More Adventures of a Hotel Front Desk Agent

As regular followers of this blog know, I work part-time as a front desk clerk agent at a small, upscale boutique hotel in Lewes, Delaware.  And as I have often said I love my job, my co-workers and where I work.  However, as with any aspect of life there is always the occasional fly in the ointment, so to speak.

Folks, as long as I've been at this job (15 years now, hard to believe these past fifteen years tacked on to a prior 36 year banking career), I always encounter a new challenge.  Always.

Of course there is the always present chance of encountering a Guest From Hell, who, nothing you can do, will please them.  However, I am happy to say that kind of guest is very rare.  Oh yes, they do happen and when they appear in front of me with their nastiness, my professionalism is tested to the max.  But, as I said they are few and far in between, thank God.  I look upon them as a challenge. 

Then something happens like what occurred last night.  As long as I've been at this business I think I've encountered just about any situation and have been able to handle it.  But tonight I was thrown yet another curve ball. Yet another challenge.

So here is what happened: 

I get a call from a man who wants to make a reservation for next week.  The phone connection is bad.  He's probably on his cell phone.  He asks me what rooms are available next Tuesday.  I tell him the availability and give him the rate for the room.  He wants to make the reservation.  So I snap into my routine that I've done thousands of times before.  I asked him his first name.  He says "BUMFUCK."  I begin typing then I realize what he said.  As I began to boil, icily I say "Are you kidding me?"  He said "No.  My first name is Bumfuck."  I . AM . MAD.

Now lets back up so I can put my mindset in context folks.  I have to explain to you why on several levels this made me so angry so very fast.  A few years ago one of my co-worker's husband was using her Facebook account.  He didn't like a video I posted to my Facebook account of two men (brothers) dancing the tango. He posted a rude and offensive and homophobic comment under my co-worker's name.  We got into a big verbal to do.  The situation was finally resolved by me unfriending all of my co-workers from my Facebook account so such a thing wouldn't happen again.

Secondly, someone called me a few weeks ago at work and said "How's that burning ass?" and hung up.  I have NO IDEA who called but I didn't appreciate the humor. I think the "burning ass" comment was in reference to one of my uncomfortable side effects from my brachytherapy surgery for my prostate cancer.

Thirdly, as you regular followers know, my longtime partner Bill and I got married on July 3rd, our 49th anniversary. Our wedding was on the news and the local newspapers.  I was very pleased that I hadn't received one negative reaction to our marriage.  However, when I received the anonymous hang up phone call I assumed the worst.

Now back to our regular programming, I get "Mr. Bumfuck" making a reservation tonight. 

I asked him his last name.  There was a pause and he said "Wait a minute! What did you just say to me?"  I said "I asked if you were kidding with that first name?"  Very angrily he said "Did you just make a racist comment to me?"  I said "I asked you your first name and you said Bumfuck."  He said "No!  My first name is Bumsuk!"  OMG! 

As I extracated my size 12 foot from my mouth, I quickly apologized to him.  I told him I thought he said a "different word that I didn't want to repeat to him."  His anger subsided as quickly as it rose just a few seconds prior.  I apologized to him again and completed the rest of his reservation. 

By the way, his last name was Korean (which I won't repeat out of respect for his privacy) but I guess "Bumsuck" is probably a very common name in Korea.  How would I know?  Probably "George" in Korean.

So folks, seems like Ron was a bit paranoid tonight.  What do you think?  Can you blame me?

I thought for sure that I was being punked tonight.  Either by a homophobe or one of those idiots who work for the Howard Stern radio show.  I'm one of those people doesn't get the humor in these radio shows making obsence calls to people trying to make a living. 

So it was a legit call and I have another hotel antecdote to add for book "More Adventures of a Hotel Front Deck Agent."  And the beat goes on.

Taking Medical Advice From the "Experts"

One of my very favorite activities is exposing hypocrites, phonies, charlatans, and snake oil salesmen.  I admit, I do take an almost perverse pleasure in exposing these money grubbing liars in our society.  For one thing, it is so easy to do.  Almost like shooting monkeys in a barrel.

One can hardly open a newspaper or look on the Internet to find the latest health "tip" to improve your health and increase your longevity to 100 plus years.  Go ahead, pick up a copy of USA Today today and you're sure to see the latest "breakthrough discovery" by an "expert".  It could be "drinking ten cups of coffee a day will increase prevent shingles" or "eating blueberries will help prevent impotence."  

It's always something folks with these so called "experts" spewing out their latest advice to a certain gullible segment of the Great Unwashed.  

Well, I'm not buying it folks.  Never have and never will.  Every time I hear of another one of these breakthrough claims I think of all the "experts" of the past who are dead.  Oops!  You said DEAD?  Oh yes, their survivors quickly come up the excuses why they died but the fact remains they died before their time in spite of their "expert" claims of knowing the secret of health and longevity.

I don't usually include the writing of others in my blog but this one time I will make an exception.  This is from:

By Melissa Breyer
Thu., Jan. 10, 2013

"We commonly hear stories of people whose health defies the odds: the chain-smoking grannies who live to 100, the skinny dudes who pack away unreasonable amounts of calories without gaining an ounce. But often it’s the reverse that prevails; the physically virtuous who drop dead way before their time. And it’s never more surprising than when such a fate befalls the very people have become famous for espousing good health.

With a life expectancy in the United States for males at 76.3 years and 81.1 years for females (according to the CDC), it’s confounding to discover so many diet gurus who have succumbed years ahead of the national average. And this isn’t to suggest that their practices and philosophies contributed to their deaths in any way — who's to say where nature tramples nurture, so to speak – but the irony is hard to deny. We don't suggest throwing in the towel on healthy eating based on the unfortunate deaths of the diet gurus listed here, but it does provide some food for thought."

James Fixx

The author of the 1977 runaway bestseller, "The Complete Book of Running," Fixx is often credited with starting the American running craze. Fixx ran 10 miles a day in addition to other vigorous exercise, and was described as being in fine physical condition by friends — yet he had a fatal heart attack at the age of 52 while jogging

near his home in Vermont. Although he showed no symptoms, autopsy results revealed that his left circumflex coronary artery was almost totally blocked. About 80 percent of the blood flow in his right coronary artery was blocked and half of the left anterior descending was blocked in places. Although he had a family history of heart disease, his problems had gone undiagnosed by a physician.



Michel Montignac

The famous French doctor originally developed the Montignac diet to help himself lose weight. The diet went on to become the backbone of his best-selling books and a chain of restaurants and stores promoting his nutritional regimen. His research focused on the glycemic index and the distinction between good and bad carbohydrates. (For example, whole grains are good; refined flour is bad.) His 1987 book, "Eat Yourself Slim," sold 17 million copies in several countries, and his work and theories were the inspiration behind the South Beach Diet. Montignac died of prostate cancer at the age of 66.

Nathan Pritikin

Perhaps the granddaddy of all diet gurus, few names are as associated with the health revolution as Nathan Pritikin. The inventor with a passion for nutrition and fitness was one of the first to

promote the connection between diet and heart disease, which in the 1970s was a surprisingly novel idea. His bestselling books, which promoted a low-fat diet, his media appearances and namesake longevity centers have been responsible for guiding many followers into good health. And although his diet and exercise regimens brought him into excellent cardiovascular health, they were not enough to combat the leukemia that ravaged his body; Pritikin committed suicide in his hospital bed at the age of 69.

Paavo Airola

The European born and based Airola was a nutritionist and naturopathic doctor with a background in biochemistry and natural healing. Airola promoted natural healing through a diet of nutritious, whole foods and holistic medicine. He lectured extensively across the globe and spent time as a visiting lecturer at prestigious universities including Stanford University Medical School. Airola served as president of the International Academy of Biological Medicine, and authored 14 books, two of which became international bestsellers. The American Academy of Public Affairs went as far as to issue Airola the Award of Merit for his book on arthritis. This brilliant man was felled by a stroke at the age of 64.

Robert Atkins

Creator of one of the world’s most famous diets, the Atkins Nutritional Approach, aka the Atkins Diet, Robert Atkins basically gave the okay for bacon lovers to pig out on all things protein, condemning carbohydrates to the hall of dietary shame. Dieters swore by the program and vegetarians shuddered. Meanwhile, Atkins himself was revealed after his death to have had a “history of serious heart problems including myocardial infarction (a heart attack), congestive heart failure and hypertension,” which has been suggested by some to lead to his death, caused by a fall on the ice. He died at the age of 72.

Robert E. Kowalski

The author of The New York Times best-selling book (which was on the list for a remarkable 115 weeks) "The NEW 8-Week Cholesterol Cure"

as well as "The 8-Week Cholesterol Cure Cookbook," "Cholesterol & Children," "8 Steps to a Healthy Heart," "The Type II Diabetes Diet Book" and "The Blood Pressure Cure: 8 Weeks to Lower Blood Pressure Without Prescription Drugs" died at the age of 65 from a pulmonary embolism.

Adelle Davis

Born in 1904, Adelle Davis, was one of the country’s best-known early nutritionists and contended that almost any disease could be prevented by proper diet. The visionary author penned four best-selling books: "Let’s Cook It Right," "Let’s Have Healthy Children," "Let’s Get Well" and "Let’s Eat Right To Keep Fit." Although she received criticism for some of her more far-out ideas, her enthusiasm for health food led her to become an early advocate for the need to exercise, the dangers of vitamin deficiencies as well as the need to avoid hydrogenated fat, saturated fat and excess sugar consumption — all of which remain standard guidelines today.


Davis succumbed to cancer at the age of 70.

While some consider her death premature based on the current national average, others say she lived a relatively long life for a woman born in 1904. She had maintained that cancer was a result of the inadequacies of the American diet, and upon discovering her illness, expressed hope that her diagnosis would not disappoint the many people who took her good advice to heart.

 
I am not receptive to medical advice from "experts."  I'll take medical advice about my condition but I don't take any medical advice from self-appointed "experts, be they doctors or snake oil salesmen.  

J. I. Rodale (birth name Jerome Irving Cohen) was one such health salesman who published a very successful magazine called "Prevention." 

Rodale died on while he was participating as a guest on the Dick Cavett show promoting his "healthy lifestyle" and magazine "Prevention" which made him and his family a lot of money (and still is I believe.)

The following is an accounting from Wikipedia of how and when Mr. Rodale died at age 71, younger than I am now.

Death: 

Rodale died of a heart attack at the age of 72 while participating as a guest on The Dick Cavett Show. He was still on stage, having finished his interview, and was seated next to the active interviewee, New York Post columnist Pete Hamill. According to Cavett, Hamill noticed something was wrong with Rodale, leaned over to Cavett, and said, "This looks bad." According to others, Cavett asked, "Are we boring you, Mr. Rodale?". Cavett himself said that he "emphatically" did not recall saying this. Two interns rushed onto the stage to try and revive Rodale, but they were unsuccessful. The episode was never broadcast, although Cavett has described the story in public appearances and on his blog.

Rodale had bragged during his just-completed interview on the show that "I'm in such good health that I fell down a long flight of stairs yesterday and I laughed all the way", "I've decided to live to be a hundred", and "I never felt better in my life!" He had also previously bragged, "I'm going to live to be 100, unless I'm run down by some sugar-crazed taxi driver."


Note: Rodale's son Robert took over the family business and died, in a car accident during a business trip to Russia. Case closed.





Then there was John B. Kelly, Jr.  

Brother of Princess Grace and Olympic rower.  He used to jog on Kelly Drive in Philadelphia.  I often passed him on my bike when I drove the Kelly Drive loop.  John B. Kelly, Jr. died while jogging on Kelly Drive.  He was 57 years old.  Younger than I am now.

Just a few examples folks of the futility of trying to prevent death by living "fad" healthy.  Hey folks, we're all going to die of something.  Some of us sooner than others, some later. 

I think we've all pretty much figured out what healthy living is.  We don't need a Rodale or a spandexed jogger to illustrate to us what "healthy" is.  If you're a couch potato, heavy smoker and dope user, you're probably going to die an early death.  However, if you're even moderately active, eat in moderation, don't smoke, you're probably going to live a lot longer than your peers.  Of course there is always that chance of a Random Act of Fate and you're struck with a terminal illness.  Can't do much about that.  Count your blessings you've lived as long as you have and pray that your exit isn't too painful, humiliating or needy. 

Look folks, if you're lucky enough to have reached a reasonably advanced age without contracting some kind of fatal illness or injury by accident or design; I would pay only scant attention if any at all to these self appointed "experts."  Seems to me they had something to sell before reality caught up with them.  There might be a small amusement factor but that's about it.  However there is one guarantee, on tomorrow's news there is sure to be yet an another breathless news item about the latest food or dietry supplement to ingest or avoid to live a long and healthy life.  But before you run out to the store to buy their latest book or product consider this, the cemeteries are full of "experts."


Want to live a long and healthy life?  Here, I'll give you advice for FREE.  Eat healthy, exercise, get plenty of rest, be kind to your fellow human beings and don't lie to people just to make money.  There you go folks, live long and be happy!

Prostate Update

August 2nd will be the three month anniversary of my prostate surgery.  Remember, back on May 2nd I had brachytherapy surgery in which I had seventy to ninety (I didn't count) radioactive seeds implanted into my prostate to reduce and (hopefully) eliminate the cancer spreading in my prostate gland.

My longtime friend Don M. sent me an e-mail last week inquiring as to how I am doing since my surgery.  I responded to his e-mail with the details, some of which I won't go into here on this posting because there are nice ladies who read my blog (you guys can handle it but I have to consider the ladies).  

First of all, I fatigue much easier and more often than I did before surgery.  I understand this condition is fairly common for anyone undergoing any kind of radiation treatment, external or internal.  Every afternoon, except those days when I'm working at the hotel, I HAVE to take a nap.  These "naps" are more than your usual 15 minute siesta.  When I take one of these "naps", I'm dead to the world.  I usually go to bed after lunch, anywhere from 1 to 2 p.m.  I don't get up until at least 4 p.m. or later.  Sometimes I've slept as late as 5 p.m.  When I wake up, it's like I wake up in the morning after a night's sleep.  I am coming out of a deep sleep.  It takes me a while to get up to speed.  But I am refreshed once I become fully awake.

Perhaps the most unpleasant side effect of my brachytherapy surgery is that my bowels are totally out of synch.  Either I'm constipated or I have diarrhea.  Not much middle ground there.  I take Doculex, a stool softener, which works most of the time.  Doesn't always work though.  I really have to be careful what I eat.  No cheese or rice or anything else that binds me up.  

I have to plan my days around the fact that in the morning I can't be too far away from a bathroom in case of an emergency.  When I have to go, I HAVE TO GO.  No holding it back in the condition I'm in.  That applies to both front and back.  If I can get through the morning I'm usually good the rest of the day.  Except one small problem, there is sometimes leakage.  I'm not at the point of some prostate cancer patients that I need pads (thank God) but I do have an occasional "problem" there.  I know, this is gross but it is my situation and one that any of you who is considering prostate cancer surgery should consider.  If I stand to urinate I have to be careful I'm not doing the other thing at the same time.  However, if I sit down I have trouble urinating.  Sound distasteful?  It is folks but one that you quickly adapt to.  You do what you have to do.  Again, I'm thankful that I'm not buying Depends like some other guys I know.

One of the conditions I was most concerned about was impotence.  I'll try to address this situation with minimal "ickness."  What I can say folks is that everything is working now.  At first "it" was strange (orgasm - sorry I couldn't avoid using the word) but now IT is just like it was before surgery.  It took me just over two months to get back to normal for me.  So that function is working folks for which I am greatly relieved.  I've heard from some others who follow my blog, who have had their prostate removed.  They tell me nothing works but they are fine with that. Well, I'm happy for them (I think) but that's not for me.  I do like to retain some activities that give me pleasure besides blogging, not that I'm equating the two you understand. 

Two weeks from now I'm scheduled for my first blood test since my surgery.  I expect to see my PSA score significantly lower than the 8.4 score I had before my surgery.  At the end of September I see my urologist for a follow-up appointment.  He's already told me that I'll be seeing him every six months for the rest of my life.  I'm fine with that considering the alternative.  

My First (and last) Girlfriend

In 1957, when I was 15 years old, I thought it was about time I had a girlfriend. However, I had a "problem", I liked guys.  

Picture this; a very shy, introverted, awkward, 15 year old boy with very low self-esteem (thanks to my father who rarely missed an opportunity to belittle me); growing up in the Fifties in a small town wants to be accepted as "normal."  I knew I had these "urges" (homosexual) but there was no way I knew how or could even conceive acting on those urges.  I was at a crossroads.

Me - 1957 - at a crossroads

I thought my urges for all those male classmates of mine was a phase I would pass through.  Those times when I would get aroused just sitting in at my desk while one of my favorite classmates delivered a book report with a hard on, was a "phase"  I would pass through.  While our fellow classmates would laugh at our classmate who had this predicament standing in front of the class trying to hide his erection, I was about to have a wet mess right at my desk.  Time to get a girlfriend Ron!

About a year earlier I had noticed a girl two grades  ahead of me.  She was a senior, I was a sophomore.  I was struck by her natural beauty.  She reminded me so much of my Mother at that age (16).

My Mom, Betty Hadfield - 1939

Her name was Vivian.  Coincidentally she lived on the same street in Downingtown, (Pennsylvania) where my Mother was born and grew up - Pennsylvania Avenue.  She only lived a few houses away.

My Mom in her only schoolgirl photo - 1939

I was also attracted to Vivian because of her demeanor.  She was quiet and gracious.  She wasn't one of these loud and boisterous girls of that time who used to so intimidate me.  To me, those kinds of girls at that time reminded me of a Venus Flytrap. 

I was SCARED TO DEATH  of them.  

Vivian didn't scare me.  But there was a problem, in addition to the obvious (that I wasn't sexually attracted to her).  At the age of 15 (me) and 17 (her); two years was a BIG AGE difference.  I was a sophomore and she was a SENIOR.  

I made my feelings known to some of my fellow band members.  Someone (I still don't know to this day) got the WORD to Vivian that a tall, skinny, shy sophomore was interested in her.  I don't remember the exact first time we exchanged words but I do remember that after talking to her I felt very comfortable. This girl was no Venus Flytrap.

I felt very comfortable with Vivian.  She liked me because I wasn't one of those loud and boisterous guys of that time.  

Me wrapped up in my Sousaphone - 1959

Vivian - voted "Quietist in her class" - Ironically she's pictured with a Sousaphone, my band instrument - 1957

Now, I had another problem.  I didn't have a car.  Back in the Fifties, unlike today where just about every teenager is presented with a car on his (or her) 16th birthday, I didn't have a car.  A couple years before I got rid of my bicycle (after I quit my paper route).  Besides, back in that day, it wasn't cool for a teenager to have a bike, that was for kids.  

Last picture of me on my bike - 1955

Vivian and I went out on dates but they were always double dates with my friend Larry.  I remember once when we went to the Exton Drive-In.  Larry and his Paramour of the Moment were in the front seat of his '54 Ford steaming up the windows and Viv and I were in the back trying to see the movie through those same steamed up windows.  I think I did slide my arm around her shoulders and she cuddled in a little closer to me but that was as close as we came to petting (look it up) that night.

Vivian - far right - 1957

While dating Vivian I thought I had my "urges" under control.  I thought I was moving past my "phase" of my basic instinct of being attracted to guys.  Oh how did I ever fool myself?  You have to remember back in the Fifties there was a LOT of pressure to conform and I wanted to conform, believe me.  I wanted to be normal. And here I was with a girl who I liked, who was beautiful, who made me feel comfortable and who seemed to enjoy my company and who (and this is important) put no pressure on me to perform.  And I didn't perform, no where close to it.  As I mentioned earlier, an arm around her shoulder and maybe a peck of two of a kiss but no swapping saliva or checking out each other's tonsils with our tongues.

Then came the time of Vivian's senior prom.  Of course I was expected to ask her to her senior prom, since we were boyfriend/girlfriend.  What to do?  I didn't have a car.  I would have to ask my father if I could borrow his car.  He never loaned me his car before and I didn't think he ever would but this was a DATE to the SENIOR PROM.  

My senior prom - 1959

I finally gathered up enough courage to ask him.  Even though this was my father I was always intimidated by him.  Just ask any of my friends, he intimidated them also.  

My dad, The Intimidator - no, this isn't a mug shot - it is his employee ID at Lukenweld when he was 21 years old

I thought I chose a good time to ask him to borrow his car.  Two of his younger brothers were visiting him and they were joking around in the living room.  I was cleaning the bathroom (cleaning our house was my responsibility and I did a great job).  As I exited the bathroom to empty a pail of dirty water I casually asked him "Pop, can I borrow your car to take Vivian to her senior prom?"  He immediately said "No!" and then continued his joking around with his brothers.  I don't know what I said but it was very disrespectful, the most disrespectful I've ever been to him in my life at that point (and since actually).  

As I was returning to the bathroom, he turned me around and gave me a solid punch to my jaw and said "Don't you ever talk to me like that again or I'll kill you!"

I lost my balance and fell part way into the bathtub.  My uncles heard what happened and all went silent in our little ranch style living room.  I was going to cry but decided not to, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he hurt me.  My father had beaten us before (my brothers and I) but never with his fist.  Always with a belt and never any real damage.  More fear and noise of that swinging belt than damage.  He never used the buckle side like his father did on him which left permanent scars on his back.  My father didn't leave a physical scar that day but he left a big emotional scar.  I had embarrassed him in front of his brothers and that was an unforgivable sin.  I never asked him again to borrow his car.

Then I did something for which I have been forever ashamed of myself - I stood up Vivian for her senior prom.  What was I thinking?  How did I think I could get away with doing such a dastardly and cowardly act?  Needless to say I was at my most self-absorbed, selfish, adolescent self at that time, feeling tremendously sorry for myself and not thinking of Vivian's feelings.

Me - 1958 - my Junior year in high school ( I hated this picture)

That Monday when I went back to school I was peppered with questions from some of my bandmates and class members:

"What happened?"
"Where were you?"
"Why didn't you take Vivian to her senior prom?"

I don't remember exactly what I told everyone but I'm sure it was some lame assed excuse.  I think I called Vivian and told her I was sorry but I couldn't get the car.  I know, lame.

Much to Vivian's credit, she didn't hold my selfishness against me.  She said she "understood." 

For the next few months we continued to be boyfriend/girlfriend.  I did take her to her Senior Graduation Party at St. Joseph's Lodge in Downingtown.  

I remember us walking outside on that June night, holding hands.  I informed her that I was going to join the Army because I couldn't find a job.  Now here's the thing, if I could have found a job I would have married Vivian.  Yes, I would.  Remember, this was back in the Fifties when peer and societal pressure was so great there was no alternative for a burgeoning gay guy to come to gripes with is life situation.  Yes, I would have been one of those gay guys who got married and proceeded to ruin two lives by living a lie.  Thank God I couldn't find a job or else I would have traveled down that dead end road.

Ron in the Army! - 1962

During my first year in the Army I continued to write to Vivian but eventually our correspondence fell off and we lost touch with one another.

Fast forward forty years to 2001.  I'm working at First Financial Bank in Downingtown.  One day a man comes into our office to inquire about opening a rollover IRA.  He says his name is "Roland Beale."  I recognize him and his name right away, he is Vivian's older brother!  I tell him who I am.  Of course he knows who I am and asks how am I doing?  I told him fine and I asked about Vivian.  He told me she was married and has SEVEN children!  Also, four grandchildren!  Man oh man, talk about dodging a bullet.  Can you imagine me with SEVEN kids?  How about ONE KID?  Oh my goodness, I am SO GLAD I didn't go down THAT road.  

I asked him to give Vivian my best.  He left and I never heard any more about Vivian until 2007.  That was the date of her 50th class reunion.  I heard from a friend that she was asked to dance at her class reunion.  The still shy Vivian demurred but was finally persuaded her to go out on the dance floor and dance, much to the happiness and enjoyment of her classmates and herself.  

Hearing that story about the sweet and gentle Vivian brought back fond memories.  If I had known, maybe I would have attended her 50th class reunion and asked her to dance to make up for that long ago missed senior prom.  

Since then I've often entertained the idea of contacting her.  Think I should?  I think I will. 

At this time of my life I'm all for tying up loose ends. Besides, we never got a photo of us together.

Me with a Senior Prom date I did keep - Susie - 1958
Only able to keep this date because I double dated with my friend Larry and his date Sonja
Larry drove his 1954 Ford - Don't I look thrilled? Body English folks, body english

First Crush

Robert Joseph Murdaugh

We've all had our First Crush.  Lately I've been thinking about my first infatuation.  Of course the object of my amorous delusions fantasies was a guy.  Hey, I'm gay and I've known I was "gay" (back then I didn't know what "it" was but I knew I was different) since I was four years old, one year before I entered first grade in 1947.

I will give the full name of my first crush because I know in the past when I've given the full name, through the miracle of the search engines of our Internet age, he may find my humble posting.  I've had this happen in the past, sometimes with good results and sometimes not so good.  No, I'm not going to go there other than to say the son of the married man with family who first seduced me wasn't too thrilled that I posted my "First Time" about his dad.  Hey, it is what it is.  At least I answered a question his family always had "Was my dad gay?"  My answer to him was "He was when he was seducing with me."

So without further ado here is how I first fell in love with another man guy boy.  The year was 1954 and I was 12 years old.  His name was Robert Joseph Murdaugh and he was 14 years old.  

Oh yes, that's me to the far right with the rolled up jeans - a 12 year old hopelessly in love with an upperclassman two years my senior - 1954

I first saw him when I was riding to school on my school bus.  My school bus stop was Boot Road, Downingtown, PA.  He got on at the next stop which was by the quarry.  

To this day I remember clearly where he lived.  I could see his house from my seat in the school bus.  His house looked like the house of the Old Lady Who Lived in a Shoe. I was always fascinated at how many of his brothers and sisters (all younger than him) emerged from that house on the corner right across from the quarry.  

There was his younger sister Joanne and his younger brother Clifford and several other younger siblings whose names I never knew but then there was HIM.  When he stepped up the steps on the bus I had to catch my breath.  I was mesmerized.  

That smile.
That wavy hair.
Those blue eyes.

I was too young to even think of THAT BODY but some inner sense knew that this was my dreamboat come true.

With great anticipation every day I would eagerly look forward to the Next Bus Stop when he would get on my bus.  Of course it was too much for me to ever hope that he would sit next to me.  And in all the years we took the same bus he never once did sit next to me so me MUST HAVE KNOWN that I was in LOVE with him.

Now folks, I'm going to get a little graphic here so if their are children in the room or you are a bit squeamish, might be best for you to move on to your next blog.  

So here's what happened next.  Almost every day I would see "Bobby" (as I called him) get on the bus.  I was in heaven even if I was only looking at the back of his wavy haired head most of the time on the bus.  I almost always did get to see him climb those steps and see THAT SMILE.

Then something strange happened a few weeks later.  I woke up one night and my bed was all "sticky."  I had NO IDEA what happened.  Now remember I was a very innocent kid in a small town in the Fifties.  No Internet and only Uncle Miltie on my small screen black and white Philco TV.

I guess most of you can figure out what happened that night.  I had my first "nocturnal emission."  In other words I had a wet dream.  

Later in life I have read stories about young girls who had their first period and were scared to death.  Hey folks, that was my first "period." I had NO IDEA what happened.  Of course it didn't take me too long to figure out what was going on, I was dreaming about HIM.

Now just to bring my fellow wise guys (you know who you are), I never had a "mentor" to show me the ways of burgeoning young adolescent sexual awareness.  In fact I never learned (make sure you're sitting down when you hear this) how to masturbate until I was twenty-seven years old! I know, I know.  No one believes me but this is a fact of my life.  Such things weren't taught in high school and certainly never talked about in my family.  

Okay folks, you can take your seat belts off now because I'm not going to get any more graphic than I just did.  Sorry if I offended any of my regular readers but this is the only way I could describe my "situation."

For the next four years I would often fantasize about "Bobby." In fact, my first pet, a cat I named "Bobby" in his honor.  That's how ridiculously lovesick I was.

"Bobby" my pet pussy cat 1954

I had many, many dreams about Bobby.  Many.  It got so that I could almost control my dreams.  

Then there came a time that Bobby graduated from high school.  He was a senior and I was a sophomore.

Interestingly, the year before in the yearbook (1956) we appeared "together".  That's me in the Ping Pong Club, third from the right in the back row.  Bobby is sitting on the ledge with the Stamp Club (he wasn't actually in the "Stamp Club" but was in the "Slide Rule Club") with his elbow leaning on his classmate to his right.  That was a close as I ever got to my fantasy.

Me, the tall one in the back on the right with the brick wall behind me - 1956

My fantasy man sitting on the window ledge next to "Todd" - 1956
I just about died when I saw this photo

All the years we went to high school together (four) he never spoke one word to me. Of course I was so shy and backwards I didn't dare say anything to him.  When he graduated in 1957 I felt like I lost something. Even though I didn't know him and we certainly weren't friends I always knew he was "there."  

I never knew what happened to him when he graduated from high school.  Just tonight I went on Ancestry.com and checked the Social Security Death Index to make sure he was still alive.  He must be because I couldn't find his name there.  However, I did find a marriage record for him in Ohio.  I also found an address for him in Ohio.  So he must have been straight, he got married.  Uh huh.  

So in all the years since, and especially now that I am at the end of my tenure here on earth, I've often wondered what became of my "Bobby."  

All I can say now though is that he was, even if he didn't know it, an integral and wonderful part of my adolescence and development of my sexual awareness. 

I've often wondered if he knew that I loved adored fantasized dreamed about liked him.  Well, if he didn't, he will now.