Looking up at the star-filled sky on a dead-calm, cold January night, I wondered why I was feeling the antithesis of calm. Everything was good in my life. Why was I being inexplicably overtaken with agitation and instability? I leaned against my truck, aware of calm’s invitation to let go and become one with it, but I couldn’t do it. In the midst of my incredibly still surroundings, I sensed the approach of impending chaos. The calm before a storm! 6 hours later, it hit with a vengeance. Near-hurricane-speed winds came hurling off the Lake Erie coastline, blasting the city of Buffalo and all of Western New York.
Ever since I can remember, I have hated high wind. It makes me feel edgy and very irritable. Apparently, I hate it so much I have developed an innate "high wind pre-warning radar" which alerts me long before it arrives. Loud howling noise, tree limbs and debris flying everywhere, no electricity (lights, computer, TV, coffeemaker, microwave) due to downed power lines... it’s all so freakin’ disruptive!
Living with my partner, Bouy, is often like enduring a noisy windstorm too. Thai music blaring from the CD player... ESPN TV sports playoffs filling the airspace with cheering crowds, shrieking whistles, scoreboard bells and buzzers... and NBA highlights streaming from his computer... ALL AT THE SAME TIME!!! God help me, I’m going to crack! Where can I go to find peace and quiet? I usually find it when I am alone in my truck, but if high winds are tossing it from side to side, this haven is temporarily disabled too. No escape! And my cell phone? Don’t get me started on that! I am old enough to remember what life was like before the introduction of cell phones. Back then, if I was away from my home phone, people had to wait for a more convenient time to reach me. And we all seemed to survive just fine. But today? Forget about it! If I choose to ignore my cell phone, people either leave me nasty voicemails about how rude I am for not answering the phone, or they just keep calling me every 5 minutes until I pick up. A special ringtone for incoming calls... another for text message and email alerts... or the phone vibrating in my pocket if I turn off the volume! If it happens one more time I may lose my mind entirely! And apparently, I am one of the few people left on earth who actually shuts off my phone when I am sleeping. I get complaints for doing that all the time. People demand 24/7 availability in this day and age.
Apparently, my coping skills are not what they used to be.
Anyway, last night my job took me to Olean, New York. All was calm. No precipitation. No wind. And my cell phone hadn’t made a sound for hours as I drove the quiet streets alone in my truck. Yeah, I was feeling good. Stable and relaxed. Sure, "Richard", the voice from my GPS device was speaking driving directions, but he doesn’t bother me. His voice his kind of soothing and sexy. I could have chosen other female voices programmed into my GPS, but they were all too bitchy. I like Richard. Because we spend so much time together, if I am not careful, I could easily fall in love with him. Don’t tell Bouy!
As I approached my location in Olean, I started feeling unstable again. Not even Richard could make me feel peaceful when he joyfully proclaimed, "You have reached your destination!"
I thought to myself, "I’m only delivering delayed luggage! The people sounded so nice when I arranged the drop on the phone. What could possibly go wrong now?"
I rang the doorbell. Mom, with her 18 year old son standing behind her, opened the door with a smile. She was obviously in the middle of something because she quickly went into another room, leaving me and her beautiful boy, Terry, to handle the details. He was quiet and unassuming in both build and demeanor. He signed the delivery order with a shy grin. Were his eyes flirting with me or was I just lost in wishful thinking? We officially introduced ourselves. His voice was so soft and gentle. I could listen to him talk all day! Please don’t tell Richard I said that! God! He was so sexy I just wanted to eat him up right there on the spot!
Well, what could we do? Mom was nearby, and besides, I was on the job. I can’t be pursuing my fantasies when I am representing the company I work for. It wouldn’t be proper. So, I put my hand on his shoulder... he immediately did the same thing to me... looked each other straight in the eyes... and I told him I hoped we would see each other again sometime. I walked back to my truck and slowly drove away with him waiving goodbye.
"What a warm and comfortable little encounter that was," I said to myself. The chemistry was unusually natural for a first-time meeting. It was like we had known each other forever. Calm... peaceful... almost loving... and no "wind". Yet, the more I thought about it, the more unsettled I felt. It was just like my volatility on that serene January night. I had no visible reason to be edgy, but nevertheless, I was.
Not 15 minutes into the drive back to Buffalo, my phone rang. It was Terry, calling from his cell phone. My "Caller ID" was logged into his home phone when I first called to arrange delivery. After a long period of somewhat superficial pleasantries, he finally made a few semi-gay "test" statements to see how I would respond. I dropped a couple of semi-gay comments in reply. Such games are not uncommon. It’s always good to carefully test the water before jumping in.
Terry jumped in first. "I’M NAKED!", he whispered loudly.
I laughed, saying, "God, I wish I could see that!"
Again, whispering loudly, he said, "I’M SO HARD! KISS ME! FUCK ME!" I could clearly hear him rapidly working his cock... breathing hard in sync with each furious stroke... and loudly whispering a groan as he came. Then, without further adieu, he ended the call without a word.
Of course I was all sexually hot and frustrated at this point, but I did not feel right calling him back. It was a bizarre way to end. So unfinished. Did his mom walk in the room? Is that all he wanted? Is he going to call me again? It was the first time in a long time I can remember actually HOPING to hear my phone ring as I continued my journey home.
Terry was a brief, yet powerful windstorm.
Had he issued an invitation, would I have turned my truck around and fucked that irresistible boy? If I would have, the windstorm would have increased in velocity and the devastating effects would have endured long after the sexual storm was over. I already fucked him in my "daem11on-possessed" mind, but to actually act it out would destroy the wonderful relationship of trust and commitment I have with Bouy (and Richard). I’d be a fraud promoting my message of gay love, faithfulness, and commitment everywhere I go if I threw it all away every time a hot wind blew in my direction.
As an interesting sidenote, the east side of Terry’s hometown (Olean) was hit by a genuine cyclone on April 5, 1892. The OLEAN DEMOCRAT NEWSPAPER, looking back on the event one year later, summarized it this way...
"The most appalling atmospherical disturbance that has visited Olean in the memory of the oldest inhabitant occurred on the evening of April 5, when the suburb of East Olean was swept by a genuine western cyclone. The church, temperance hall, half a dozen dwellings and several barns and outhouses were demolished, twice as many other buildings were badly wrecked, while nearly all were more or less damaged. The damage to property amounted to nearly $25,000. The most remarkable feature of the occurrence was that though nearly every dwelling was occupied by a family of from three to five persons, only one was killed and only four seriously injured, and they not fatally. The person killed was Mrs. Otto Schrader, wife of a laborer, whose dwelling was completely demolished and scattered over a considerable expanse of territory. She was caught beneath the falling timbers and her life crushed out instantly. There were many miraculous escapes from death or injury. Sixteen young people were holding a religious meeting in the church, which was badly wrecked, yet not one of them was injured. As soon as the extent of the damage became known the citizens held a meeting at which a committee was appointed to receive subscriptions for the relief of the sufferers. The citizens responded generously to the call for aid. Over $3,000 was subscribed and there were liberal donations of food, clothing, household goods, etc. The church, hall, and nearly all the other destroyed buildings have been rebuilt. In most instances the new buildings are better structures than the old ones, the cyclone having proved a blessing in this respect at least."
Listen,
some of you young hotties out there are raging hurricanes on the move.
Others are "storm chasers" who really, really want to experience you up
close and personal. And others, like Terry, are BOTH! It’s the adrenaline of
the storm... not a long-term committed relationship... many of you are
looking for. The emotional and physical risks of jumping in and out of bed
with every storm that comes your way is real. It can really mess with your
head and your ability to believe in/give/receive love in the future. And of
course, in light of potential STDs, your physical health and well-being
should be guarded as well. Just be careful! And keep allowing me to drone on
with the boring "love and commitment" sermons because some day you may
actually discover that I am onto something, ok? Like the people in East
Olean, hopefully you will have the chance to rebuild and become "better
structures" as a result of any "bad experiences" you may encounter along the
way. And of course, you know I am always here for you.
Now, back to my own harrowing hurricane adventures...
According to the Saffir-Simpson Hurricane Scale, a CATEGORY ONE hurricane sustains winds between 74-95 mph, creating no real damage except to unanchored mobile homes and poorly constructed signs. Terry was a CATEGORY ONE hurricane. Thankfully I was anchored to my principles and suffered no damage.
A CATEGORY FIVE hurricane packs winds of 156 mph and up, leaving major damage in its wake. In such instances, a massive evacuation of residential areas is usually mandated.
I just met the sweetest, hottest black boy the other day. His name is "David". A definite 20 year old CATEGORY FIVE windstorm! He’s already made it quite clear that older white guys are his thing. He’s quite animated when he is talking... the touchy-feely kind. In the course of one conversation his hands make brief and gentle contact with my hands, arms, shoulders, stomach, back, neck, and face. I’ve only known him a couple of days and already his "hi’s and goodbye’s" are accompanied by warm, prolonged hugs. I’m not complaining, either.
If you happen to see me frantically racing my truck out of town on some quiet, peaceful day, please don’t think me rude if I don’t answer my phone when you call. Even my strongest structural principles cannot withstand a CATEGORY FIVE hurricane. Massive, deeply-rooted trees would be ripped out of the ground! Well-constructed, sturdy buildings would topple! If I get a premonition that Hurricane David is about to totally unleash, I’ll be in the middle of an evacuation and I won’t have time to talk. I’m not a sexual "storm chaser". But if I was, this baby would be one hell of an unforgettable ride!
Like I said before, it’s all so freakin’ disruptive!
