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The Last Party Boy
I'm sharing this terribly intimate episode of my private life because I feel that it's instructive to the cause I aim to champion in this piece. Sniping of my character will not be tolerated in the comments.
I recently met a gentleman. Perhaps it would be better to describe him as a bro. Really, I Don’t think that either really captures this person as he presented himself to me. Like a lot of gay dudes I meet, I met him under the contexts of a sexual encounter. Now, I know that makes me sound like a profound ho, but let’s put that aside for the moment because I really want to address the kind of person I met more so than dilly dally about who fucked who and so on. That’s a matter for another blog. Like many dudes that I meet keen on getting into my pants, I took the time in this case, being sober and of sound mind, to talk with him and learn about his life (while my cock wasn’t in his mouth in any event).
This man, let’s call him Joe, was about 35. Not in terrible shape, but degenerated such that the trained eye could see where the muscles and taut skin of earlier years had given way to softer, more indulgent flesh. Joe played baseball for four years, high school or elsewise he didn’t mention, but it was one of the primary points of his identity, as he’d advertised himself on internet as being a “jock” type guy. I’m rather against this kind of discrete typing, so personally I prefer the relatively relaxed “casual” marker, which as far as I can tell says just about nothing about me.
Joe’s work, a matter I’ll leave somewhat ambiguous, is of a lucrative sort, he lives in a fine house with many nice pieces of furniture and an array of expensive electronics at his command; in short he’s a successful man with a comfortable home, so let’s be aware of that part of his demographic. Joe works in a field somewhere between sales and health care, and he clearly works pretty hard at this, in addition to a small business that he runs on the side that he’s hoping to expand from a small, home based retail to a brick and mortar store based model.
Having said all these things, it’s worth noting that Joe wasn’t keen on using a condom when he and I wiled away about an hour or so. I’m glad, in the final analysis, that I was rather insistent on the matter, as I withdrew my thankfuly wrapped piece from him, a stream of white ooze dripped from his butt. Now, knowing that I hadn’t jizzed and that I was wearing a rubber to begin with, I was somewhat suspicious. I know that many lubes can turn white with friction, but I had deliberately gone light on the lube to enjoy the “I’m getting fucked and it’s not entirely pleasant” sounds that he was making (after all, he looked notably older than his pictures, and I felt that punishment was warranted). It was at this point that I realized that he’d been getting plowed and as the terms in such circles go “seeded” before I’d arrived; and from the volume by more than one guy.
Joe recounted to me a number of sexual encounters with men between the ages of (purportedly) 18 and roughly 40; which is not unusual in a hookup environment. What struck me about the affair is that Joe was telling me about conquests that he had enjoyed in just the past week, and in some cases within 24 hours of meeting me. “I like to keep the cum in my ass, it makes good lube” he mentioned.
Now I want to emphasize that after the ass-geyser and our following discussion, I politely excused myself from any further sex, but not before taking some time to analyze this curious specimen.
The question that I posit here, how can it be that someone so together professionally and old enough to know better is so sexually reckless?
I have a hypothesis on the matter, which I will now share. Joe recounted to me a set of stories of what he regarded as his glory days, the times where he was letting his fraternity brothers fuck him or when he and his five gay buddies would go on holiday on a cruise and spend most of the time in bed (I was shocked by this, miss the shark diving for common sex?). He concluded with a sort of proposition about how pleasantly dominant I was and how I would make an awesome boyfriend for him, while simultaneously inviting me to a rather extensive sex party at his house that evening at which I was assured that three soccer players, a rugby kid and a few other assorted fags of different types would be in attendance. I ultimately decided to decline for a gamut of reasons ranging from protecting my health to being able to maintain objectivity in the writing of this piece.
Joe lamented about how lonely he was, which struck me as interesting given all the dick that had been up his ass in just a few days. Now, I think most people are familiar with what we’ll call the Whore’s Dilemma, where relationships are flimsy and transient at best, but for Joe it seemed to be something more extensive. In the old days (80s, 90s) Joe and his gay buddies had large group sex affairs all the time, but as time lurched on, more and more of his buddies moved away or got proper boyfriends or stopped coming to the orgies. And what became of Joe?
He ended out wistfully looking at me from the door of his house as I waved politely and drove away, once again abandoned, once again left behind by people moving on to more solid and stable things. Joe suffered his fate as the Last of the Party Boys, the one who’s still there with the drugs and the sex and the booze after everyone else has long since gone home, the one looking for anyone to keep the party going, no matter what the cost.
I’ve often said that there’s nothing quite so pathetic as an aging twink, but perhaps and aging stud is even more saddening, like a shark finned and tossed back to the sea. Joe is a victim of age and misplaced priorities, the party was all there ever was for him, and now there’s nothing left.
Now, I could take a moment to discuss the compartmentalization of ones life that allows for a man to be both a driven and successful professional and a personal mess, however, what I want to draw attention to in the case of Joe is the lack of supporting institutions. If there was something more for Joe than the parties and the drugs and the booze, would he have a husband by now? He’s a great catch ignoring the whoring, successful and not unpleasant to talk to. But, while he was in his glory days, when his body was fine and his sex life on fire, the 80s, the 90s; there was no institutional model to which he could cleave, there was no suggestion that he could actually settle down.
I offer that the Joes of the world are the product of a society that strips its members of the option of fidelity and monogamy even as it enforces them as the most stable relationships. True, Joe chose to party his life away, but the option to settle down with the right guy and marry wasn’t there before him. All there ever was for him was the next party or fuck. Will we leave the young studs of today, of tomorrow to the fate of Joe? Will we say, “You, gay man, have worked hard and have achieved a good career and that’s all well and good, but a fulfilling personal life isn’t something that’s going to be supported for you. For you, there is nothing but another cock”?
We musn’t say this. We can’t say this. Remember, Joe wanted to make a boyfriend out of me, it’s not that he doesn’t want a solid relationship. The image of the gay promiscuous loser is perpetuated by the denial of the gay married couple, and only through a change in institution that will allow all of us the same stability and fidelity that the heterosexual community enjoys will we be able to dismantle this negative stereotype and provide for normalization that will allow us to avoid filling our ranks with tragic cases like Joe.
