While Griselda was busy trying to turn my sow’s ear of an apartment into a silk love nest, Brain and I had a somewhat more serious problem to grapple with.
Even though I had been sexually active since moving to Palm Springs, you could hardly call what I was engaged in, in any way, passionate. Thanks to my crappy overall outlook on life and generally piss-poor attitude, the few partners I had taken to bed were hardly about to go back to their husbands and file for divorce after an evening of my just lying there waiting for them to, ah, well, take care of everything.
Add to that the fact that for a decade or more prior to moving to the desert—thanks to struggling with my health, my weight, and virtually sexless relationship—I was practically celibate. I quickly came to the realization I might seriously have a problem making proper use of that silk love nest.
“If we’re to show this man,” Brain said before abruptly catching himself. “If we’re to show ‘Jonny” how wonderful he’s made us feel by doing everything we can to make him feel just as special, we’d best be prepared to do this at every level. “When was the last time you actively participated in the kind of sexual activity he’s fondest of?”
“What are you asking me for?” I said somewhat incredulously “You’re in charge of memory. Has it really been so long we’ll have to put the Boys in the Basement on tracking it down?”
My lack of active participation in the field of raw, passionate love making had been one of the many things about myself I’d disclosed over the weeks to Jonny. Since we confided in one another that we shared a deep abiding fondness for touch and cuddling, not only did he say he didn’t mind, he also told me, with an impish lilt in his voice, “don’t worry, I’m a very good teacher.”
Nevertheless, it was time to seek help.
In the center of Palm Springs there is a one block section of a street called Arenas Road, affectionately referred to as Little Castro Street, so called because, like its namesake in San Francisco, it plays host to a sizeable concentration of restaurants, shops, and bars catering to the city’s LGBT community, a large portion of which is composed of retirees from San Francisco.
At the very next Fur Friday at Hunters, I made it a point to seek out my friend Steve who I’d nicknamed Scotty because his extensive knowledge and skill in the art of, well let’s just call it adult play, was on par with the engineering skills of the starship Enterprise’s Chief Engineer Commander Montgomery Scott.
“I don’t even know if he uses some of these things,” I told Scotty as I prepared to go shopping for a variety of items I’d never dreamt of purchasing.
I asked Scotty if I might buy him a drink and pick his brain for some tips on preparation and techniques that I might use to, if not enhance performance, at least not completely disappoint a very special person in my life who I was about to play host to.
An hour later, I left the beer bust with a shopping list as long as my left arm.
“I don’t even know if he uses some of these things,” I told Scotty as I prepared to go shopping for a variety of items I’d never dreamt of purchasing.
“It doesn’t matter honey,” Scotty said in a supportive tone of voice. “He’ll see it and know you thought enough of him to have it there if he should want it.”
Three doors up from Hunters is Mischief Cards and Gifts, a shop which features everything from candles, gifts, cards for every occasion, feather boas, and an entire section of “toys” designed to enhance and satisfy virtually every conceivable form of adult pleasure.
As I laid several hundred dollars’ worth of accessories on the counter, I noticed on the wall behind the cashier a variety of different herbal, male performance enhancement supplements.
For years I’d always thought such things were basically a scam to get guys to pay good money for what would turn out to be little more than stale oregano. Then one evening several years ago while I was still living in Los Angeles, a guest at a dinner party I was attending described his experience with one such supplement. When I challenged him on the veracity of the claims made by the makers of these capsules he offered me one.
Much to my amazement, it worked—and quite effectively. As I had just separated from my ex and wasn’t quite ready to start looking for dates, much less playmates, I made a mental note to pick up a supply of the supplement when the time came.
Unfortunately, financial ruin arrived first, and as I dealt with the crisis I completely forgot about performance enhancing supplements. Now that the time seemed right I was faced with a choice of six different brands, none of which looked even vaguely familiar.
Three doors up from Hunters is Mischief Cards and Gifts, a shop which features everything from candles, gifts, cards for every occasion, feather boas, and an entire section of “toys” designed to enhance and satisfy virtually every conceivable form of adult pleasure.
I have also tried Viagra, but I have a bad reaction to its primary ingredient and, thanks to the determination of the US Congress to keep Grandpa from getting it on in his golden years, my health plan will not pay for Cialis. If I wanted to ensure I’d be at peak performance (if and when the time came), herbal seemed to be the way to go.
The gentleman behind the counter, a fellow about my age or a bit older, was more than gracious and just as helpful and obliging as Scotty had been. Mind you, in both cases it was no small feat to bring myself to fessing up to my sexual short comings to other gay men.
The gentleman behind the counter walked me through the differences between each brand of supplement as well as sharing his own first-hand knowledge and experience with several of them.
The two top sellers were available in multiple dose bottles or as single, blister pack capsules. I bought one capsule of each of the two top sellers, one of which was the store clerk’s personal favorite and came with his highest recommendation.
The lesser recommended supplement worked, but really, let’s just say an hour or two spent cruising online porn sites and I probably could have achieved the same results.
Three days later, when I was certain the first capsule had cleared my system I took the more highly recommended capsule. Prior to going to bed that evening, I didn’t notice anything particularly out of the ordinary; however, I awoke after about three hours when I noticed my rear end sticking well up in the air.
I’d found my supplement.
The effects lasted more than three days and now not only was I behaving like a teenager, I was reacting like one as well. I went back to the store and purchased three bottles of my new favorite recreational herbal mixture.
The week before Jonny arrived, I ran into Scotty once again. “Scotty, I can’t thank you enough for all the help you’ve given me,” I told him. “I feel much better about how things may go during Jon’s visit.”
“Honey, I want all the details after he leaves,” Scotty said with a devilish grin in a lilting drawl. “Besides Darlin, it’s my pleasure. You’re one of the sweetest people I know.”
“Sweetie,” I replied a bit confused, “I don’t understand. I know we’ve had a lot of laughs over the past few months, but I’ve also teased you mercilessly about your reputation.”
“I know, sweetheart,” he said while letting out a huge laugh, “that’s what I mean. You’re funny. Genuinely funny. You’re not bitchy, vicious, or cruel you just make people laugh and in a good way.”
I was touched and taken aback but still completely unprepared for what he had to say next.
“When you first came up and asked for my help, do you remember what you said?”
I genuinely could not recall.
“You asked me to help you learn how to make this man feel as good as possible and have a great time in the sack while he’s here.
“You did not ask me to show you how to turn him on enough to get what you wanted out of him like most men would have.
“I want you to be happy Darlin. Now go and fuck his brains out.”
Next Up: Elephant Love
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