Tuesday, June 25, 2019

Ryan Murphy and Netflix Announcement; Netflix Under Fire for "Queer-Erasing"; The Gay Jewish Matador From Brooklyn

Ryan Murphy and Netflix Announcement

I've been wondering when Netflix would get some new content, so this looks interesting. So far, lately, the only content on Netflix has been bad comedians no one cares about, weird TV shows and movies with poorly dubbed dialogue, and basically nothing worth watching. Seriously. They need something new. It's awful and something like this might help.

Plans for a filmed version of the Tony Award-nominated musical The Prom have moved forward, with the announcement of the casting of several key roles.

Here's the link to more.

Netflix Under Fire for "Queer-Erasing"

Speaking of Netflix, here's another not so positive story about them.

I'm only linking to the story. I know nothing about it.

Fans accused Netflix of ‘queer erasing’ the same-sex romantic subtext in their show Neon Genesis Evangelion.

Here's more. 

The Gay Jewish Matador From Brooklyn

Here's a fascinating retro story about a gay matador. It's not something you hear about every day. I find it interesting because according to this article he was partially 'out.' Meaning that people behind the scenes in his private life knew he was gay, but professionally they didn't know. There's a lot of that still going on for gay men in all professions.

Mr. Franklin, who died in 1976 when he was 72, was the first Jewish-American to reach the elite status of “matador” in Spanish bullfighting circles.
He was also gay.
Here's a link to the rest. 

Sleepless In San Francisco

Kendle's Fire by [Field, Ryan]

Altered Parts by [Field, Ryan]

Monday, June 24, 2019

FREE Gay Fiction: How To Be a Good Gay Bottom; Retired 83 Year Old Priest Becomes Gay Adult Film Star; Ryan Field Books

FREE Gay Fiction: How To Be a Good Gay Bottom

In keeping with my free pride month excerpts, here's something from my latest, yet to be published novel, How To Be a Good Gay Bottom. I don't have a cover yet, and I might change the title. This is a romance and the part about being a gay bottom isn't the main focus of the book. It's only part of the focus.

This love story is mostly about a young man, Paul, who meets an openly gay politician, Gordon, who is running for governor of his state, and how Paul has to come to terms with the fact that Gordon is in politics. Paul despises politics and the media completely. It's a huge conflict because he also loves Gordon completely.

Another issue in the book is that Paul is also a gay virgin in the sense that he's never had anal sex. He's not only terrified of anal sex, he's not even sure how to do it. It totally freaks him out.

So while on vacation for a week in Palm Springs, before he even begins a relationship with Gordon, Paul decides to see a sex therapist about his problem with anal sex, and this excerpt is a scene from that chapter. I didn't have to censor much from this one, and I don't think there are any spoilers.

You can read the excerpt below. And once again, the title is subject to change. It might become The Governor's Husband.

Retired 83 Year Old Priest Becomes Gay Adult Film Star

Now here's something you don't see every day of the week. This 83 year old former priest not only reinvented himself, it sounds as though he had a damn good time doing it.

Here's one thing he had to say about making a gay adult film:

 “It was splendid! How could it not be? (I was in) a blessed rural setting, surrounded by a cast and crew of loving, competent, supportive brothers intent on sharing the good news of the healing power of pleasure. What could be more delightful? And, if you’ve seen the video, with the two adorable models performing, what else could be lacking?”

You can read it all in full, here. There's a video, too. It's not the adult film, it's an interview that's about the adult film and it's SFW. I think if everyone did things like this, getting older would be so much easier. 

FREE Excerpt: How To Be a Good Gay Bottom

When I went back to my room to shower and change, I called the number of the sex therapist in Palm Springs and asked if there were any appointments that day. He told me he could fit me into his schedule around 10 that same morning, so I took down the address, hung up the phone, and quickly jumped into the shower. I'd been on enough vacations like this to know that once I get settled everything starts to move very quickly and I didn’t want to waste a moment.
About an hour later, I pulled up to the entrance of one of those gated condo communities in North Palm Springs not far from the wind turbines and punched a number code the therapist had given me into the keypad beside the gate. It appeared to be a well landscaped complex, with exotic plants, palm trees, and well maintained lawns. The condos themselves were clustered together in separate two-story buildings, all buildings were identical in pale pink stucco and terracotta tiled roofs. The entire complex had the distinct appearance of a resort, much like the rest of Palm Springs.
Once I pulled through the gate, I stopped and read a large well-written directory next to the stop sign. I was looking for unit 20 in building C, which the sign said was to my right. But as I turned down the road that would lead me to building C I gripped the steering wheel tightly and came to a full stop. On the left side of the road, I saw a naked man carrying a silver folding chair and a green beach towel next to a long row of parking spaces covered with a long carport. To my right I spotted another man with a large round belly in his 50s walking his small dog in a designated pet area. He was naked, too, but the dog was wearing a cute little white T-shirt.
As I started moving forward again, trying hard not to stop and gape at the man with the dog, I spotted a few more people in the distance and they were all naked as well. Apparently, this condo complex was one of those clothing optional places I'd read about in Palm Springs guides. Of course it didn't bother me, except for the fact that I'd worn a brand new shirt that morning so I'd make a good first impression on the sex therapist. If I had known I’d have worn the same outfit I wore the day before.
When I spotted building C, about halfway down the road, I pulled into a parking space designated for visitors and unfolded from the Escalade. I hadn't been in Palm Springs very long but one of the things I was starting to really like about it was the fact that it never seemed crowded or too busy. As I crossed to the sidewalk that would lead me to building C, I passed a smiling naked woman in her 40s with breasts down to her naval. She nodded and smiled in my direction, but the rest of the complex seemed almost empty.
Unit 20 was located at the far end of the building, but really not far to walk at all. I could see a huge swimming pool, with spas and a club house, not far from where I was standing and there were a few more naked people lounging around the pool. I turned toward the front door of unit 20 and rang the doorbell. Within moments, a tall, thin naked man in his 30s yanked the door open and said, "You must be Paul John. Please, come inside. I’ve been waiting for you."
I smiled and walked into the entrance hall. I reached out to shake his hand and said, "And you must be Dion Winston. It's nice to meet you." At a closer glance, I noticed his lean naked body was well defined and he obviously followed a regular workout routine. His dark hair was long and bushy, with wisps and waves and tangles, almost like a caveman. His beard was overgrown and just as wild as his hair. And he had a thick flaccid dick hanging between his legs. Although I'd never been attracted to the hipster types, I had to admit he wasn't bad looking at all.
However, I wasn't there for a hook up or to fulfill my caveman fantasy. I was there to find out how to be a good gay bottom. "I didn't know this place was clothing optional," I said.
"Oh, I guess I forgot to mention that," he said. "Is that a problem? You can wear clothes if that's more comfortable for you. There’s no judgment here."
I smiled and waved him off. "Oh, I'm fine with nudity. That's the least of my problems. I've been going to clothing optional beaches all my life and I have no problem getting naked."
So he led me into a large great room with an open concept that was living room, kitchen, and dining room all combined. The walls were white, the floors beige tile. The white walls were covered with busy, colorful abstract paintings in all different sizes that gave the room a retro 1970s appeal. One painting in several shades of pink had to be at least 6 feet tall and 8 feet wide, but on the wall across from that there were more abstracts in sizes that ranged from 9 inches by 12 to 16 inches by 14. The furniture was a combination of mid-century modern and other contemporary pieces that didn't really match. It wasn't one of those perfect places that had been staged for effect like the house we were renting in Warm Sands, but I liked it because it felt so comfortable and real. It was as though it had been decorated by someone’s hippie grandma who’d dropped a little too much acid in the 70s. And in spite of the fact that it was a condo, the ceilings were tall and it felt spacious and open. I’d always lived in a private home and condo living fascinated me.
When we reached an authentic gray mid-century modern sofa he stopped and said, "You can remove your clothes and leave them here if you want, or you don't have to take them off at all. That's up to you. I have to go outside to check on a group therapy that's happening in the garden right now. The guys from a local landscaping company come here about 3 times a month to talk things over and relax. It's very private and totally discreet."
"Take your time," I said. "I'm in no hurry. Should I wait for you in here for our session?" I'd been under the impression this would be a private therapy session, not group therapy.
He looked a little confused. "I thought I mentioned when I said I could fit you in that this was group therapy, not a private session. My private sessions are all booked this week."
"Oh," I said. "I must have misunderstood. I'm sorry. Maybe I should leave."
"You can do that," Dion said. "Or you can join us outside for group therapy. It might help you relax a little since this is your first time. There’s no charge for this. Everything that happens here is completely private and you can feel free to completely open up about anything. We all respect that. This is really a great group of guys, too. I think you'll like them and they might be able to offer you a new perspective."
"If I don't feel like saying anything can I just sit there and listen?"
"Of course," he said, with resignation, and then he turned toward an extra wide set of sliding glass doors that led to an outdoor space and disappeared.
After I removed all my clothes and set them on the arm of the sofa, neatly folded so Dion wouldn't think I was a slob, I crossed to the sliding glass door to see what was happening outside with this group therapy session. Each condo unit had a rather generous, private outdoor space off the living room area, surrounded by a wall that stood about six feet tall. I hadn't decided I would join them yet and I just wanted to get a glimpse.
I gazed to the right and tilted my head and saw a group of six naked men sitting on outdoor furniture to the right of a very small swimming pool. They were all naked and all sitting on this large L-shaped outdoor sofa, and from what I could see at that angle they were either nodding or smiling about something. It looked harmless and I felt safe. I figured it couldn't hurt to go outside and join them. Even though I was not about to have anal sex with anyone that day, they all appeared to be good looking, with tanned stocky bodies, but in an unpretentious way.
I opened the door and headed toward where they were sitting, in my bare feet. One tall guy in his late 20s with jet black hair looked up at me and smiled, and then Dion turned around and said, "Welcome. I'm glad you could join us, Paul."
I took a seat at the end of the sofa next to a nice looking guy with dark hairy legs and Dion introduced everyone. I smiled and nodded at all of them, knowing I'd never remember their names all in one shot. I've never been good with names, but I knew I would remember certain physical aspects about them. The guy sitting next to me had sexy hairy legs, the guy next to him had a thick cock, the guy to his left had lighter hair and a reddish beard. On the other side of the L-shaped sofa, there was the tall guy with jet black hair, there was a guy with sexy hair on his chest, and then there was a guy with nice large balls.
As I settled into my seat, still feeling a little awkward about being totally naked in front of all these strange men, I smiled and said, "So you guys are all landscapers?"
While they all nodded, Dion said, "Yes. They actually do this condo complex, plus several others in Palm Springs. That's how they discovered me."
I smiled at the guy with the hairy legs next to me. "I see. Is there a focus in this group?"
Dion nodded. "This is a group for straight men who are interested in learning how to masturbate without guilt."
I blinked. “Huh?”
The tall guy grabbed his dick and said, "We're learning how to pleasure ourselves freely, so we can ultimately pleasure someone else."
"Well. I hope it's okay that I'm here," I said. "I don't want to intrude. I'm gay and I don't want anyone to feel awkward about that." Even though I'd never had that straight guy fantasy that so many of my friends had, even I had to admit this was almost too good to be true.
The cute guy with the hairy legs sitting next to me reached over and took my hand in his. "There's no need to feel that way, baby. There are no labels here and we don't judge. You're just a man like the rest of us. It's a pleasurable learning experience for all of us."
“Indeed.” My first thought was what Richard would think if he could see me now. I doubt he would have approved. Richard was one of those gay men who preferred to spend his time with other gay men, almost exclusively. He probably would have run out of there with his hands flying in the air. However, I didn't think it could hurt to stay there. I'd always found straight men adorable and comfortable to be with, and I think they felt the same way about me.
"Would you like to talk about why you're here, Paul?" Dion asked.
"Well, there is a specific reason, but I've never actually told anyone. It's a little embarrassing." I figured I had nothing to lose. I’d never see any of them again and I did feel like talking about it.
The guy with the large balls grabbed his dick and stroked it a few times. "Anything you say here stays here. This is a safe place just for men, bro, and there's no judgment."
I took a deep breath and said, "Okay, here goes. I don't know how to bottom. But even worse, I’m terrified of being a bottom. I really want to be a good bottom but I just don’t know how. It’s killing me."
They all tipped their heteronormative heads sideways for a moment, as if waiting for me to explain in more detail, and I had a feeling they didn't know what I was talking about.
"I'm a gay bottom," I said. "I've never had anal sex, I don't know how to have anal sex, and I want to learn how to have anal sex and to stop being afraid of having it. It scares me to death."
The guy with the hairy legs next to me said, "I get it now. I love anal, dude. I do it with the women I date as often as I can. There's nothing better."
I flung him a glance. "But that's because you're straight and you're the one on top with all the control. I'm the one on the bottom and I don’t know what to expect."
He laughed. "I see your point."
The guy with the reddish beard said, "Maybe you're not a bottom. Maybe you're really a top."
I shrugged. "I've thought about that, and sometimes I even try to talk myself into believing that. But the truth is I'm a bottom. I know what I want, but I'm terrified to actually do it. It’s very frustrating."

Sleepless In San Francisco

Kendle's Fire by [Field, Ryan]

Altered Parts by [Field, Ryan]

Sunday, June 23, 2019

Pride Month: FREE Gay Fiction Excerpt Amish Indiscretion; Ukraine Pride Parade: Thousands March; Ryan Field Books

Amish Indiscretion by [Field, Ryan]Pride Month: FREE Gay Fiction Excerpt: Amish Indiscretion

Here's an excerpt from Chapter 2 of Amish Indiscretion. I couldn't post the entire chapter because I self-censor on Google Blogger and I don't want to cross any lines, however, the entire chapter is an introduction to one of the main characters, Filbert, who finds himself in an awkward situation with a very sexually aggressive man. And Filbert, being sheltered and Amish all his life, is not sure how to get out of that situation. I wish I could share it all, but I had to censor this one. 

Here's a link to Amazon. The book is available in digital or print. The excerpt is below.

I'd also like to add that I became very friendly with someone in the Amish community a few years ago, and we've been e-mailing ever since. He's given me a great deal of inside information about what it's like to be Amish and closeted gay, and how he survives...and struggles. He's a wonderful man. 

Ukraine Pride Parade: Thousands March

Here's more news on the global front. This time it's a mostly positive story about Gay Pride in the Ukraine, but not totally positive. 

More than 8,000 people marched peacefully in Ukraine’s biggest ever Pride parade on Sunday (June 23), ignoring far-right protestors who sought to disrupt the celebrations.

Here's the link. There's a photo and more about what happened in Georgia's capital of Tbilisi. There's still a long way to go before everyone gets total equality.

After dinner, Filbert Stolzfus sometimes took long walks that lasted well into the night. At least that's what he told the family. He would get up from the supper table as soon as everyone was finished eating, clear his throat, tell them he was going out for his regular walk, and they shouldn't wait up for him. He claimed it was his way to exercise, to meditate, to pray, and to release stress.
It wasn't a total lie. He did usually walk, but the thing he didn't tell his family was that on some nights he did a lot more than walking. Filbert had learned one important fact about being a closeted gay Amish man. By the time he turned 24 years old, he'd mastered the art of discretion better than anyone else he knew. Of course there was also a certain amount of deception involved, but he only did what he thought he had to do. And he did it for the sake of his family, not as a means to hurt them.
On one particular evening after Filbert announced he was going for his walk, he crossed the backyard and headed toward the side of the barn where he maintained a private little space for himself inside the barn. It was nothing more than a small corner at the far end of the barn, with a broken concrete floor, a small desk and chair, and a few makeshift shelves he'd put up himself with pieces of weather beaten scrap wood. He told his family he went there to think in silence and contemplate life, but this tiny space meant a lot more than that to Filbert. Although he knew most English people… he'd always heard all non-Amish people referred to as English…loved to generalize about the Amish, they never took the time to realize there were Amish men like Filbert who didn't fit into the typical mold.
The one big fact that separated Filbert from more conservative young Amish men was that he had access to technology. He worked part time at a local Amish tourist information center, and full time at his family's Amish roadside farm market called, "Stolzfus and Son." He was the "Son." They expected him to take over one day. Although the farm market did tend to be stereotypical at times because that's what the English tourists wanted to see, they used almost every modern convenience other businesses used. And working for the tourist information center had given Filbert access to the Internet, e-mail, and other forms of social media that most Amish people couldn't get to as easily. He only kept the part time job at the information center because he wasn't ready to give that access up yet.
However, Filbert would have been the first to admit his life wasn't about true Amish culture. He had respect and love for his heritage. He followed all the rules and played the game to the best of his ability, but his real story was more about his own internal and external conflicts with traditional Amish culture and being gay. He also wanted to learn as much about gay culture as possible.
Filbert didn't have to work at the tourist information center and deal with all kinds of obnoxious English people asking the most insulting questions imaginable about Amish culture. He didn't have to deal with the know-it-alls who thought they knew more about Amish culture than he did. He could have worked full time at the family farm market and done just as well financially, that is if he'd been like everyone else who worked there. In his case it was different because he needed access to technology to keep him from going insane. There wasn't much hope for a young, good looking gay man in any Amish community, and his part time job afforded him the ability to learn and discover a world he would never have known about otherwise.
As he slipped through the old wooden plank door of his tiny room in the barn, he made a mental note to get a new door. He lit a candle he kept on the desk made of crates and pallets, and then he stood on a rickety old pine chair so he could reach for a loose board above the desk. Filbert had several secret compartments in the office no one knew existed. He would never have hidden anything obscene or embarrassing in these secret compartments. He kept it simple and he was always prepared with good excuses if anyone ever discovered his secrets. It wasn’t always perfect, but he tried his best to anticipate what he might need.
In one hidden compartment he kept a small leather case that contained one credit card, a smart phone, and the key to a post office box two towns away from where he lived. (He had Wi-Fi for the farm market and non-Amish work related things.) Even though he made sure to handle all of his private financial matters electronically so there wouldn’t be a paper trail, he still needed a physical address with his real legal name when it came to certain things. He couldn't use his home address at the farm, but he needed a credit card to make online purchases, and he needed a post office box where he could receive deliveries. The post office box had to be at least two towns away so he could sneak there on his days off to see if there was anything to pick up.
After he pulled his smart phone and credit card out of the leather case, he set the leather case back on the shelf and double checked to make sure his secret getaway bag was safe and sound. In this compartment, set way in the back, he also kept a medium sized red satchel that contained everything he might need if he had to get out of town fast. He never knew for certain what might transpire. If anyone ever found out about him, he knew he’d be shunned and forced to leave. He kept some English clothing in the getaway satchel, a few grooming necessities, and a metal fireproof strong box filled with cash he’d been saving since he’d been sixteen years old. Last time he counted there was almost sixty thousand dollars in cash. He had a bank account but the cash made him feel safer. He rarely spent money on anything, he didn’t have to deal with car payments or rent, and his mom and dad simply assumed he put all the money he made from his two jobs in the bank.  
After he replaced the board on the first compartment, he turned to another loose board and reached inside another hidden compartment for one of the outfits he kept hidden. His regular Amish clothing wouldn't work for what he was planning to do that evening, so he kept several non-Amish outfits that he knew would help him blend in. Part of the secret he kept was hiding his other life from his Amish family, and the other part was keeping his Amish identity a secret from the English life he led.
He changed his clothes fast and hid his Amish clothes under the desk. Later, he would return to the barn and put them back on again before he went into the house. That was the safest way to do it, but he also had a hidden compartment in his bedroom closet where he would hide clothes sometimes. Even though he was the only child of an elderly Amish couple, he never took any chances and he tried to be prepared for all possible situations. His mother and father would most likely be in bed sleeping by then and he could have slipped into the house in non-Amish clothes without anyone knowing. However, he never assumed anything.
If there was even a remote chance he might be discovered, he tried to plan ahead to avoid any possible chagrin for the sake of his family. He often thought about leaving his Amish community and he thought about what might happen if they found out about him and he was shunned. It filled him with so much anxiety and despair his hands would start shaking. As long as he maintained a safe, secret double life he had nothing to worry about. This had always been his biggest problem. He didn't hate his Amish way of life or his culture. He just wanted to be a quiet Amish gay man who lived a simple Amish gay life. Except, of course, he knew that would never be possible.
After he shoved his credit card into his wallet, he pulled a small mirror out of a hidden compartment he kept beside the desk, closer to the floor. He couldn't have a large full length mirror, but he could have a small one for shaving. So he checked himself out as best he could in the mirror, and then turned to sneak out of the barn the back way so no one would see him.
No matter how often he did this, he always felt the same thrill all over his body when he wore English clothes. It was as if a whole new world opened up for him with basic things most English people didn't even realize. Although other gay men might have considered him too conservative, he felt daring and interesting in a simple pair of beige jeans, a black polo shirt, and loafers without socks. He didn't know much about fashion or style, but he knew enough to understand that he wasn't the kind of man who could wear flashy clothes. With his dark hair and lean muscular body he had to be careful he didn't call too much attention to himself. And even then, in the plainest shirt, people would stop and tell him he reminded them of this movie star or that, and half the time he didn't even know who they were talking about. All he'd ever wanted was to fit in with everyone else.
By the time he was outside it was dark and the only sounds came from leaves and twigs crunching beneath his feet. As he walked up the long dark drive of Peace Valley Farm that would lead him to the road, no one would even have known he was Amish. Anyone passing would simply take him for a young guy walking aimlessly with his hands in his pockets, which he often did most nights of the week anyway.
Filbert didn't always have a destination, but this was a Wednesday night and he did have specific plans. On Wednesdays there was a small gay bar called The Interlude two towns away from his, where he liked to go just to observe. He never drank; he didn't smoke. He didn't even dance with anyone. He simply sat on a barstool, sipping a ginger ale, watching everyone else have a good time. This one simple act alone helped him feel a sense of connection.
Of course he didn't walk all this way on the side of the road. It would have been too dangerous and much too far. He depended on a friend to pick him up in the parking lot of his family's farm market, which was located on a main road that ran directly through his Amish community. His only friend was a straight English guy named Niles Barclay who worked part time at the Farm Market. They’d grown up together. Niles was 24 years old and not sure what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. He liked to go to a straight bar in the same town where Filbert went to the small gay bar.
When Filbert reached the farm market he saw Niles's car at the far end of the parking lot. He jogged over to the passenger door, climbed in, and said, "Sorry I'm late, man. I walked as fast as I could."
Niles started the car and said, "No problem. I just got here. You wanna drive?"
Even though no one knew about it but Niles, Filbert had worked hard to get his driver’s license on the down low. There was nothing Filbert loved more than driving Niles's little sports car. "I'd love to drive," Filbert said. Niles came from a wealthy family in town. His dad was an attorney and his mom a psychologist. They bought him a brand new white Fiat Spider for his 23rd birthday and he taught Filbert how to drive it. Their unusual friendship was so simple and comfortable they shared everything in their lives, as if they were brothers.
They both unfolded from the car and switched sides. As Filbert pulled out of the parking lot a few minutes later with a heavy foot, Niles reached for his seatbelt and laughed.
"What's so funny?" Filbert asked.
"I was just thinking that I'd rather you drive," Niles said. "I hate driving. And I'm the straight English guy and you're gay and Amish guy and no one knows you drive. It's kind of ironic."
Filbert just shrugged and said, "No one would believe it. The story of my life." He often found it interesting that many Amish people think nothing of riding in cars, but shun driving cars. He looked over and saw what Niles was wearing and he laughed. "I'm just glad we go to separate bars."
"Why?" Niles asked
"Because we are practically dressed the same," Filbert said. "We look like twins."
They did look like brothers, up close or from a distance. When they were together at the farm market the tourists often asked if they were brothers, or at least related. They even had the same body type, with broad shoulders, narrow waists, and long legs. They stood the same height, walked with the same gait, and even spoke with the same deep even tone. The one thing that set them apart was that Niles was more outgoing and open with people, where Filbert tended to be reserved and closed.
Niles looked at Filbert's outfit and shook his head. "Dude, we should plan ahead next time. It looks as if you raided my closet."
Filbert smiled. "Do you care?"
"Not in the least."
"Me either."
It was only a fifteen minute drive to the town where they were heading so there wasn't much time to talk about anything of importance. Besides, they already knew each other so well they never had to work hard for things to talk about. It simply happened naturally without them even realizing it.
"You can drop me off and pick me up around one in the morning," Niles said.
Filbert shook his head. "No. You'd better drop me off and pick me up around one. I don't want to take a chance like that. This is your car and I’m Amish."
"The odds are nothing's going to happen," Niles said.
Filbert knew Niles hated to park and he hated dealing with a car at a bar, but he still didn't feel comfortable because he didn't want anyone to find out he had a license to drive. "I know. But all the same, let's not take that chance. Besides, I like getting dropped off by a good looking guy in a nice car. It makes me feel less like a loser."
Niles smiled and said, "Okay. I'll drop you off. But you're not a loser."
"I'm not exactly a winner."
"Well you're my best friend. Does that make me a loser, too?"
"You know what I mean."
"C'mon, man," Niles said. "You never know. You might meet the guy of your dreams in there tonight."
Filbert laughed. At least Niles had a good sense of humor. "Oh yeah, the man of my dreams is waiting for me right now, in a tiny gay bar, on the outskirts of Amish country, in a little town even the English tourists don't know about. I can see Prince Charming staring in my direction right now."
 A few minutes later, Niles dropped Filbert off at the bar and Filbert went inside and headed to the back of the bar to find his favorite barstool so he could watch everyone else. The bar was having some kind of drag show that night, which meant it was busier than a normal Wednesday night. The building where this bar was located had once been a barn that belonged to a small farm that used to grow corn. After the owners died, their gay son took over and he turned the barn into a makeshift gay bar that probably had more charm than most gay bars in large cities. The bar seemed to do pretty well, too, because the son turned the old farm house into something that would have made Martha Stewart jealous, and he didn't even bother to farm the land anymore. Although the gay son was so overweight he could barely fit through the door, and so flamboyant his hands fluttered when he walked, his talent for taking nothing and turning it into something spectacular made him a small town local celebrity.
Of course Filbert was nothing more than an observer from a distance, and he never got to know anyone in the bar on a first name basis. He was there often enough for the regulars to nod when he passed them, but he made no effort to ever get to know anyone any better. How could he take the chance? If anyone from his Amish community ever found out and word got back to his family his entire life would end. So he sat there and watched everyone having a great time. Oddly, it was all so different from his Amish life he always found it fascinating that he could lose track of time so unwillingly.
About an hour before Niles was due to pick him up out front, a tall guy with short dark hair and five o'clock shadow sat down next to Filbert and asked, "Can I buy you a drink? I'm Frank."
The music blared. The last drag performer was finishing her act and Filbert could barely hear the guy. He smiled and said, "No thanks. I'm good." No one ever sat next to him in the bar. Niles claimed it was because Filbert portrayed himself in public as unapproachable. Filbert had no idea what that meant, but he was fine with not being approached.
"Are you sure?" Frank said. He leaned over closer this time and Filbert could smell the beer on his breath. He seemed older, maybe in his mid-thirties. It stirred something deep inside Filbert and he found it difficult to make eye contact with this guy.
Frank reached over and rested his large hand on Filbert's thigh. He rubbed his thigh a few times and said, "You seem to keep to yourself. I’ve been watching you. Is this your first time here?"
Filbert didn't stop him from rubbing his thigh. This guy was better looking than anyone else in the bar, and he had that deep throaty voice like a football player. "No. I come here a lot. I'm local. I just like to sit and watch. I keep to myself."
Frank extended his right hand and said, "I'm here a lot on weekends. It's a nice place. Kind of kitschy and folksy and small town. But I like it." He rubbed Filbert's leg again. "And the guys are adorable like you."
When Frank didn't elaborate on his circumstances, Filbert had a feeling he wasn't telling his entire story, which didn't bother Filbert. He’d learned there was nothing safer than two closeted gay men who guard their real identities. He shook the guy's hand and said, "I'm Phil. It's nice to meet you, Frank. Where do you come from?"
He told Filbert he worked in sales, came from New York, and did a lot of business in that area. He'd read about this small bar on the Internet and decided to check it out one night. No details; nothing elaborate. While he talked he rubbed and squeezed Filbert's legs. And Filbert felt safe with him because he seemed as if he knew how to keep a secret. He was a total stranger who didn't know a thing about Filbert's background, or that he was Amish. And the truth was that Filbert didn't really want to know more about him.
In less than a half hour, the guy leaned over and whispered into Filbert's ear. "Would you like to go outside to my car?"
Filbert froze. He hadn't expected that. It's the first time a man had ever asked to be alone with him in a car. "I can't," he said. "A good friend is picking me up soon. I have to get home because I'm getting up early in the morning." He should have been more prepared, with a better excuse.
Frank smiled, as if he found Filbert amusing. "Let's go out to my car. You can wait for your friend there."
The guy stood up and left money on the bar. "We can talk outside a lot easier. I'd like to get to know you better. You're special."
Filbert looked up at him and hesitated. This guy wasn't at all like the other guys in the bar. He seemed so genuine and honest. But more important, he thought Filbert was special. He also reminded Filbert of a professional football player he'd seen on the Internet, with a thick neck and huge sexy thighs. He didn't seem to care about anyone else in the bar but Filbert. So Filbert smiled and said, "I guess that's okay. My friend won't be here for a while, so we'll have time to talk."
Filbert thought he'd finally met a nice, decent guy, a guy who was good looking, friendly, honest, and kind, but was he in for a surprise. 

Sleepless In San Francisco

Kendle's Fire by [Field, Ryan]

Altered Parts by [Field, Ryan]