THERE ARE some things I do not tell you.
For example, how I had a fall out with my publisher for the textbooks I was writing.
Let’s just chalk it up to “irreconcilable personal/editorial preferences.”
I don’t know if I could discuss the case here now, so I’d rather not.
Suffice it to say that I’ve employed a lawyer, and we have demanded payments.
I will surely update you on this once I get a result.
***
I’m also not telling you much about my sex life.
Which is, believe me, even in the time of the pandemic, still very existent.
Not as often as my pre-pandemic schedule; but hey, we count our blessings as they come.
***
I can see it: One of these days, Grindr is going to make me homophobic.
Maybe because I’m in California now, and people only want the young and gorgeous.
I mean, young and gorgeous people only want the young and gorgeous partners.
I’m not young.
As for gorgeous, beauty is in the eye of the next prostitute.
***
Confession: Mercy shag.
Sometimes, I do less than gorgeous people because it’s their birthday.
Or, they’re really sweet and charming.
Or, they’re virgins dying to get rid of virginity as if it were a Covid disease.
Or, they’re buying me dinner.
Or, they’re just lonely.
***
I believe in kindness.
In doing unto others what you would want others do unto you in your very old age.
I’m open to the idea of a mercy shag when I’m 69 years old.
So yeah, it’s hard for me to turn down persistent people.
If you chat me five times or more, I’m likely to meet you in person.
Whether I shag you, or not, is another matter.
***
In Alaska, a self-confessed country boy hit me up.
From Grindr, we moved on to Facebook so we could video chat.
He was crazy.
I mean, on our second conversation, he was asking if I would move to Alaska, and marry him.
He’s freaking 22, and he was calling me “baby.”
I’m f*cking 52!
***
While in Alaska, I was based in Anchorage.
He lived in Palmer, 40 miles (45 minutes away from me).
We both didn’t drive.
I mean, I didn’t want to drive in Alaska—unfamiliar terrain, unfamiliar car; and I’m so poor with road signs and GPS.
And there’s no public transportation between the two cities.
***
I’ve passed Palmer several times.
Twice on my glacier-hunting tour.
Twice on my RV camping tour.
The sadness of things: On the RV tour, our end point was Talkeetna, for the view of Mt. Denali, the highest peak in the US, and I’m pretty sure in the whole North America.
We were also hoping to catch aurora borealis, or the northern lights there.
But the KP index for the day was very low; slim chances for the magical northern lights.
(I actually got out of the van around 3 a.m. to pee, and check the northern skies. No banana!)
***
I chatted my “friend” while we were parked in Talkeetna for the night.
He was mad at me.
He accused me of leaving him hanging.
In his words, “You make me want you, and you disappoint me all the time.”
He blocked me on Facebook.
And on Grindr.
And there was no way I could reach him again.
I didn’t know where exactly he lived in Palmer.
I just remembered we were supposed to meet at Palmer’s Ale House, a pretty popular spot.
***
And the real tragedy is this: the family who took me to the RV camping trip decided to stop for pizza and beer (that’s lunch, baby) at the Palmer Ale House on our way back.
So I was there.
And my Alaskan boyfriend who blocked me on social media wasn’t.
I was there around 2 p.m., and he said he usually hangs out there around 5 p.m.
Now, I wasn’t crazy to ask my hosts to leave me there.
My flight was scheduled at 10:30 that night.
***
Did I really like that boy?
Short answer, No!
But did I want to kiss him if we met?
Sure, and maybe more.
Did I want to marry him?
If the kiss was all right, and to my liking.
***
There are so many things I like in this world.
But liking does not mean getting, or owning, or possessing.
Sometimes, we are lucky.
Sometimes, we pay the price.
And for the right boy, I will pay the price. (See my next column!) Haha!/PN
