Having recently celebrated my 33rd birthday, I’ve been in a state of near panic. There’s no boyfriend in sight.
I spend five days a week at the gym on the treadmill, take Propecia to keep my hair from falling out and am sick of eating apples and healthy green shit. I often worry about what’s going to happen when I eventually lose the fight and turn into Frankenstein.
But I already know the answer. I interact with lots of older, imperfect men and realize that things only get better. I’ve seen all the little tricks, both naughty and nice, my friends use to get laid.
There was that time several years ago when I was travelling with a friend, who was twice my age at 50, fat and out of shape.
We were staying at a bathhouse in nowhere Ontario, surrounded by nothing but men who looked just like my friend. At 25, I was by far the youngest thing there. Then, seemingly out of thin air, a young muscled god appeared.
I thought for sure it was a slam-dunk for me. I chased him round and round, failing at every pass, as did every other guy in the place. Then I caught a glimpse of him going into my friend’s room and shutting the door.
I wasn’t 100 percent sure of what I thought I had seen, so I did something really immature. I pounded on the door demanding to know if “that guy” was in there with him. “Yes,” my friend replied, “and we’re having sex. Go away.”
I couldn’t believe it and later asked my friend what his secret was.
“I was the only one who didn’t hound him,” he said.
There’s also my old friend Gerald Hannon, who made “Rye Prof; I’m a hooker” headlines years ago. At 58 years old, he’s straight out of Jurassic Park and still going strong.
Hannon never has sex for free. I once asked him why he doesn’t go to the baths or have casual sex. He didn’t even have to think about it: “Because if I went to the baths, Joseph, no one would want me…. By making them pay, I get all the hot guys.”
There are other strategies. Once I was at a bathhouse chasing around a blond muscle man. I lured him to the dark area and got him to go into a gloryhole booth. Just as I was about to go into the booth next to him, a wizened-up old man cut me off and ran into the booth ahead of me, locking the door behind him. I stood there in disbelief.
Sometimes just being on the scene and available is enough. I know a guy in his mid-50s who never wears his false teeth and has this dazed serial killer look on his face. Sitting at a bar every day and night, he got to chatting with the 25-year-old twink who works the bar. Now all I’m hearing are stories of wild sex and romance.
It’s unbelievable the number of cute young guys I see at the sex clubs who are completely indiscriminate about whom they have sex with. Some of them seem to even prefer their men older and less attractive.
One young Adonis guy I saw come into a club the other night checked his coat and shirt and headed straight for the dark room. I followed him. There he was, pants around his ankles, getting done by every guy grateful for the cover of darkness. It was a total troll-fest. The guy was into being the centre of the universe and didn’t care who was doing him.
Sometimes those piranhas bite. Once I spent half an hour chasing around a 30-something jock type. I finally got his attention and led him into the dark room. We were just getting hot and heavy when an older man came in, walked right up to me, shoved me out of the way and went down on my trick.
Equally shocking was the fact that the guy didn’t mind. They made out forever.
There’s also the time I made that horrible mistake and made some guy’s day. I saw this man walking around the tubs in a pair of Calvin Kleins. He was about 30, very handsome.
I must have walked 100 miles following him, until he finally went into the orgy room. I couldn’t see a thing and had to feel my way around in the dark until I came across this man who felt about right and was wearing underwear. We had wild sex.
When it was over I quietly walked away. When I turned, I saw him, a total frog in a pair of underwear. He was the wrong guy.
“Thanks a lot,” he said to the crowded room.
After reflecting on all these incidents, one thing occurred to me: What the hell am I worried about?
Get old. Get fat. Get ugly. Get warts. Get laid.