Dreams

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Just got up from my afternoon nap. I had an awful dream.

I usually don't remember the details of my dreams, but I often remember if my dreams were good or bad. This one was a bad one folks. BAD.

Here is my dream in all it's disturbing detail:

I was hanging around Casa Tipton-Kelly (our palatial home here in southern Delaware) and I got it in my head to bike to New England. Specifically Provincetown, my former vacation choice de jour during my Glorious Youth.  

I don't remember where Bill was but I think we were having some kind of disagreement and he wasn't speaking to me. This happened not infrequently when we lived in Philly.  We would have a disagreement and I would take off for the weekend to visit my friend Bob McCamley who lived near Rehoboth Beach, Delaware which is where I live now. By the time I returned home to our town house in Philly (Philadelphia, PA) Bill would have forgotten what our disagreement was about (usually something insignificant) and my anger would have cooled down. But this time I was already in southern Delaware when I decided to take of ON BIKE for Provincetown, Mass. And I wasn't going to tell anyone about it, which is what I often did when I left Bill in Philly for real back in the Seventies when we had our tiffs.

So there I am, in a major pout taking of on my journey of eight hours and twenty-seven minutes and 503.1 miles from Lewes, Delaware to Provincetown, Mass.

In my dream I don't remember much about my actual journey, only that it was long and I arrived late afternoon Saturday in Provincetown on my bike. No suitcases, backpacks or even a water bottle. Nada.  Just me, my bike and my now flabby body. No longer did I have my trim, tight, six pack abs on display to impress and possibly get me a free place to stay with "benefits."

As I am riding down Commercial Street in Provincetown (yes folks, the main street in Provincetown is called Commercial Street, one would think they would have named that street something more intriguing Provincetown being the Gay Capital of the East Coast and all).  

As I'm riding down the crowded with tourists Commercial Street I see a gay establishment along the side of the street. Probably something akin to "The Ranch" is where I stayed the very first time I visited Provincetown in 1974 when I was a young and desirable thirty-three year old gay man.

Me at Herring Cove, Provincetown, Mass 1976, back before my "pouch" (which you will NEVER see a picture of in this blog)

The proprietor of "The Ranch" (which is what we'll call this gay B & B for lack of a better description) motions for me to pull my bike in.  He is intrigued by my still remaining good looks (which is amazing after seventy-six years of a fairly stressful and adventurous life) and asks me to "stay awhile."  

"The Ranch", 198 Commercial Street, Provincetown, Mass
(when I did stay there in 1974 it was on the first floor to the right in a room called "The Harness Room")

Now I'm starting to lose the details of my dreams but I'll proceed the best I can with what remains of the details of this disturbing dream I just had about an hour ago.  

My "host" was dressed like the Jonathan Pryce character in "Game of Thrones", the High Sparrow.

Jonathan Pryce as the "High Sparrow" in "Game of Thrones"
(at least he wasn't making me walk "The Walk of Atonement")

Not a good sign.  He invite me to have a seat and relax after my long ride.  And a long ride indeed I did have. I do remember being very exhausted and thinking that I had to make the bike ride back the very next day (Sunday) to Delaware. That's a LONG bike ride folks. I wonder if I was on I-95 at any part of that ride. But I digress.

But here is what I remember about my dream. I needed a place to stay and the town was pretty full because of the holiday weekend.  I don't remember  what holiday but I do remember that lodgings would probably be slim pickens if I looked.  I don't remember if I had my Discover card with me.  

My host, the "High Sparrow"

said I could stay at his place but I would have to "perform a few functions."  Immediately my mind raced to imagine just what those "functions" would be.  Since I am a Good Boy at my core (and heart) I wasn't prepared to whore myself out just for a night's lodgings.

I never did find out in my dream what my "functions" were to be but I do remember clearly, VERY clearly where he wanted me to stay overnight.  It was a small stable like area of about two feet by five feet, separated by burlap bag curtains.  I went in but when I laid down my feet stuck out the burlap bag curtains, almost like I was advertising for "company for the night."  That's not me folks, never was and never will be. I have somewhat of a checkered history of doing things I wasn't proud of but whoring myself out wasn't one of them. And I wasn't going to start now.

Gay bathhouse private room - yes, I've been here. No straw on the floor and I kept my door closed ALL night.

As I emerged from my stable chute (and I think the ground was covered with straw) my shirt flapped open and my host, the High Sparrow saw my flabby mid-section and an immediate wave of revulsion washed across his face like a dark cloud passes over the sun on a sunny day.  I thought "uh oh."  I immediately thought that I should exit said premises and take my chances on paying for lodging somewhere else in Provincetown.  

The last part of my dream that I remember is that I am leaving my hay strewn stable with the burlap curtains (separating me from other stay overs, God knows what "functions" there were performing for such luxurious lodgings) and mounting my bike on Commercial Street with my flabby stomach  and heading east in search of cheap accommodations. Thankfully this is when I woke up.

I was exhausted. 

I felt dirty.

I felt like a flabby 76 year old gay man.

I felt like my Glory Time is over.

And here I'm blogging about it.  

I bet this is probably the strangest blog posting you've ever read but hey, this is my blog and this is my life.

Welcome to my world. 

 

The Love of My Life - Part 3

Continuing my ongoing Eighties drama where I met this gorgeous, sexy, homeless guy named Brad.

Brad moved into my center city Philadelphia Spruce Street fourth floor walk up apartment.  We lived together in that little fourth floor apartment during the week.  Bill lived at our uncompleted house thirty-seven miles away in Chester County, Downingtown, Pennsylvania.

I soon discovered that Brad was addicted to pills, both uppers and downers.  He also smoked pot regularly.  He asked me to join him in toking a joint.  I demurred because I was so afraid that I would start smoking cigarettes again.  Besides the only high I needed was being with Brad, in spite of all his demons.

I asked Brad to go with me on my annual trek to that gay Mecca, Provincetown, Massachusetts.  I had been going to Provincetown every summer since 1974.  I always went by myself save one time that Bill went with me.  He didn't like "P-town" and stayed in his room at the Best Western our whole week.  I was looking forward to Brad going with me.  Also, my best friend (at that time) Bob would also be in Provincetown the same week with his current boyfriend Nino.  We would meet them there.

July rolled around and Brad and I were off to Provincetown in a plane out of Philadelphia International.  In Boston we switched over to the commuter plane to Provincetown.  We landed at P-town airport in gorgeous weather which continued our whole week.

The video I posted is of part of our stay.  The first day, I rented a couple of bikes and Brad and I were off to the National Seashore Bike Trail.  I always biked by myself before, it was nice to have compnay.

On Day Two, we took a cruise out on the bay.  I brought wine and cheese with me.  We imbibed.  Bob had a little too much vino and threw my cooler in the bay.  He said "What the fuck is this? A gay picnic?"  Joking of course.  Old Butch Bob.  Once we touched land, Bob stripped off his shirt and retrieved my styrofoam $1.99 cooler.  Of course it wasn't a problem because the bay is only a foot deep about 500 yards out.  Lots of laughs, which is what vacation is all about.

By the way, the music that accompanies this video "It Feels Like Love" by Kelly Marie I will ALWAYS associate with those gay, happy, carefree summer days in P-Town.  Listening to this song warms my heart and brings a smile to my face, evoking memories of a long time ago that will never go away.  Enjoy!

To be continued:

Brad - An Old Affair Remembered

Brad waiting for the bus (with our luggage) on a Provincetown, Mass. St. July 1980

Yep, I still have my cold.  It seems to morph through different stages like a Michael Jackson video.  I just hope I don't end up the way he did in his "Thriller" video, a werewolf!  I felt like one when I woke up this morning.


Maybe some of you are wondering what the picture above has to do with this blog posting.  Well, here's the deal folks.  I have literally THOUSANDS of photos from the 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's and 90's.  I'm in the process of scanning them into my computer for a permanent digital record.  I am convinced that when I depart this earth that all my hard copy photos will be tossed out in the trash so I'm copying as many as I can and posting them to either my blog or Facebook.  Maybe some of those featured in the photos will appreciate them or even strangers will recognize the iconic value and the Capture in Time Moment that I recorded for posterity. Just leaving a trail behind folks to prove that I was here and had one hell of a good time!


The picture of above is of one of my Loves of My Life.  His name was Brad.  He was from Cincinnati.  I was crazy about him and he was crazy about me for awhile until I started to smother him with attention.  I tend to do that when I like someone, I smother them.  I always got the same results, they fled.

Brad (without the shirt) and my friends Bob and Gino - we're getting ready to go on a sailboat 

This picture was taken in July of 1980 on Bradford Street in Provincetown, Massachusetts.  I met Brad in a bar in Philadelphia.  Or rather he met me.  I walked over to me and started to talk.  I was quite the catch then (I guess).  Well anyway, one thing led to another and we began a torrid affair.  It lasted that summer of 1980.

Brad and me (on the right) - it got a little chilly out on that sailboat

A little toast out in the bay

Our affair began to cool off when he started to tramp around with others.  I thought by taking him on a two week vacation to Provincetown (he had never been there before) that he would fall in love with me all over again.  Didn't happen.  After a few days and nights of enjoying the sights, sounds and pleasures of P-Town Brad met a married couple (man and woman) and took off with them.  I didn't see him until it was time to leave P-town.  Since I had the plane tickets (which I bought and paid for everything on OUR holiday), he thought it wise to show up on my doorstep to go home to Philadelphia.  Apparently his ménage à trios partners weren't going to pay his way to take his ass back to Philadelphia, it was on me.  Of course I forgave him.  Didn't work.  As soon as he got back to Philly, he started to tramp around again.  I could write a book and maybe I will someday.  So many stories Ron has to tell, so little time.

Do I look pissed?  Well, I was!

Anyway, this picture is of him waiting for the bus to take us to the Provincetown airport.  I think I had just chewed him out (no pun intended) and he was a bit miffed because he was STUCK with me (again, no pun intended).

Me at the Provincetown airport for a little sightseeing 1980

Yep folks, it's one of THOSE DAYS.


I hope this cold is gone tomorrow.

Naked On the Beach

During the Seventies I used to vacation every summer at Provincetown, Massachusetts, aka "P-Town." I loved Provincetown.  Because I am a gay man, Provincetown was the one place on this planet where I could totally relax and be myself. 

I went to Provincetown to relax, met other gay men and to work on my tan.  Every time I got off the commuter plan at Provincetown's small airport I felt a complete sense of freedom.

My favorite beach for sunbathing and working on my tan was Herring Cove, which was outside of town.  The beach was huge and sparsely populated.  The bay water (I was on the bay side) was crystal clear and cold unlike the in town beach which was cloudy and bathtub warm.

One day while lying on the beach, with my eyes closed, baking the in sun a shadow fell across my face.  I put my arm up across my forehead to shield the sun from my eyes and looked up.  What greeted my welcoming eyes was a totally nude man looking down at me.  "Well, hello" I said.  Of course I was a bit discombobulated by his state of undress.  He introduced himself as Tony Bellafoto (are you out there Tony)?  I sat up and extended my hand to his to shake.  This was the first time in my life that I ever shook the hand of a nude man.  I have to admit that from my position lying on the sand and Tony standing, I was careful where I steered my extended hand.  My eyes and brain weren't exactly coordinated at this moment. 

After we exchanged pleasantries, Tony asked if he could join me.  "Why of course!" I said.  I'm no fool.  A lean attractive man with a FULL body tan asks to join me on the beach who am I to say "no."  

Tony spread his towel on the sand beside my towel.  He lowered himself on his towel while my uncollable eyes checked out his business bobbing around and also getting settled.  I have to tell you, this was not an unpleasant experience, lying next to an attractive nude man on the beach.  Yes indeed.

Our conversation got around to Tony asking me if I had ever sun bathed in the nude.  I told him that I hadn't.  He asked why. I told him that I never had the opportunity but that I always did want to.  He said "Well, now is your chance".  And I thought, "Well, why not?"  

I stood up and looked around.  For what?  To see if there was anyone else who would see me pull my swim trunks down?  There was no one else in sight.  It was a weekday and we were behind a dune.  Tony told me that the nude beach was in Turo, which was the ocean side of the bay but he preferred Herring Cove. He told me the only problem was if a park ranger came by that we would have to put our trunks on.  Tony said not to worry, he would keep a lookout for the park ranger.  The rangers patrolled the beaches on horses.  Ironically, their horses were nude and had their business swinging around for all to see.  

So I pulled my trunks down and laid back down on my towel.  No lightning bolt came out of the sky to turn me into a pillar of salt (shades of Sodom and Gomorrah).  As a matter of fact, I felt quite liberated.  In fact, IT FELT GOOD TO LET "IT" ALL HANG OUT.  And I could tell by the expression on Tony's face, he was quite comfortable with our situation also.

Ah, so there we were.  Two young, lean,  gay guys in their prime and in the all together lying on the beach, thinking to ourselves "life just doesn't get any better than this."  

After a some more conversation we laid back to bake in the hot summer afternoon sun on the sandy beach listening to the sea gulls and the waves gently rolling in on the beach.

After about fifteen minutes I heard voices in the distance.  I pulled the towel off my head that was covering my eyes from the bright midday sun and saw a group of about five ladies off in the distance dressed in khaki with safari hats.  "Uh, Tony".  Tony removed his towel that was covering his eyes and looked at the ladies who were getting closer to us.  He evaluated the situation and then told me "Oh, they're just a group of women on a bird watching expedition."  Oh really?  

Tony advised me to lie back down and pay them no attention.  Oh really? Seeing no other alternative other than to pull on my bathing suit (which was somewhere in my bag) and looking pretty ridiculous with my ass hanging out for them to see while I put each leg into my bathing suit, I decided to take Tony's advice and lie back down and put my towel over my eyes, continue my sunbathing and pay the birdwatching ladies no attention.

As we lay there I could hear their voices come closer and closer.  Yes, there were talking about birds.  However, when their voices came very close to us, they stopped talking.  I know they were standing close because two of the ladies were blocking the sun, I could feel their shadows on my body.

Uh huh.  I wonder why they stopped talking.  Then it dawned on me, they were checking OUR BIRDS!  I wonder what they wrote down on their pads when they saw THAT.

After what seemed like a long time but was probably actually only a minute or two, they began talking again as their voices trailed off into the distance.  I couldn't quite make out the words but I did sense the tone of their voices and it was something like "WELL, I NEVER! and DID YOU EVER?"  

Tony said nothing more about it. Apparently this wasn't the first time his goods were on public display.  It was a first time for me.  It was a strange feeling. I felt like I was exposed.  Actually, I was EXPOSED wasn't I?  It certainly was a different experience.

Later,  Tony asked if I wanted to take a dip in the water.  We were hot (in more ways than one) and I thought that was a good idea.  The waters at Cape Cod are always cold.  Clear but cold.  We ran into the cold, clear water, and took the plunge. 

It was a different experience splashing in the water in the all together  It really did feel natural, the way it should be.  In fact it felt great!  The only problem was when I got out of the water and strode on the wet sand of the beach.  I looked down and I couldn't see ANYTHING!  Oh, I did see my pubic hair (sorry to that mental image in your minds, I don't shave) but WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?  

Here's the story folks, MAJOR SHRINKAGE.  Remember that Seinfeld episode about "shrinkage?"  Well, it's true, especially if you're coming out of very cold water.  WOW.  

Not to worry though, after a few minutes of laying on the beach everything returned to normal.  Phew!

Tony and I stayed on the beach for about another hour before we decided to call it a day. And no, I didn't get sunburned on that part of my body that had never been exposed to direct sunlight in all my thirty-nine years (this took place in 1979).  I did have some concern about this I have to admit.  But all I got was a  little bit pink then back to the natural, unexposed white flesh that has never saw direct sunlight.  

Tony asked to meet the following day.  I agreed to meet him but I told him that I wouldn't be nude sun bathing anymore.  Once was enough for me.  Thanks but no thanks.  Been there, done that, let's move on.

I did ask Tony to take a picture of me so I could check this off of my Bucket List.  He took my picture with his camera and sent me later on in the summer after I had returned home to Philadelphia.  I got the slide and promptly hide it in my closet.  Yes folks, back in the closet I went.

Going through my slides this past week I came across it.  This is the first time I've seen this picture since I Tony sent it too me at the end of 1979.  It's been in a box all by itself with all my other slides.  I decided that it was time for this photo to come out of the closet so to speak.  So here it is folks, my answer to Burt Reynolds and Scott Brown!

The way I look at it, if they can do it I can too.  Nothing to be ashamed of.  It is what it is.  

An interesting side note.  I showed this picture to my GOOD friend Lar this morning, giving him a head's up about my blog posting.  He took one look and almost fell off his chair laughing!  Am I missing something here?  I asked Lar and he said it was the wide, white swath of skin that tickled his funny bone.  I guess I was a dead giveaway that day on the beach.  The bird-watching ladies probably knew it was my first day at the races.  Like I said "It is what it is."