RJ

Last night I attended a rather lame 40s-50s gay men's discussion group. The topic was "What is the future of gay neighbourhoods?". The group is intended as a social club but not much happens socially, just a bunch of men trying to impress each other with their insightful comments that solve nothing. The discussion topics are often vague or uninteresting so I don't make it a habit. The next topic is "Masturbation techniques", as if at our age we need to learn how to do it. We should just be grateful that we still can.

On my way home I stopped into the Fountainhead Pub, our local gay watering hole. The regulars are often found around the bar, "Cheers"-style. The only guy there was a fellow I hadn't talked to in a couple years who once used to be a regular. His name is RJ.

RJ is a doctor in palliative care. He is a friend of a friend, a bombastic, often-vulgar character but quite likable most times. He's totally image-conscious, works on his sizable muscles regularly and wears a baseball cap to hide his bald head. He also his very well-endowed and a total "top". He doesn't mind whipping it out in the bar to show prospective pick-ups what they could be in for.

You get the picture? As far as I am concerned he sees mostly my disability. The idea of losing his muscles, like what is happening to me, is so horrible to him that he can only imagine that I must want to die. Every time we have talked over the past few years he has offered to "be there for me when the time comes", which means assisting in my suicide. The first time he did this I was so stunned I didn't know what to say, but now I just play along, like asking when he wants to do it and whether he fantasizes about it. I introduce him to others as Dr. Kevorkian.

Last night was no different. He started off our conversation saying that this week he has "pulled the plug" on three clients and reminding me that I should keep in touch. He said I must be bitter about what life has done to me, but couldn't explain in what way I demonstrate this. But he admitted my deterioration isn't visibly noticeable over the past couple years and that I am looking particularly handsome for my age and affliction. His compliments have that sort of back-handed Sagittarius crudeness to them.

He eventually made a pass at me, which he always does when he is horny. He told he wouldn't mind as it would be an exotic experience doing it with a disabled guy like me. I insisted I wouldn't be that good as I am more into affection than sex, that is, more cuddly than volcanic. That always turns him off, or at least depresses him by making him think he is losing his sex appeal. On a down night I wouldn't want to be anywhere near him but last night I found him hilarious. He had me laughing most of the time.

He turned his attention to the new bar tender Isaac, a handsome 30 yr-old hunk who he admitted is unfortunately straight. Isaac lives on a boat in False Creek and I engaged him in talking about life on a boat. RJ though only wanted to talk about sex. He says he has written a few books in his younger days under the name RJ Marsh, books of pornographic fantasies, such as his first ever experience in a shower room when he was 16 with the captain of the St John's wrestling team. RJ was the captain of his hockey team. Every time he started into the nasty (but interesting) details of his story Isaac would walk away. I never did hear the end of it as every cute ass that passed distracted him. We ended up sharing a snack and two beers. He said he wanted to pay for my share of the snack and one beer, but I left him $10 and headed home when he went for a bathroom break.