22 June 1990

Last evening was very interesting. Bill called promptly at 5:30 just as he'd promised night before last when he called.  I was already standing in the shower when the phone rang, but still made time for a brief chat.  He came over a bit past 6:00, dressed in a black leather motorcycle jacket, faded jeans, cowboy boots, and black leather motorcycle gloves. Can you say, "Hey Daddy?"

When we were chatting on the phone while I was standing in the tub, we'd discovered that we were both from Phoenix.  He wasn't a native, but had been there since high school (1978), and had arrived in San Francisco only about two years ago.  I had a feeling that he was a newcomer, but couldn't put my finger on anything specific.  Supposedly he even knew Steve Golden, but alas, even he did not know his current whereabouts.

After he arrived we talked of many more things, but the conversation was punctuated with long periods of tongue-tiedness.  I sensed (especially as time drew closer to 7:00 pm—when he had to leave to pick up his lover) that he really wanted to jump my bones.  Frankly, I would have loved it if he had, but at the same time, I want this to be something more than a sexual liaison, however impossible that request may be.  There is an undeniable attraction in operation here, and though he doesn't admit to any "I've known you before feelings", he slipped by saying that it must have been Phoenix where he knew me from.  Quite unlikely, considering his age and the various bars he hung out at during his tenure there.

It was an awkward parting.  We hugged goodbye and that was enough to give both of us a bit of discomfort in the jeans.  He turned to face me as he stood on the deck; his discomfort was quite discernable.  I told him that since it was probably going to be days and days before I saw him again perhaps he had better come back inside so I could at least kiss him goodbye.  He readily agreed.  I didn't want to stop or let him go.  In fact, we kissed twice. The second time I patted him on the butt and told him he'd better get going or he'd be late picking up his husband.  As he left, he said, "Thank you for making a fantasy come true."

There was no second rendezvous and I never really heard from Bill again, although we did cross paths for several years thereafter.