride home.
I got the sense that I belonged in this place where gay bars fronted main streets and had picture windows looking out—and which also looked in. Although it took more time and more experience, that for me was the seed to loving this spot where one could hope to live a gay life free and authentic. — Jim Arnold
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