TRUE CONFESSIONS - 14
By Mighty Mouth
I swear to you, dear reader, that everything I say is true and without exaggeration. While I’ve generally stuck to my maxim not to mix business with pleasure, at times I relent. One such incident dates from the early 2000s. My shipping clerk was in Brazil with his girlfriend to get her an abortion and I needed someone to do his job. I phoned a temp agency, who quickly arranged a worker. When Doug walked into my office, I thought, "I got to have this one." Irish, black hair, blue eyes, a weightlifter, with a "devil-may-care" attitude and swaggering walk. I knew he would be an easy mark. I revealed my interest after just a couple of days. He took it in stride.
I got more than I bargained for. He was an ex-hustler, a bottom-feeder, who hung around the Port Authority Bus Station men’s room and did $10 tricks. He was an alcoholic and fifty percent dysfunctional, but had an above-average intelligence, all the qualities I like in my men. When my shipping clerk returned from Brazil, I hired Doug to do data input, a job I had done up till that point. He was good at it. Of course my other employees soon started complaining that they were finding empty liquor bottles hidden all over the warehouse.
Doug and I began having dinner together and I would cook. His favorite was lasagna. Occasionally he would spend the night. He was a movie maven and worked hard at introducing me to his favorites, all quality films. In return, I showed him Brazilian movies, acting as interpreter while we watched. I took him to Atlantic City for a weekend. We were to leave for there about 8 a.m., but he was already drunk when he arrived.
His family eventually threw him out, and I let him stay in my house. His behavior became more dangerous and erratic. I reached the limit when he tried to strangle me because I asked him to leave. When he went to his room in a drunken stupor, I phoned the police, who were soon there. Three cops arrived. I explained that I had taken pity on a homeless guy but that I wanted him out of my house. They aroused him and led him away. I had never done this to anyone before, but it was my life on the line. I changed the locks immediately and he came back a couple of times, but I wouldn’t let him in.
When I packed my things to move from State Street to Brazil in 2005, I threw away, probably in a pique of shame, dozens of photos of most of the people mentioned in this and prior True Confessions episodes. Now I regret it.
A Glimpse through a Glory Hole Caught
I decided to give this topic a special section, to emphasize its importance for me. My first experience with one was in an office building in Louisville, while I was still a teenager. I fell in love with them at first glimpse. To my great surprise and embarrassment, the person on the other side was my uncle’s lover. He, however, "took it" in stride. Since that one, I have seen dozens, perhaps more, some in the most unlikely places.
One of the "grandest" I found was in Redondo Beach, California, in 1954. It was in a large men’s room right on the beach. There were about eight stalls, with doors, where straight guys would go for necessary business, or to change into their swimming trunks. That meant that they got nude in the stall at some point. What a nice setup. Between each of the stalls was a hole, lined up in such a way that one could see through them from one end to the other. What a set-up. I went into one of the stalls, and could see that two adjoining others down the row were occupied. Shortly one of the occupants left, and probably the guy who had just given a blow job came into a stall beside mine. He quickly showed his intentions, and I just as quickly stuck my dick through the hole.
Columbus, Indiana lies about fifty miles north of Louisville. I heard about the ones in the court house there and hitchhiked up a couple of times. The doors to the stalls had been removed. For me it was a waste of time. Court houses and city parks are notorious for glory holes. I have often wondered why so many have them, especially in small towns. The conclusion I came to is that it’s because they are in public places. Any decision, even one as simple as closing the holes, requires discussion among boards of supervisors, etc. No one wants to bring up such a delicate subject at public meetings. So they go unchallenged for years.
If anyone wants to read a free copy of my book, “Memoirs of a Gay Rights Maverick,” I’ll send it to you as an email attachment. Advise me via email: [email protected]