#anonymoussex

[iiasiag]

Graphics I did for Grisha

[thebarefootcajunpetiteshistoires]

It was a gay phone meet up line. I rang the number; it was busy. The year was 1993. I was lonely, wanted the touch of another man, if only to lie in his arms. Was that such a big deal, such a bad thing? Loneliness in a busy city is a bad thing. Lonely anywhere is a bad thing. I couldn’t tap the root to my loneliness or the compulsion to be loved and wanted by another man. It was real; it was mean, it was addiction at its finest. Though at the time I couldn’t bring myself to call it an addiction. It was a search to find my lost self.

Similar to a puzzle with a big corner chunk missing; weary I quit looking and gave into the thrill and adventure, almighty Russian Roulette game of life-risking unsafe sex. This was towards the end of the AIDS epidemic.

Finally, someone picked up the phone. “Hey”, the voice said, “what’s your name?”

I answer, “Rick”, an alias name, anonymity was best, and Rick sounded better than Darren, my real name.

He said, “My name is Jacky Lynn.”

Hum, I thought, that’s a nice sounding Southern name. His voice was smooth, strong and very masculine. Just what I was looking for.

“So, stats please?” I questioned.

He answered, “5 feet 6 inches. Smooth. Handsome, really cute. 25 years young. Hung like a horse dragging in a pasture.”

“And yourself,” he asked.

I responded, “6 feet 4 inches. Moderately hairy. Fifty years old. Mustache. Very average.”

“Can you come to me?” He asked.

“Certainly”, I responded.

Directions in hand I headed out to meet this trick. Adrenaline pumping, hurrying about as if I would explode without this drug of naked rendezvous. I dreamed of his naked male flesh, his touch, he lips kissing mine, bristles tickling my cheeks as we kissed. His hands touching my bare skin clumsily or skillfully? Didn’t matter. Male hands making contact with my skin a need as strong as a dose of heroin; I had to have it. Without it, I was floundering; unable to function. Expectations high, the hope that this would fill the void, that this was the fix, the cure for my loneliness. Maybe, just maybe, this time, it would be different.

The drive to Jacky Lynn’s house, an anxious drive, was made safely. Sitting in the driveway of the efficiency apartment, kind of like a tree house located in an upscale neighborhood, I relaxed a bit more, but still very much pumped with adrenaline. Close to my fix, I could already feel my body relaxing. Without this naked injection I would ball up into a fetal position with my head tucked in between my legs.

Knocking on the door I felt the familiar rush of what awaited me; it was always a surprise. Sometimes it was the anticipation that fueled me. I heard a man say, “Just a minute.”

Hooked, already I felt his words soothe my soul. Adrenalin slowing down, I was calmer, still very much excited for what awaited me. I heard three separate locks click, and the adrenaline flowed again with greater sexual propensity. Having to catch my breath, the door opened. I was already spent, feeling drained of half my energy.

Jacky Lynne was spot on with his stats. I was not in any way disappointed by his appearance. By the way he looked at me, I knew he felt the same. His words exactly as he tilted his head, “Average, I think not! Come on in, Mr. Average!”

Quickly, I crossed the threshold. And immediately he locked the three locks, always a little daunting. Now I was in essence his captive. Jacky Lynne invited me to sit down in the living room on the couch by him. An old shabby chic couch that had been around for some time. It had tassels dangling from its arms. Gold tassels, the couch was suede and a faded pink. Strange piece of furniture for a masculine man, but maybe he was embracing a feminine side.

Jacky Lynne offered me a drink, as I sat in the edge of the couch while he hovered over me making sure I wouldn’t make a mad dash for the door, and then I panicked when I realized the door had been locked, not once, twice, but thrice! Tricks always bothered me when they locked doors. I’m a nervous type anyway and I suffer from anxiety. I talked myself through the panic and realized this naked heroin was worth the risk.

“Sure I said, a drink would be great!” I answered.

Not much of a drinker, or druggie, I wanted a clear head to get away after I’d had my fix. I decided on a shot of smoky scotch. Maybe the smokiness would linger on my palate and keep me a bit numb; something to keep me occupied. After the trick I was always rather down and wanted a nap or food until I required my next high.

“Okay”, Jacky said, “a smoky scotch coming right up.”

Jacky handed me the drink with two big rocks in the old fashioned beveled glass with a yellow tint, not clear if the glass was just old or tinted yellow? I took a sip of the smoky scotch trying to utilize it to fortify my nerves, a term used in the South to signify anxiety. Jacky Lynne sat directly across staring me down. Never liking being the center of attention this unnerved me, and I took another swig of scotch. It lingered on my tongue and heated up my throat as it snaked its way down my esophagus. Again feeling a bit more fortified. I wanted him to make the first move; it’s the way I had always played the game of naked Russian Roulette.

[miguelnothing]

#anonymoussex with @give.mesweets https://www.instagram.com/p/CmU10yptalf/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[miguelnothing]

#anonymoussex #anonymouslove featuring @kriss.tophe_official x Chris https://www.instagram.com/p/CetlASdtF9c/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[miguelnothing]

#anonymoussex https://www.instagram.com/p/Cbh33sutNir/?utm_medium=tumblr