Warm Boy Report;

 The New Gay Rights Movement

 It's Come Out Of Left Field

        I work, I'm a worker.  I am retired and thanks be to the Gods, I am in decent shape for my old age so I cashier in a gas station to maintain my life of luxury.  As the corporation I work for owns over half the gas stations in New England, and that I actually work when I am on the clock, gives me a chance to go to other stores when they need positions filled.  I recently had an encounter with a young man whom I knew well and had worked with closely. For being a very young man he was quite mature, responsible, and (a rare quality) gentlemanly.  These virtues got him into management with a strong recommendation from myself.  

   Now, can I confess that I enjoy the company of young men without being labeled a dirty old man?  Well, I guess I not.  Most people do not immediately assume I am gay.  After a while when they find out that I have never been married, I am single (I did have a partner who died of AIDS in 89) and not much of a family....well.... they figure it out.  One time this young man told me in confidence he swas bisexual and was madly in love, and living with, a transgender.  

   That was no big deal for me. He had been a high school football star, he was a natural born leader.  We got along well.  I made him laugh and he was occasionally shocked by my stories of San Francisco in the 70's and Hollywood in the 80's and 90's.  He liked me because I worked and he never needed to actually manage me or tell me what to do.

   If I like and trust someone, regardless of who they are, I am an affectionate person.  With his new position they took him off the only shift I worked at that store.  So I messaged him to tell him that I'd miss him and joked; 'don't leave me baby' and apparently he and his pronoun whatever had a shit fit and hate mail was sent to me....via Meta....but someone got to these massages and recalled them, leaving an empty message box sent from this young man's Facebook telling me it had been recalled.  When I confronted this young man he seemed surprised, but acted cold and monotone to state to me, I had sent an inappropriate and lewd message that offended him and his pronoun person.

   Well Okay....I take into consideration the enormous generation gap.  Gay men (male Identified) appears to have vanished from the general identification of homosexual men. Especially a senior citizen. I thought this young man was smarter than that.  I console myself with figuring out it was probably the pronoun (drag queen? tranny? chick with a dick?) having a meltdown over a statement meant to flatter the bloke, not to take him into the barn for a roll in the hay.  And although he never went to the upper management to lodge a complaint about my harassment, I terminated my employment there because I didn't actually need the job.  This could be taken as an admission of guilt but seriously....if I was younger I'd have stood my ground, but my blood pressure is already too high and I'm not having a stroke over this.  I'm way too old for this shit.

    But I've said it once and I'll say it again; I've never met a homophobic man who wasn't homo themselves.  I back down to nothing when it comes to being a male identified homosexual man and will resists the currant progressive liberal doctrines, like chopping some kids dick off because testosterone is out of fashion, or being a biological female because you say so. There was a time in my life I wanted to be a cowboy, that's the beaks kid, life is not always fair.  I didn't work all my life as a proud gay man to bow out to whiny woke eunuchs. This whole ordeal took a bat to my pride, I felt embarrassed in the light of neo-Victorian values which seems to be taking hold with this strange breed of children today.  

   After all the fighting, death and tears shed, the progress won since June 1969 seems to have been forgotten.  The male identified homosexual appears to be on the chopping block.  And the public now views gay men as what in reality is a tiny segment of the gay population.  

   I stand outside the rainbow flag now. This was a flag I helped along with Jessie Jackson but it's symbol has gone way out in wacko ville .  Because I am a Warm Boy it seems that I am expected to parrot neo-progressive ideas that I think  

Warm Boy Report; The Stonewall Warm Boys.

    I am old, I never thought I'd live to be this age....and now I'm old.  Old, old, old, older than Sonehenge.  In my young years I'd ponder senior citizens in glib amusement; Poor old sod, I'd tell myself....out of fashion, out of ideas, out of time. Then I awoke one morning to cocky chuckle-heads addressing me as sir.  I awoke that morning and I was old. 

  When I was thirty, I briefly encountered a young Native American guy.  He worked in the oil fields outside Duchesne Utah.  I do not remember the conversation we had but I remember it was contentious.  I was there out of lust for another guy....his roommate.  

See....I got dragged off an east coast bound Greyhound bus and lured by a twenty year old roughneck suntanned and hard as stone with a smile that brought about my demise.  I fell so in love/lust with this boy.  Like brave Ulysses, lured my to the blue collar shores of of the bluest balls I ever had.  He was so fucking hot....he sat next to me when he got on the bus....he was friendly and (I had perceived) hot for my bald head, my murder one sunglasses and straw cowboy sun bonnet I sported across the American west.  He worked in the oil fields....youthful, solid, in shape.  He'd been visiting his parents a few towns down the bus route, heading back to Duchesne where the oil field was at. We talked, we enjoyed each other's company.  I was dead tired from riding the bus.  He invited me to shit shower and shave at his apartment in town....meet his pet scorpion too (he never mentioned his roommate).  But I was invited to get off that smelly bus and stay over....at his place....to see his scorpion.

   Holy cow, what a dream come true.  I was thirty, mountain biking, I back country hiked in the mountains in those days, lots of swimming, I was in shape.  It was pre-AIDS,  Everybody all across the nation was fucking like bunnies  And this was the dream boy.  A roll in the hay with a roughneck, an American icon!  James Dean, Steve McQueen all rolled in one. Then his roommate came home.

   A contemptuous and mean youngster, I thought perhaps he was more than a roughneck roommate, that there was something more. He was a spectacular example of native American beauty.  But it was then that it came to me that my mad love scene invented in my mind was merely an infatuation with being away from San Francisco, off the beaten track.  A hot porn film scenario was not going to happen this time. His roommate eyed me with suspicion.  I do not recall where my host was but he left me alone for a minute when this guy who came home carrying a 20 gauge shotgun slung over his shoulder.  He'd been out shooting birds.  

  He asked me how old I was....I said I was thirty....he sneered, 'kind of old to be hitchhiking'....he told me.  He was like eighteen.  I told him I was on an eastbound Greyhound, I wasn't hitchhiking He acted as if I was the oldest man he ever met....I guess somebody your age, was this, I guess I'm too young to know about that.....I wonder where he is today?  But thirty was an old man to these guys. Maybe these two guys were having roughneck love but I remember my sister chastising me because I thought everyone was gay.

  I thought that oil roughneck might not be gay, but he sure was close to me.  What magnificent love I could have had.  But rather than be the predator, I decided it was all too foreign to me and let the young man go to his bed.  The next morning his roommate had gone to work.  My lover boy told me he hadn't slept all night.  Neither did I. 

  There are not many gay guys from my generation  my street, my neighborhood in San Francisco that survived the eighties and the AIDS epidemic.  I heard Dave Chappelle talking about 'the Stone Wall gays. Homophobic as he's made out to be he stated his admiration for the Stonewall generation.  That was my generation as a gay man....hell!....I was there!  On Christopher Street....that summer.  I marched in the first ever Gay Liberation March....up Seventh Avenue to Central Park the following summer.

  Being old makes one irrelevant if you're not careful. I cannot figure out if this whole WOKE deal is a harbinger for some social revolution in the late part of this century, or if it will go out of fashion. Perhaps when the hypocrisy and mislead facts become known, perhaps better educated liberals, cooler heads and not so crazed to the point fascism might hopefully prevail. The hippies of sixty years ago had a lot of crazed ideas too, and yes, I fell for it too.... hook, line and sinker.  Then I grew up so I pray these children do too....soon.   But when I'm listening to all these left wing do's and don'ts, things you can't say, things you are obligated to say.  Otherwise....you are expelled, canceled, cast out of the 'inclusion' vortex....but I still believe in human rights, I still believe in good healthcare for everyone and free education, I believe what, I would imagine, dated liberalism is....working with the conservative party (who can be just as partisan and reactionary as the WOKE nuts)....get the two party's to stop all this vitriol and compromise on policy....and children?....compromise is necessary to maintain a workable democracy.  

   Lesson number 1; Other people think differently than you, with different values than you

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

Make your own decisions, think critically 

Read books, still the most informative

But hell who wants to hear that?;  I'm old....out of fashion, out of ideas, out of time.