Men Are Dogs (Mostly)

Looks like I am one for three with new guys in the last week. In a previous entry, I mentioned meeting New York Times reporter Chris Marquis, with whom I hit it off and had much in common. I gave him my number (but didn’t get his — he didn’t have a card). But I haven’t heard from him yet.

On Saturday night, I went to a Pride Party with Raymond, where I met another pretty hot guy, Eric, who also grew up in the Bay Area. Again, we hit it off. Again, I provided my number. I even asked him, for some reason, if he was really going to call me, and he acted like, “Of course!” But I saw him on Pennsylvania Ave. at the Pride Festival the next day, and he was very distant. Gave me his cheek to kiss, even though we made out a little the previous night. And he hasn’t called. Nor will he, I don’t suppose.

But on the other hand, on Friday night, I ran into an old friend, although I didn’t know it. A year ago, I met an extremely hot guy at the Eagle. A 26-year-old Costa Rican college boy with a brick-shithouse body, who is very into guys my age. We made out, but that was it. Traded e-mail info, (his name’s Henry Soto) and we’ve been corresponding occassionally the whole year.

Which brings me to Friday: I see this unfamiliar hot Latino guy at the Eagle. I make a remark complimenting his revealing tank top and we start talking. His name, he says, is Henry; he’s from Delaware. Well, actually, from Costa Rica — he’s just visiting Delaware. The little light comes on over my head, and I say, “Is your name Henry Soto?” He gets a look like he’s seen a ghost or something, and asks, “How did you know that?” “Because we’ve been corresponding for a year,” I laugh. “I’m Tim Curran.”

So we giggle about that for a while, then he introduces me to his friends (same guys he was with a year ago). Then we go out onto the back deck and make out heavily for a while, just the two of us, then in a group grope. Eventually, it gets a little too heavy, and the barback shuts us down. I ask Henry to come home with me, but he has to drive his friends back to Annapolis, and eventually Henry literally begs me to come with them to Annapolis. But it doesn’t seem too wise to me to depend entirely on him to get home, so I decline.

But I e-mail him that night, and after a few back-and-forths, Henry asks if he can stay at my place for a couple of days. I agree, but I didn’t hear from him again until today, when he asked if he can stay Thursday and Friday nights. Whoopee! Of course, I guess it could still be a disaster, but I’m betting it’ll be a lot of fun. Stay tuned.