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.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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<\/i> 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. <\/p>\n
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.”<\/p>\n
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<\/i> 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. <\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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… <\/p>\n