Everything's Coming Up Bottoms

I'm noticing the backside of things, recently. Make that specifically the backside of men. Jean-clad, khaki-wrapped, or tighty-whitied, a man's ass is a beautiful thing!

I'm taking note of the bubble butts and the flat assed. My eyes linger equally on the high riding and those sitting low with some weight on it. I catch myself stealing glances and delivering broad stares. I don't know where this facination has come from, but I really don't care. Something about the backside suddenly appears universally masculine and attractive in my eyes. I've got to explore this more thoroughly. Stay tuned for a report.

Coffee Memory

I spent many late hours leaning over a cup of unadorned coffee, peering into his clear blue eyes and imagining what our conversations would be like when we were free from the confines of the expectations (and watchful eyes) of our respective fraternity brothers. After all, two guys from different houses shouldn't have been that close. Nor should two guys be that physically close over a cup of coffee. But we were, and we did, and it was our time to be present for each other in the rarest of intimacies.

We should have been reading our texts and attending our scholarly pursuits, but instead we chose to explore our solutions to the world's problems. And we chose to explore each other, probing our minds and constantly gazing into each others eyes. His crystal blues would dance against my dark browns until it almost ached. I remember my heart would beat fast and I'd try to focus on his every word, absorbing the wisdom of this guy who had a beautiful thinking mind that would never fail to turn me on from the inside out. This wasn't flirting, it was connecting.

He had a hero quality to me. His words were always smooth and glistening, never forced or witty. He would come to me with an energy so intense and quiet that it made me feel like I was floating in his presence. And I'd lean forward a little more over that coffee, and would be so desperate to absorb as much as him as I could without crossing that unspoken line that maintained our dignity and likely ensured our safety. I lived for the hours of our private time; hours never planned for nor rushed through. We kept a lazy rhythm between us, a tempo lead by the dancing of his eyes and racing of my heart. I looked up to him, admiring his dashing independence and big dreams. I let him be in charge of our time, our coming and going, and our speechless, touchless stares. In turn, he made me feel like I was the most important person in the world, devoting all of himself to me in those moments. I felt like every hour was a gift, and I took refuge in the joy of his company.

What we had was a secret so rich that we never spoke of it. And at the end of our nights, instead of hugs goodbye, there would be the occasional sigh or tear brought on by the frustration of our own limits, not the confines of other people's expectations. Then he would give me that half smile, and I would realize that that night was the right time and he was the right person, and I was were I was supposed to be in that moment in life.

I loved his friendship in a time of confusion. I loved the safety of knowing he was my friend and willing to share the risk and scrutiny. And I loved the hours we gave to each other, knowing that these memories would outlive our circumstance. Our souls were knit together, and he has never left me. And I'm happy that many years later we can meet again and share new smiles, and stares, and laughter. He's one of the best. I'm looking forward to knowing him again.

Blogger, I Am

Well, as if it were a sign to get off my ass, I appeared as impromptu cover boy for blogging on a queer newsletter. So. Here we go again, kids!

I Know What Prayer Can Do

I really did intend to write something meaningful today, but instead I've somehow moved to keep this holy noise going.

Enjoy Ricky Dillard & New Generation Chorale. You'll understand when I say that I don't have "church damage." I mean, church was like this just about every week:

He'll Make it All Right

And in the tradition of ancestors, I stop weeping and get my foot up.



I hope you have this kind of faith.

Accept What God Allows

Recovery is inch-by-inch, but I'm making it. This song is getting me through.

Play, Twink!

Remembering My Mom

Rest in peace, Momma. I love you so much.

Who? Me?

I've been a tad preoccupied with a little newfound popularity on the social front. Something about me is suddenly vogue or attractive or marketable. It's awkwardly suspiciously I don't know what really but almost strangely awfully...well, you know.

Gee, fellas.

Last Sunday the flash of Colt underwear sent a pretty clear message from the cautiously flirty one I could actually see eye-to-eye while standing. Two weeks ago, after hearing the cute one give up his testimony about the importance of making a first move, he ends our night with a series of ravenous kisses that shocked up both.

I'm not analyzing this, mind you. I'm relishing the intrigue of being intriguing. A little more Loretta Devine, a lot less Angela Bassett.

The Prepared Word

I'm getting ready to write my annual message, which is often received with great praise or groaning. Sometimes both, actually. But I know I've got a good word this time. So if you have any last minute requests for the Christmas/New Years message on the new 71.West Real View, speak now or forever hold your peace.

Want-Need Satisfaction

Despite my wildest doubts, it appears that the gulf between what I want and what I need is narrowing. Maybe it's a sign of reality, or could it be the the fruit of labor maturing? Nonetheless, I recon that the wants and needs of relationships, work, and play all seem to be falling in-line without much strain these days.

To put it more simply, every time I think I want something different, I open my eye a little wider and realize, I already have it. It just keeps creeping along without needing my constant attention. What a good thing!

What's playing in your garden?

Naughty Santa

Hey! What kinda magic is that?!?

'Mo Depot

It's no joke what they say about Home Depot. (Yes, it's another one of those posts.) This evening I find myself pushing a cart through the startlingly clean big box in Lone Tree, Colorado, a retailed suburb where minorities are not only welcome, but expected.

Every third aisle is dotted with a daddy-like homeowner clad in nicely-fitted denim jeans. And no ring. Now normally, I'd go about my business and leave this all alone. After all, I came there for caulk. But there is something hot about being followed by a guy whose cart is filled with poinsettias and paint thinner. My god, these are odd times.

Divine View

Lest we foget, on this Thanksgiving eve, the guiding words of many a Black mother....

"God don't like ugly!"

And you just may be borderline cute. So above all things, let's all keep a humble spirit this holiday season.

Satisfied Kisses

Somewhere on the eve of junior high school, the new kid in town decided he would lean across his bed and kiss me in the mouth. Instead of recoiling in disgust, I leaped forward into the deep of a loving embrace that has never left me. The excitement of our lips satisfied the curiosity of our hearts, and from that moment I was released from the depth of confusion. It was the sensual manifestation of something we both had only imagined in our most secret selves. And it was more important than the late night curiosities we had already explored.

It gave me the feeling that elders told me I would feel when I met that special girl. The same feeling I had determined that God must have decided to exempt me from, because I hadn't so much as a twinkle from any girl in all my life. And now, here it was, in and on my face leaving me with a tremendous smile and and pounding heart.

It was the kiss. The one I'll never forget. It's the kiss followed by the twinkle that remains the gold standard. It's this type of kiss that still makes me leap forward and take notice. The one that opens my eyes to seek his. It's the kiss that acknowledges something deeper moving between two souls.

The perfect kiss.
The confirming kiss.
The one I miss.

Did You Notice?

A New Life for This Blog



This month I decided to return to giving this webspace some attention. I've been quietly posting and commenting here and elsewhere, and the feedback has been encouraging. But more than anything, I really need to write. Period.

Sure, traffic is a little slow and comments are nearly nonexistent, but that's just my ego talking. All things in good time. Right now, you'll notice a new title-- 71.West: The Real View. I think it better reflects what this space has been. You'll also see a new description (see About on the far right side). At some point, I've got to update all those damn blog directories.

I've also spent a lot of time reading old posts and getting a clear picture of what this thing does for me, and what others have been getting from it. So expect content to be more like what I was writing two years ago; a balance of introspective pieces about my life against sharp observations of the world as I see it. And apparently, nuggets I pick up from my travel adventures will continue to get my hand in ink every so often. As will those little preachy advice bits. But more of the former than the latter.

In the meantime, keep an eye out and please comment. And if anyone feels like writing a new template for me, do let me know.

The Grinding Flirt

The other day I had stopped by my preferred corporate coffee joint (hey, it's Denver) to pick up some coffee and a few beans for espresso. Well, Miss Coffee Girl ground said beans to a fine powder and pretty much destroyed my next morning. So the next day, on my way to work, I stopped by the retail outlet and Mr. Coffee Stud worked especially hard to produce the right grind for my hot machine. I hadn't seen so much smile around that counter, nor heard so much interest in my day in some time. He did everything to get my attention, including his firm hand shake at the end of our transaction.

Mr. Stud was working it. I really like a good flirt. He ended by exclaiming, "There you go.. "Italian" written by an Italian!" Need I say more?

Let's just say, it felt nice to be appreciated.

The Secret Letter

I've got to get somethings out of my head and heart onto the written page. It's the only way I can get clarity. I don't really need to do this, but I should do it to keep my emotional house clean. I've always been the writing type. I'm returning to that because the speaking type seems to scare the hell outta folk. Something about being churchy.

When's the last time you set and got your thoughts in order?

McGay?

Something about this McDonald's McCafe commercial makes me wonder if McDonald's is the jockeying for the next Americanna brand to turn gay. Is it just me, or is gay vague vogue again? Awethome!



I swear this guy essentially says, "do these glasses make me look gay?" Maybe I'm projecting because I really want to play football with the boy on the right. In the meantime, Levi's Unbuttoned gig on Logo has the lead on the All-American gay marketing.

The Pulse of Morning

Obama Will Be Our President

Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

-- On The Pulse of Morning, the inaugural poem by Dr. Maya Angelou for William Jefferson Clinton

Now, more than ever, we must continue the fight for what is right. The opportunity bestowed us by way of Senator Obama shouldn't be the end, but the means to move forward with an agenda of equality and justice for all people. The horizon is indeed leaning forward and it is up to us to continue to take those critical steps each day. Each of us must make changes. We all must be accountable first to our own convictions, then to one another as hope continues to fuel the will, of we The People.

My friends, victory is ours. Together. Again.

Now (Read) (Hear) This: The Drum Major Instinct - Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Whole Cruise

Live from Denver, Tamarac Square

My local Whole Foods is chock full o' goodness-- and I'm not talking about the food. This place is so full of wholesome eye candy, I could spend all night. It's quality meats and cheeses running free up and down these aisles. Between the hunky customers and, what I swear is institutionalized gay vague, I ought to organize some kind of meet-up on Craigslist.

May I count you in? Metrosexuality may be spoiling rapidly on some
shelves, but Whole Foods is keeping it well preserved. Naturally, of
course.