IT’S A BASTARD BEING OLDER AND NEGLECTED IN THE GENERAL RUN OF THINGS — NOT TO MENTION SEXUAL THINGS

I wished to start writing this about ten days ago. But events — events — supervened. No they did not. It was my procrastination and ambivalence that delayed this essay.

I still pine for Sam Whelan in an intellectual sense. I know that ship has, sadly, long since sailed, even if there was a plan for a cruise anyway.

I have been trying to maintain the connection with Matt Davis who I met in summer/fall of 2014 shortly after I had my fling with Emeric Quade. 

It’s been six years on now and Matt still seems interested. I really think that we need to have an extended weekend together. He has his dogs, of course. That does not mean that I cannot go down to his place. I do not, however, have any idea of his current living arrangements.

He is an extremely intelligent man with a hell of work ethic. I’d really like to get to know him well — sexually, ideally; but if not, just as a good friend that I can talk with every now and again.

These new text communication arrangements are ridiculous. I’ve already given the man carte blanche to drop in anytime. Just come on up. I do not go anywhere.

He’s recently told me about how he used to cruise the parks in Columbus on his bike and older guys made plays for him and he seems now to have a thing for older guys. I am now his “old man cock” and he is now my “young man cock”. Fine by me. I just want that human contact. The sexier the better. But contact most of all.

He wants to come up and have fun. Great. I’d like that as well. I hope he follows up. He’s been asking about porn. And what porn do I like. 

He likes older guys. Lucky me. Truly.

Joe S. Kersey 

Island of Peace on Alum Creek

12 December 2020

Will I Ever Feel Another Man’s Body Next To Me At Night?

Hard to say.

I texted a man I’d been fooling around with off and on for four years just now. And he replied that he was getting involved with a woman. [Lucky woman.] And that he did not want to see me any more just now. I must say that this is not all that unexpected.

Saddens me. But….   one must man-up.

I’ve been yearning to feel another body next me the, up close to me, against me, rubbing on me…..

I want to have a man I care about close to me and against me and — when the emotions are congruent  — shooting on me or, even better, in me.

JSK 19 May 2020 

People That Drive Me Up The Wall

Proposed List of Horrible People (descending order):

Prayer circle fascists that insist we stand around in a circle and HOLD HANDS while praying. Yes, this includes families at Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter — and, I suppose for the socialists, Labor Day, or even (gasp) May Day.

Hug fascists who insist that everyone has to engage in a full body-contact hug when meeting rather than a hand-shake (yeah — virus, my behind). For me the alternative is full on intercourse.

Dessert fascists and bullies that insist you eat dessert. Well, here’s my knife and a bottle of lidocaine so start carving away on that extra fat on ME and YOU.

Food fascists and health fascists in general that keep telling you how to eat healthy. HAVE YOU SEEN MY NUMBERS, YOU? I’ll laboratory number you into the ground [for the most part] on any given day. My liver (at the time of my ruptured stomach) was, “The most supple, smooth, non-diseased liver I’ve ever seen.” (R. S. Brown, MD — my surgeon) [True — You can’t make this stuff up.]

And let’s not forget:

Exercise fascists who always bring the conversation (read: monologue) around to their “routine”. There’s always an ab-day, never a mind-day. BORES and BOORS. And always make sure to ask you what your “routine” is. Answer: 12 oz weights and repeated walks to the supply box over a ten hour period. Rinse and repeat.

Meditations on Matt and Sam

Meditations on Matt and Sam and Needing Physical Interaction and Contact as an Older Gay Man

MATT

Why does he keep calling me with physically impossible, or at least highly improbable, sexual interactions?

He messages me great fantasies. He gets me hard. As he continually says in his fantasies that I do.

Flattering. For sure.

There is no way I can do that thing he wants to do (and who does not wish to do) in the recliner chair (the chair does not work and is basically inaccessible without a lot of work). There is no way that I can be with him in the shower — however much fun it was back in 2014 or 2015 (I still feel him up against me and in me and pounding into me and up into me); I’m afraid he’ll knock me down. He would not do it deliberately — he’s a very, very kind man — he’s just too much taller and unthinkingly rougher than I am or can withstand. I know that makes me sound and look like a pussy. So be it. I’m not a pussy — but so be it.

And then there is the issue of is he gay or is he bi. Fair enough. He has said that he is more-or-less bi. I certainly believe that. We’re at a stage wherein he texts/calls/interacts every three to four months wanting to fuck, suck, etc me [I think he does that whenever his gay side gets going more than his strate side gets going]. Now I am heartened that a bi man in his thirties wants to do the gay stuff in a sort of learning way with me, but I do not necessarily want to be an instructor. And I do not want to be the fall-back position when he decides that he’d really like to be with a man after a bit of time in the wilderness.

But, oh, would I ever like to bury my face onto his cock and pubes and suck away hard and long. And suck his balls into my mouth and pull on them. And have him shoot his load into my mouth and then I automatically swallow it. Not to mention getting my tongue squeezed into ischemia while I try to get it as far up his ass as possible.

And that tongue ischemia thing especially pertains to my SAM from Australia. I thought the tip would fall off.

Actually that last statement pertains to SAM  — my Australian man. And oh, do I miss him.

It’s been since fall 2017 — since which I’ve had a sort-of mental breakdown, and then a low-grade-residual carrying of the torch. I’ve been a good boy. I’ve only contacted him twice (three times?) and then to enquire about his situation when there were serious storms and wild fires in his area. I do hope and pray he is all right and happy.  I dare say that I shall never see or hear from him again. God bless me — I hope that is not the case — but, oh, how I miss him.

Which gets me to the real issue of a 68 year old guy who has some balance/perceptual/mobility issues holding out for a bit of a break — both personally [maybe from Matt or Sam][yeah, I know, that’s a pathetic hope] and in general [my neighbors are great — in reality — I do not know actually what I am hoping for or looking for here].

So we soldier on — traveling in hope.

Go with God.

Joe Kersey

6 May 2020

Serendipitous Kindness and Wonder at Life’s Turns

ANTIPODES MAN NO. 3

ANTIPODES MAN NO. 3

August 8 — 4:25 in the morning —
Sitting in the hotel room in San Francisco,
My friend from far away still sleep —
As well he should be since does not leave until this evening.
I, on the other hand, must be away at 8AM in an Uber
To the airport in morning traffic.

It’s been a full four days and five nights of emotional ups and downs,
All good to have gone through, I suppose,
When taken in the long view.

The intense emotional connection
Was even stronger than when we first met,
At least on my part, and, at times it seemed, also his.

The physical connection was frequent,
Passionate,
Hard,
Deep,
Overflowing,
Filling,
Fulfilling.
Full of tastes,
Smells,
Shared breaths,
Skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat,
Tongues everywhere and in everywhere —
Other things and other places too,
Fluids swallowed with intense and violent spasming.
Then showering together —
Giving a new meaning to rinse, lather, and repeat.

And afterwards, holding each other
Bodies pressing against each other,
Fingers — lightly, at first — brushing over skin,
Then more firmly, more pressure,
Looking intently into each other’s eyes,
Kissing each other’s eyes.
Moving together again on a repeat journey into happy exhaustion.
Thirteen times at last count — but I wasn’t really keeping track —
All in between going about this City on the Bay —
On foot, cable car, Uber.
All in between having many Guinnesses in Irish pubs —
All with actual Irish bartenders, surprisingly —
And food — not as much of that as one would think for a visit to this town.
All interspersed with actual conversation.
Me learning a lot more about his background.

Yet he obviously remained very troubled
About something.

I asked nothing.
I waited for him to tell me.
And he did.

He has decided finally —
The real point of this trip for him —
To try to turn an already existing relationship
At home into something more serious.

With a woman.

One can’t say
That he did not give this an honest try.

One can’t say,
That I did not either.

Still —
We’ll always have San Francisco.

JOE S. KERSEY
8 AUGUST 2017
SAN FRANCISCO

STRANGE INTERLUDE IN THE ANTIPODES MAN SAGA

STRANGE INTERLUDE IN THE ANTIPODES MAN SAGA

I never thought I’d tell
Paul about my Southern Man
From far away.
Yet, from time to time, he does watch my You Tube stuff.
Not consistently, but sometimes.

He came up to do laundry today — Monday 17 July.
I told him I may be out of town from around the 28th
Until August 6th or so (– a very explosive event happened on that day in the past,
I believe).
I wish I knew the exact dates of his San Francisco sojourn.
Oh, Sam, please tell me.
One way or the other.

Please.

He asked questions.
I did not lead him.
I answered.
Asked and answered as the attorneys say —
at least on TV.

I tried not to volunteer anything more than what I was asked.
And eventually —
I showed him my Southern Man in the video with my son.
The video I have said I will not put up on the internet.
And I shall not.
I promised him. My Southern Man. My Sam.

He eventually said he had watched the “I Love Sam” email video.
No other remarks. Just that.
So typical of him.
Getting a discussion going with him
Was always like pulling teeth with needle-nose pliers.

So he knows. That’s fine.
I was not going to tell him for fear of hurting him.
Or maybe I’m just flattering myself by saying that.

Sam will be in Las Vegas tonight.
God willing.
Deo Volente.
He does not gamble.
He told me.

Thank God.

Good.

Worse than the other usual vices that get written about
In the tabloids and public pundits’ hysteria.

He confessed to his walling himself off from others.
From me — even (his words).
For fear of getting hurt or hurting the others.
Wound tighter than a tick.

He is.

He said he’d like to tell me everything.

Oh, Sam.
Please do.

Please do.

Please let me come see you
During your last days — for now —
In the US.
Until you come back.
With me.

Paul is napping now as his laundry runs.
I just went down and put his clothes in the dryer.
I liked the man.
I just could not live with the man.

I did not know what love was until very recently.
What I had with Paul was not —

Love.

Good friendship.
Good mateship — as perhaps Sam would say.
But not love.

Oh, Sam.
Decide. Do.

JOE S. KERSEY
17 JULY 2017

ANTIPODES MAN NO. 2

ANTIPODES MAN NO. 2

You are probably in Albuquerque.
Spent the entire day — a non-traveling day
On your motorcycle trip down Route 66,
Iconic highway of dreams, both failed and realized,
Exploring, or, as in Santa Fe,
Sitting in a bar drinking shitty American so-called beer,
All day from around noon until you texted me
— (You said you felt a bit rough) —
Near midnight to connect with me,
To exalt my heart, to turn on my yearnings and the love
That was miraculously given to me immediately as we were
Together that night now just over two weeks ago.

Saying I love you.
Saying I miss you.
Saying I need you.
All to myself, because I do not wish to trouble you,
Or appear obsessed and unreasonable and uncool.
But it’s true.

Just that.

But yesterday I sent you a link to a song —
Man I felt like such a chick —
Elvis Presley singing “I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You”.
And I couldn’t.
And I did.
Some things were meant to be.
But one would have to get a memo from God
To really be sure.

Still ….

I want to come out to San Francisco.
And spend the last few days you have in the US
Together with you.
Walking around.
Talking. Dare I say — holding hands.
Getting to know you, and you me.
What’s your birthday.
What kind of hobbies and interests do you like.
What are your brother and sister’s names. Your parents.
What turns you on. Really turns you on.
Sexually. In your head. In your heart.
What’s your world view, if you will.
All this is a fancy way of saying: Can we really get along.
Do we like each other as opposed to having passion for each other.

I want to hear you say what you have decided you really are
And how you want to live.

Live for yourself.
Or live for other people who you have said will hem you in and define you,
As long as you are not gay.
(But they love you.
And maybe they do.
But is it you.)

But you are.
Aren’t you.

If you spend your whole life being someone else,
Who is going to be you.
Your life is a limited edition.
Don’t deface it.

Please.
Oh, please.

Be with me.
Your Joe

JOE S. KERSEY
15 JULY 2017

ANTIPODES MAN

ANTIPODES MAN

Man from halfway around the world.
Unknown to me but for his name.
Watching me on You Tube.
Three and a half years he said.
And looking at other people I watch as well.
Commenting, making his presence known,
But subtly … infrequently … enigmatically.
But there, making me aware.

At least I became aware.

Then, out of the blue, a message on a video.
Can he drop in on me while traveling the US.
Well … of course … no brainer.
What to expect.
He had no You Tube picture or profile or his own videos.
Normally, I would not give such a person the time of day …
Except as a courtesy one human being owes to another.
But his comments had been humane, well spoken, courteous, informed.
Not a man one would ignore intentionally.
Or willfully do an act that would hurt him.

A day later — a text.
He’s in town.
Can he come up.
Yes. Yes. Most certainly yes.

Serendipity.
My son was here when he arrived.
Good talk.
My son had to leave for another work engagement.

Now — together.
By ourselves.
Just we two.

Deeper talk.
Specifics exchanged.
Backgrounds exchanged.
Experiences exchanged.

Eyes staring into eyes.
Moving closer together in our chairs.
His hands reaching out to take off my shirt.
My hands reaching out to take off his shirt.
Touching each other.
Leaning in to lick his pits.
Him sucking my nipples.
Me sucking his nipples.
Staring into each others eyes as we come together and kiss.

Deeply.
Intensely.
Passionately.
Bruising each other’s necks, shoulders — well that was later —
With our mouths, teeth, tongues.

Hand in hand — yes, a cliché —
We go into the bedroom — I’d already cleared all the books off the bed.
Clothes drop into piles quickly.

Bodies together.
Skin on skin.
Man feeling and stroking man.
Deeply.
Intensely.
Passionately.
Finding out what each of us likes, enjoys, asks for.

Intensely hard cock getting sucked.
Deeply.
More kissing.
Tongues in mouths.
Tasting each others skin and sweat.
Breathing each others breath.
Fingers probing and enjoying taints, and cracks, and buttholes.
Sucking and twisting and pinching nipples.
Licking and tasting pits.
Playing with chest hair, pubes, pit hair (again).
Tasting taints and butt holes (again).
Loving all his hair on his legs and ass and taint.
Getting down to that sensitive part of the base of the neck.
Asking each other to leave a mark.
Something to remember this occasion by
At least for a while, until it fades.
As the memory will not.

Me sucking.
Him sucking.
Me jacking.
Him jacking.
Not quite to fruition — enjoying the time, the delay, the intensity as it builds.

Now it is time.

I fetch rubbers and lube.
Grease myself up (water soluble only, please).
Quick as a flash and before I know it
He has the rubber on his cock.

On my belly.
Ass up.
That’s how he wants it.
Fine by me.

Into me.
On to me.
Pounding into me.
Faster.
Harder.
Deeper.
Hitting that really good spot.
Again … and again … and again.
Arms enfolding me, grasping me, under my pits and around my shoulders.
Body pressing hard against me (oh, how great).
Kissing and sucking on my neck, my shoulders.
Hard.
Marking me.
Claiming this moment for the two of us.

Then the build up.
Breathing hard against the side of my face.
And the shudder as he pumps his load into the rubber.
Lingering with his cock in my ass.
More affection.
I am completely held.
And had.
By him.
Enjoying the moment.
The time together.
Connecting on the most basic level.

He rolls off.
We face each other again on our sides.
Staring.
Whispering.
Lingering.
Breathing each other.

He said I was his first man.

Interlude.
Let’s take a shower together.
He agrees.
Always fun.
Soaping and fingering each others buttholes, cocks, backs, ass cracks, pits, crotches, chests.
Appreciating.
Looking at each other.
Penetrating each other in a different way.
Some might say a more important way.
(I shan’t dispute that, but …).

Then back to bed.
More talk and holding.
Voices getting quieter and quieter.
And words more simple and basic.
Barely whispering now.
Two syllables and no dependent clauses
(For the syntax mavens out there).
Meaning conveyed more clearly.
Directly.
Quickly.
As if there were any doubt by now.

Asking him to let me kiss his eyes.
(Total trust there.
I kiss his eyes, over and over during the rest of the night.)
His eyes were so beautiful.
He is such a beautiful man.

His arms around me.
My arms around him.
Sometimes we just held hands,
Lying side by side,
Or facing each other,
Gazing at each other.
Into each other eyes.
Kissing.
Whispering.
Breathing into each other.

And then — after a brief sleep —
I start sucking him.
And then he straddles my chest.
Looking up at him,
His cock in my mouth,
Pinching and pulling on his nipples,
As I suck and he intermittently jacks himself.
“I’m ready to come. Suck me, suck me.”
Unloading into my mouth.
I take him deeply into my throat.
He pumps.
I swallow.
I savor.
We kiss.
We share.
He savors.

Brief drifting off-and-on to sleep.
Whispered conversations.
He plays with my chest hair (no one has done that before).
He plays with my pubes (a lot of guys think they are too long — no shaving here).
I do the same to him.
Heck, I’ve been doing the same to him all along.

As 3AM comes around (I think; I took off my watch),
I reach for his cock and start jacking it.
Slowly — at first.
And then faster and faster and faster.
These things take a while (and you don’t wish for it to go fast).
He’s fully awake now.
Kissing.
Cock against bellies — his and mine.
Grabbing me.
Hard.
He grabs my shoulders, bites my neck, and shudders.
He shoots.
Licking up his cum.
Rubbing what’s left over him — and me.
Kissing.
Sharing.
Being.

My finger up his ass.
(Hard to find it, he was so tight.)
He seemed to like it.
First time there for him, too, he said.
(I believe that.)

First light.
I have to get up,
But he sleeps on for a while.

I drive him back to his hostel.
We kiss.
We part.

Joe S. Kersey
1 July 2017

Christmas Eve Depression Sets In 2016

24 DECEMBER 2016 at around 1600 to 1800 ET

AND THE CHRISTMAS RELATED FUNK, MALAISE, AND UNCERTAINTY STARTS

Well it was only a matter of time. It has held off a bit longer than usual this year. But eventually I reach a point where I get fed up with all the happy chirpy family this and family that and who are you going to see and who’s coming to see you well intentioned comments and questions. Oh, yes. All well-intentioned and without any hint of a “subtext” or an innuendo — seriously. It would be very easy to fall into the dead end trap of entertaining those thoughts.

And I’ve not even directly experienced the above phenomenon this year — yet (you get a moderate amount of that during Thanksgiving, too). But, if I go to church this Christmas Eve for the 2100 service, it will start. A good stiff dose of it, too. Now, obviously, I’m going to church tomorrow on the 25th at 0900. I am not reading but I am going. It’s Sunday after all. I’ll get some of it there then, too; but it is usually easier to dodge and deflect these well-meaning comments and questions at a morning service which will, historically on Christmas Day, be much smaller. Changing the subject is a good tactic.

As far as I know — and that’s one of the major annoyances this time around — I am not reading tonight. One would think that I’d have heard ONE WAY OR THE OTHER. I volunteered for the 2100 service tonight back on Dec 1st when the schedule came out with unassigned open slots and was told I’d hear back one way or the other. Nope. No word. Not a peep.

So I don’t feel too bad about not going up there tonight and having to listen to all the extraneous stuff (and it will be there for sure, interspersed with the actual stuff about Christ’s Incarnation) about “where are we going as a parish” and “letting the ‘process’ take its course” and “discernment” and retreats for “the discernment process” — a double score there with that phrase.

I realize it is not about me; but I feel I am being gradually squeezed out of the reading rota after almost 12 years of being continually available to fill in on almost all occasions. But it’s been clear for some time that this fellow’s mandate is to stir and shake things up out of familiar patterns that have, for the most part, been working very well for all concerned — and that includes the congregation who seemed quite happy with the reading situation we had before he arrived and stated as much many times to me.

But as I said: This is a bad time of year for me for various reasons and always has been. Strangely, this is one of the better years. Most years I’m in an almost immobile depressive funk.

I have good neighbors — one of whom just brought over some fine pork and gravy. I have a fine son, grandson, and daughter-in-law that I will (if the plans hold up) see at least once during this vacation break. But to sense that I am being excluded from the active role I’ve had in church for many years is disheartening. It might not be the case, but I’ve read handwriting on walls in other situations. I adjusted, of course; but not readily and not without some resentment.

Nothing I can really do except keep soldiering on in the bits they let me do which I am always happy to do if I can (and I usually can). But I do not wish to subject myself to that tonight. No. Not tonight, not this time. I am trusting that God understands; I would not be in a proper frame of mind to worship Him if I were to go.

“Sing us one of the songs of Sion.
How shall [I] sing the Lord’s song: in a strange land?”
Psalm 137 BCP 1662

Joe S. Kersey
Island of Peace on Alum Creek