President Trump or: How I Learned to Start Worrying and Leave the Country

 I woke up early Wednesday morning last week to take my usual “late-nite” pee and made the unfortunate mistake of looking at my phone. I had tried to watch the election returns on TV but by 11pm things were not looking too good for Democrats and I was tired.

“If I don’t watch, things will turn around… Isn’t that what ‘everyone’ is saying?”

Among the stream of updates from The New York Times was the unbelievable. Donald Trump has been elected president of the United States of America!!

“Oh My God!! What have we done!!” was the first thing out of my mouth, then repeated over and over and I hugged myself and tried to calm myself down. But I wasn’t calm. I was afraid. I could not get back to sleep until exhaustion took over around 5AM.

I spent a good part of the day in bed. Thank goodness for Klonopin or I might have become apoplectic with despair!

I have never been what some might call a “proud American”. I find America to be a capitalist wonderland that arrogantly believes we’re the best and that our style of “Democracy” will fill the void of any government that topples. I felt fortunate when traveling in Europe that I didn’t “look American” so I did not have to take the blame for their anger with Reagan or the Bushes. But never before in my life have I ever felt truly ashamed to be an American.

Donald Trump is a savvy entertainer, a shrewd campaigner and a misogynistic, xenophobic Fascist. The fact that he is endorsed by the KKK and other “alt-right” groups just proves the point. His placement of people from these groups into his White House staff solidifies that truth. The United States of America has elected a Fascist for President.

They say that great emotional trauma gets encoded genetically and relayed to future generations. Maybe that’s what causing me to feel this way. Plenty of members of my family were wiped out in the Holocaust and as Jews we are taught to “Never Forget”.

And so I have decided to take action and initiate my exit plan. I call it Amexit!

I have “jokingly” said for years that I wanted a Canadian husband but it wasn’t a joke. I really do. I’d like to live somewhere where people down frown of National Healthcare. I had signed up for Maple Match, a service started recently to match up Americans and Canadians, a while back. My problem has been that they only operate on an iOS system and I use Windows and an Android phone! I do not intend to let this opportunity slip through my fingers so I am enlisting an on iPhone 4 my sister has retired so I can actively start looking for my escape.

I also intend to use my Jewish heritage to look into making Aliyah and moving to Tel-Aviv. Israel? Now!!? At my age?? Well, I feel I’d rather sit out the next four years in a beautiful seaside city with an open and welcoming LGBTQ community then to sit around and watch a group of desperate old white men try to hold on to their patriarchal privilege by tearing down everything that make this country great: the right to live and be who you are, as you please; to observe and practice whatever religion you chose; to love who you love and still be able to enjoy the privilege of unquestionable marriage.

Don’t be fooled by the media. They failed us this past election and they are failing us now. This is not normal. These are not going to be safe time for anyone who doesn’t goosestep to new Trump Reich.

We can wait and see ‘what will happen’ once he’s in but I know that once they start the round-ups I will feel better knowing that my Amexit plan is fully functioning and operational.

After Hurricane Sandy, posters and ads popped up all over the city advising people to have a contingency plan in place for an emergency.

I would advise the same now.

In Honor of #NationalSexDay

Pick-up on Ninth Avenue

As a gay man of a certain age, I’ve had a lot of sex. I don’t mean for that to sound like bragging. I’m sure there were plenty of other who outpaced me, but being products of the “sexual revolution” and early “gay liberation” we reveled in it. As early as my college days I was introduced to the pleasures of the gay bath houses in Manhattan and their fairly anonymous hook-ups. Many guys preferred it that way; most of the married men insisted on it! The city exuded a sexual energy that has been long since dissipated and the Meatpacking District in 1986 was its sexual solar plexus. Our loft sat atop two notorious sites, Jay’s, a gay bar where you could easily give or get a hand or blow job in the bathroom, and The Manhole, a sex club in the basement that catered to a gay and leather clientele. The infamous Mineshaft was two blocks away. A favorite pastime of mine was to sit in our living room and watch the hookers on Ninth Avenue putting on lipstick for twenty, thirty minutes at a time while huddled around a trashcan fire. Sex was everywhere and easily accessible.

So when a trick stands out in your memory…….

Where I was coming from, I cannot say. But I was returning home one evening along the Ninth Avenue side of our building and I was coming up from the West Village. The elevator in our building was on that quieter, darker side. It was also the side where many meat trucks parked and it was not uncommon for guys to cruise for sex between the trucks.

And there he has…. In the shadows between two trucks. A man. A Marlboro-type man with a moustache and broad shoulders. He stood between the trucks, facing one, with the stance of a man at a urinal, legs spread, hand on his crotch. If it had been lighter out I’m sure he would have had aviator shades on.

I don’t think we made eye contact at first, but something about this guy just turned me on. I circled around the trucks and looked at him from the other side. He probably saw me but was very dedicated to his fake pissing posture, looking straight forward at the side of a meat truck, rubbing his cock in his pants.

I could have easily just gone up in our elevator at this point, but something about this guy aroused me. I continued to circle around the trucks and when I came to his “alleyway” I took a deep breath and ventured towards him. He still avoided eye contact so I reached out to fondle his crotch. Immediately he reached out with his right arm, put his hand on the back of my head and started to push me down, my face towards his enclosed cock, my shoulders down so I’d be on my knees.

Now I must point out that I’ve never been big on sex out in the open, especially in urban areas. Parks, beaches, out in nature somewhere…. That I get. But I the middle of Manhattan with lots of people passing by…. Not knowing if someone may just “join in” uninvited…. Just not my thing.

“Suck it”, he whispered in my ear.

“You know what”, I said, breaking away from his firm manly hand, “I’m not really that comfortable doing this right here with you. But I live right in this building here. Why don’t you come upstairs where we can get comfortable?”

“Really?”

“Yes, sure, come on.” And I walked him over to our elevator door, unlocked it and motioned for him to join me.

“You sure this is okay?”

“It’s okay with me? Nothing to worry about… See… I’ve got the keys!!”

So Mr. Marlboro followed me upstairs and into my small sparse room, expressing trepidation along the way, me restating that everything was fine, I lived here, not to worry, etc.

He didn’t seem very interested in kissing, but I did get him to take off his shirt so I could enjoy its hairy firmness with my hands and tongue. I finally got on my knees and he did get the blowjob he had requested. I was practically naked and jerking myself off wildly while I sucked him off until he came. I held his cock in my mouth, savoring his semen, while I blew my load all over myself.

I released his cock from my mouth and looked up into his soft brown eye.

“You enjoyed that didn’t you?” he asked.

“Sure I did! Didn’t you??”

“Yeah. That was pretty darn good.” he said as he put his shirt back on.

I remained on my knees as he finished dressing, adding some of my cum to the taste of his in my mouth, basking in the glow of my “triumph”. This hot Marlboro man had wanted to have sex with me!!

“What’s your name kid?”

The question surprised me a little bit. He must have had a really good time if he wanted to know my name!!

“I’m Jonathan!”

“Well, Jonathan”, he said, reaching into his pocket for a business card. But it wasn’t a business card he pulled out. It was a small wallet which he flipped open to flash his Police ID and badge.

“If you ever find yourself in any trouble, ask for Detective Bob at the Tenth Precinct.”

And with that he exited my room, the apartment and my life.

A cop!

I just sucked off a cop! And not just a cop, a detective!! And he liked it!!

That’s when I realized how lucky I was! I sucked off a cop… Oh My God! What if I had done it in the street where he wanted me to? He probably would have booked me!! The neighborhood was notorious for stings like that. That’s why he was so “worried” when I took him upstairs.

But he came upstairs with me and he liked it.

And I will always remember Detective Bob of the Tenth Precinct, one of my hottest pick-ups.

 ©Jonathan Leiter 2016