[Continued from "Just When It Was Perfect … (Part 1)."]

Some time later I went to Litquake‘s culminating event, LitCrawl.  I went for to see one of the events, which was billed as literary smut.  I like dirty stories.  Since I was out for that, I figured I might as well go see Charles Gatewood, that guy I had met with Ramona.  It all took place in my neighborhood, and at the time I needed little reason to get out of the house.

Charles Gatewood read a story about taking pictures of serious blood play, which angered some local folks.  Very San Francisco.  After the event ended I said hi to Charles Gatewood.  I really didn’t want to return home too soon and I thought it’d be nice to tell him I enjoyed his story.  He very sweetly invited me to sit and chat with him for a bit.  We had a nice conversation and I learned that he lived very close to me.  He said I should go over to his place some time to see his photos.

The first time I went over Charles showed me around his apartment, which was also his studio.  There were many, many things to look at, and Charles and I had very pleasant conversation.  I stayed for hours, and Charles was nice enough to make me dinner.  He was very nice to make me dinner, but it was apparent to me that he didn’t know how to boil pasta.  He didn’t boil it, he simmered it until it was waterlogged and mushy.  I didn’t hold that against him though.

Ramona and I went over another time.  The three of us looked at photos from Folsom Street Fair; both Charles and Ramona had taken a ton.  We thumbed through Charles’ prints, and through the files on Ramona’s laptop.  We looked through some photography and art books, and discussed various things.  Charles called such events “Gatewood Salons” since they were intellectual.

I’m not sure when the sexy times between Charles and I started, but I began going over to his place every couple of weeks or so.  I’d go over, make something to eat, we’d discuss what was going on in our lives, and then I’d blow him.  Sometimes we fucked, too.

He suggested I start going shopping before going to his place so I could make tasty food.  I love to cook, and it’s always nice to have an appreciative audience.  Thanksgiving week I went to Whole Foods and bought up a shit ton of food.  I bought enough for a small dinner party, not just two people having a light dinner before what is always a heavy meal.  Charles had plenty of leftovers, but did kind of balk at how much everything cost.  I promised that in the future I’d spend his money more modestly.

Charles and I spent Christmas Day together.  It was a great day that was unfortunately marred by some not-so-great food.  I felt bad, I did, but Charles really wasn’t a very good cook.  He cooked mostly for himself, and he got proper nutrition, but except for his scalloped potatoes, nothing I’d eaten of his was very good.  On Christmas we had some of the most overcooked and leathery steak I’d had since my childhood, when people were overly concerned about undercooked meat.  Let me reiterate:  Charles is great, his food is not.

I decided that from then on I’d be doing all the cooking.  He would email me asking when I was available, we’d schedule a date, and I’d ask him what kind of food he was in the mood for.  It worked out rather well because it gave me a chance to plan a menu with some constraints – not spicy, low fat, within a budget, etc. – and to eat food that I knew was good.  I introduced the crazy concept of olive oil to him.  I cooked a turkey breast fillet, which he had never had.  We had quinoa when I wanted to show him some non-meat protein options.

Every time I went over we had a great time that usually culminated in a blow job.  Sometimes he took pictures of me.  Because he took pictures the old fashioned way, on film, and wasn’t too hip on scanning photos, I was confident that photos of me would not find their way onto the internet.  Also, I trusted him.

There were several other guys in my stable.  Guys I had fun fucking and hanging out with.  Guys I’ll miss.

To be continued ….

I swear.  True story.

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