Assumptions, by Ray S

Over some 90 decades my life has been one assumption after another, some good, but the majority not so. I recall another old adage, “Never assume; it can make an ass of you and me.” So be alerted. Assumptions can not only be habit forming but lead to some curious circumstances the result of our own making. Again, some good, some not so.

That day I stood on the Capitol steps looking west across Lincoln Street at the Gay Pride celebration in Civic Center Park. It marked the time and place that I committed, after years of stealthy hiding in my hetero-closet, that I joined the tribe. My assumption being that a place called the GLBTQ Center would have room for one more late-blooming queer Troll—a popular term for active geriatrics. That was a good assumption.

It felt so wonderful to be out to family and the three very close straight couples who responded happily for me with the classic rejoinder, “We always knew.” There’s another assumption—who me?

Naively, upon one impulsive search for an evening’s recreation I ventured into the local gentlemen’s athletic club—no, not the DAC or YMCA, but maybe with that song ringing in my ears, Y-M-C-A. This club sported both outdoor and indoor swimming pools and was noted for its hospitality and comradeship. There. ASSUME on that while I commence to relate what followed after I was buzzed in through their hallowed gates.

Many years had passed since my first impromptu visit to these premises, and you guessed it, I assumed nothing had changed but perhaps some twenty-five years on my shoulders. Well things did change that evening. The gate keeper “regretted” to inform me that under new management they had chosen to limit their clientele to what I would call (in the gay vernacular) “Twinks” (free lockers 18-20 aged, and no one that even neared the appearance of being over 32 years of age. It may have amounted to gross discrimination to any gay man even edging the neighborhood of geriatric maturity, no how much dignity and class and elegance a bit of seniority would have leant.

“Sorry, sir, why don’t you try the Uptown on Zuni Street.” Head unbowed I followed his suggestion, no assumption.

I offer this bit of history to those that assume we’re never too old to dream, or assume. As I stated at the beginning of this tale, life is just one big assumption after another until the coroner assumes for you.

I leave you with a very sage assumption by one poet laureate Robert Frost:

“Forgive me, O Lord, my little jokes on thee,
And I’ll forgive thy great big one on me.”


© 27 March 2017

About the Author

From My Queer Point of View, by Phillip Hoyle

From my point of view, this presentation is a story and a rant. Behind it is an assumption that in comparison with the points of view espoused by others around me, my perspectives seem to me more artistic, open, religious, educational, intellectual, personal, flexible, and independent. And in one particular way more defended. But perhaps the most distinctive aspect of my point of view comes from fifteen years of giving massages.

The Story

I had poured beer at the bar in times past, refilling plastic glass after glass of cheap beer on a beer bust, volunteering there in order to raise money to help fund an annual retreat for people living with AIDS. I was sure my mother would never approve, but I did it anyway and enjoyed the snippets of conversation, the beauty of some men I poured for, and the humor of some fellow pourers. I liked being in a gay bar with something practical to do.

But that afternoon I was at the same bar, the same Sunday beer bust, but there as a guest attending a birthday party, there with my partner and several friends. I talked with our host, the birthday honoree, and my companions. The latter and I had just moved onto the patio to enjoy the sun when I saw a man I knew from the annual retreat and went over to talk with him. That’s when I noticed another young man in the yellow tee shirt that advertised an animal shelter, the not-for-profit organization he was pouring beer to benefit. I found him attractive. When he stopped to ask if we needed more beer, I noticed his healthy looks, warm smile, hazel eyes, sturdy build, and his language—real English, clever, sparkling, and engaging. I thought what a pleasure to have this fine looking youngster in a yellow shirt pour my beer while I talked with this other fine looking blue shirted and blue eyed young man I knew from the retreat. Some afternoons seem just so fine. I recalled that when I poured for the retreat beer bust I tended to go back to the same place to pour, so I was not at all surprised to have the youngster in yellow keep returning. Was he paying special attention to me? I laughed at my thought. Then I wondered at and dismissed the perception that perhaps he was paying attention to me. How pleasant it seemed and how funny. But I knew more. I knew my desire; laughed at it; and like always, enjoyed it. Being served beer by a nice young man on a sunny Sunday afternoon is never negligible.

Finally I had to excuse myself from the retreat friend due to the insistence of my aging bladder and made my way indoors to the restroom. As I was returning to join my friends outdoors, the good looking server greeted me. He asked if I needed more beer. I turned him down, but he continued talking wanting to know what kind of work I did. When I told him, he asked, “Do you have a card? I’m looking for a massage therapist.” I handed him a card, knowing that one rarely hears from card gatherers. And of course I didn’t hear from him, but about two months later at another bar, I saw the same good looking young man who remembered me and told me he still had my card and was going to call me. I smiled warmly and encouraged him to do so. And within a week or two I received his call. We arranged the massage. I gave him the massage registering how fine it always seems when massaging young men with their fine skin, supple muscles, and in this case attractive personality. We hugged at the end of the session. Again I wondered if I was being in some way interviewed for a relationship but laughed at the idea.

“I knew he was looking for an older man,” one of my friends said of the young man later when he became the topic of conversation.

“Yeah,” another friend asserted, “he wants a sugar daddy.”

Now of course there are young men who want to find an older man to take care of them. Had this been the hope of this young man in relationship to me, he’d have been sorely disappointed. I have no money, work only part-time. I’m one of those older guys who has to sing the lyrics, “I can’t give you anything but love, Baby.”

Let me restate that: from me one can get love and a good massage. So when he called for an appointment I gave him love and a massage, the kind of love I give all my clients whether male or female, gay or straight, intellectual or developmentally challenged. And of course I noticed that he was as beautiful unclothed as clothed, intelligent, warm and probably needy although I knew little about just what he might need. I must add that I felt a strong attraction similar to when at a bus stop I met Rafael years before, an attraction to the beauty of his body and spirit, to his ability to express himself verbally, and his openness to others around him. I was somewhat stricken but not so much as to reveal all this by shaking while I rubbed him.

The next time I saw this beautiful young man, he was accompanied by an older man who was quite handsome with his silver hair and nice clothes. I suspected he was well heeled and thought how nice for the younger man whatever his needs and motivations. As I shook hands with the elder, I projected warmth and pleasure in the meeting. I told the younger how good he looked and quietly affirmed my approval of his choice of companions. A few weeks later I again saw him in the company of the older man. They both looked pleased to be together. Again I stopped to greet them.

About two months later, around the year-end holidays, the young man was at the same bar alone. I went over to talk. I discovered his partner was out of town for the holidays and heard about the youngsters’ upbringing in a rather wealthy family and his plans to visit them in the coming week. While I didn’t get many details—I’m loathe to ask for such things—I did get picture enough to realize just how hopeless the superficial judgment that any younger person who shows interest in an elder is looking for a sugar daddy.

The Rant

How demeaning and objectifying the assumption is of the accused. In gay male relationship it reveals deeply held misogyny and a cultural prejudice that what makes an American male a real man is his ability and drive to be financially successful. I’m confused that men who themselves have suffered the same verbal put downs should dis some youngster for being a gold digger, a woman (as if that’s an insult), and a flop at manning up to the responsibilities of true manhood. From my point of view the assumption does not consider the following important possibilities:

* That the younger man may simply prefer to live around older men.

* That the younger man may have resources plenty or more than plenty for his own maintenance.

* That the younger may be seeking for the nurture of an older man since he may have got little from his father.

* That the younger man could have been raped as a child and thus as a young man is looking for the nurture of an older man who could heal him with love.

* That the younger man could be acting out of a need for survival.

* That the younger man could be victim of mental or emotional illnesses.

I know about these things from listening to my clients for the past fifteen years. The list can go on and on and still hasn’t asked any questions concerning the motivations of the older man who seems to be responding to the younger. What’s the old guy up to? Is he looking for a sugar baby? And whose business it is anyway to have such opinions about another person’s life? Well, that’s at least one interesting point of view from this old man.

I don’t say any of these things to pick on my friends because even in speaking this way I am somewhat defended. Seriously so. My defenses arise from what I consider to be the essence of my life’s religious assumptions, that when I accuse I am indicting myself in the accusation. So I usually choose to keep council with myself and not project onto others my own weaknesses and pathos!


Denver, © 2013

About the Author

Phillip Hoyle lives in Denver and spends his time writing, painting, and socializing. In general he keeps busy with groups of writers and artists. Following thirty-two years in church work and fifteen in a therapeutic massage practice, he now focuses on creating beauty. He volunteers at The Center leading the SAGE program “Telling Your Story.”

He also blogs at artandmorebyphilhoyle.blogspot