his house to ensure that I’d have his digits.
Wylie noticed my love jones when I took him to
The Lion King
after Basil declined. A couple days later, Wylie invited me to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, Maroon over on West Sixteenth Street, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. We enjoyed spicy jerked chicken wings and stuffed pork chops and ended the meal with delicious red velvet cake.
After dinner we walked a few blocks over to Nineteenthto G, a quiet bar where you could go to meet and greet or just share conversation with a good friend. Wylie ordered an apple martini for himself, and I got a lite beer.
“So are you falling in love with this stray?” Wylie asked after a few sips of his drink.
“Yep, I’m afraid so,” I said.
“Why?” he asked. For a few moments I couldn’t answer him. I’d spent the last three days wondering why I was even considering jumping off the cliff called love. I knew I could end up hitting rocks that would leave deep wounds. I already had enough scars from previous love affairs and my childhood. But what if Basil was the jackpot? Falling in love with him could be as soft as falling onto one million down pillows, providing perfect comfort.
The way I saw it, Basil was a triple-threat man. There was the power of his sex, and how I felt like he was branding me when we made love. His face, both handsome and beautiful, had a toughness and yet a feminine quality that was rare in masculine men. If his office and home were indications of his wealth, I was pretty sure he was financially stable. But I knew if I was honest with myself, I might be falling in love with him, because in him I saw all the things I’ve dreamed of for my own life. All the missing things. I couldn’t share all this with Wylie without the risk of a lecture on the difference between love and lust.
“Bart, did you hear me?” Wylie asked. I found myself gazing into my beer and then looking around the circular wood bar at all the lonely faces.
“I’m sorry. I was just thinking,” I said.
“Why do you think you love this Basil guy?” Wylie asked.
“Let’s just say that since I met Basil the beat of my heart has increased, and it’s made me believe that love can be found in New York City,” I said.
Wylie looked at me and smiled sweetly and then motioned toward the bartender. After he ordered another round of drinks, he looked at me and said, “When you think of Basil, if your heart feels bigger, it could be love. If something else gets bigger … well, I don’t have to tell you what that is. You’ve been to the rodeo before.”
“Yeah, but this time I’m going to make sure the horse doesn’t kick me off,” I said.
The Dirty D.L.
I had just gotten home from hanging out at the Sportsline Gentleman’s Club (a strip joint that Nico and I frequent). Nico was celebrating signing a new client, and I went to have a few drinks with him.
After a couple of private lap dances I felt like I needed a shower, so I came home and washed and scrubbed myself like I had spent the evening in a sewage tank. Either I was getting too old for this shit or I had too much on my mind. Maybe in the past I’d enjoyed strippers because they didn’t require an emotional attachment.
When I got out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and rubbed some lotion on my chest. I pulled a beer out of the fridge and went into my study to check my e-mail. Another message from SWALZ:
Hey Sexyman, So you’re going to ignore me? That’s okay. Just wanted to give you a look at your profile on brothersontheDL.com . I think I hit it right on the head (pun intended): John Basil Henderson—Look for this heartbreaker anywhere around the country, but most likely in New York, Chicago, Miami and Atlanta. Tall (around 6′2″) and still inthe prime shape he was in while playing professional football. He’s in his mid-thirties, though he could still pass for twenty-nine. Basil has mesmerizing cat-gray eyes, golden
Wylie noticed my love jones when I took him to
The Lion King
after Basil declined. A couple days later, Wylie invited me to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, Maroon over on West Sixteenth Street, between Seventh and Eighth Avenues. We enjoyed spicy jerked chicken wings and stuffed pork chops and ended the meal with delicious red velvet cake.
After dinner we walked a few blocks over to Nineteenthto G, a quiet bar where you could go to meet and greet or just share conversation with a good friend. Wylie ordered an apple martini for himself, and I got a lite beer.
“So are you falling in love with this stray?” Wylie asked after a few sips of his drink.
“Yep, I’m afraid so,” I said.
“Why?” he asked. For a few moments I couldn’t answer him. I’d spent the last three days wondering why I was even considering jumping off the cliff called love. I knew I could end up hitting rocks that would leave deep wounds. I already had enough scars from previous love affairs and my childhood. But what if Basil was the jackpot? Falling in love with him could be as soft as falling onto one million down pillows, providing perfect comfort.
The way I saw it, Basil was a triple-threat man. There was the power of his sex, and how I felt like he was branding me when we made love. His face, both handsome and beautiful, had a toughness and yet a feminine quality that was rare in masculine men. If his office and home were indications of his wealth, I was pretty sure he was financially stable. But I knew if I was honest with myself, I might be falling in love with him, because in him I saw all the things I’ve dreamed of for my own life. All the missing things. I couldn’t share all this with Wylie without the risk of a lecture on the difference between love and lust.
“Bart, did you hear me?” Wylie asked. I found myself gazing into my beer and then looking around the circular wood bar at all the lonely faces.
“I’m sorry. I was just thinking,” I said.
“Why do you think you love this Basil guy?” Wylie asked.
“Let’s just say that since I met Basil the beat of my heart has increased, and it’s made me believe that love can be found in New York City,” I said.
Wylie looked at me and smiled sweetly and then motioned toward the bartender. After he ordered another round of drinks, he looked at me and said, “When you think of Basil, if your heart feels bigger, it could be love. If something else gets bigger … well, I don’t have to tell you what that is. You’ve been to the rodeo before.”
“Yeah, but this time I’m going to make sure the horse doesn’t kick me off,” I said.
The Dirty D.L.
I had just gotten home from hanging out at the Sportsline Gentleman’s Club (a strip joint that Nico and I frequent). Nico was celebrating signing a new client, and I went to have a few drinks with him.
After a couple of private lap dances I felt like I needed a shower, so I came home and washed and scrubbed myself like I had spent the evening in a sewage tank. Either I was getting too old for this shit or I had too much on my mind. Maybe in the past I’d enjoyed strippers because they didn’t require an emotional attachment.
When I got out of the shower, I wrapped a towel around my waist and rubbed some lotion on my chest. I pulled a beer out of the fridge and went into my study to check my e-mail. Another message from SWALZ:
Hey Sexyman, So you’re going to ignore me? That’s okay. Just wanted to give you a look at your profile on brothersontheDL.com . I think I hit it right on the head (pun intended): John Basil Henderson—Look for this heartbreaker anywhere around the country, but most likely in New York, Chicago, Miami and Atlanta. Tall (around 6′2″) and still inthe prime shape he was in while playing professional football. He’s in his mid-thirties, though he could still pass for twenty-nine. Basil has mesmerizing cat-gray eyes, golden
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