Tag: For a Good Time

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For a Good Time, by Lewis

There are a thousand ways to have a “good time”. “Good” can mean “exciting” or “feel-good”–whether emotionally, physically, sexually, or by getting high. It can involve exercise, dancing, playing games, telling jokes, jumping out of an airplane, or simply driving to a destination that provides you with a sense of positive anticipation. It might even involve taking a Viagra, putting on something sexy, and waiting to see what cums, whether alone or accompanied.

However, the story I would like to share with you today is of quite a different nature. It does not require a car, a well-stocked bar, reefers, needles, electronics, or jewelry. It does not even require clothes, if one is discrete. What I consider to be about as fun as anything else that I do requires only a chair, a table, and pleasant surroundings. I have to put nothing in my ears or nose, although a little bit of a favorite beverage and a few chips or nuts seems to enhance the experience.

What I do for fun most days is to simply sit out on my terrace and eat a meal, do a crossword puzzle, read from Laurin’s journal or write in my own, or simply sit and watch the amazing beauty of a sunset or my terrace garden. To feel the breeze against my skin, to watch as it caresses the leaves and blooms, to observe the shadows on the furniture, walls and floor and the sunlight as it slowly traverses its path from east to west–this is my private little kingdom which I have created. It is a time to be alone with my thoughts, my memories, my dreams; to anticipate the coming hours and relish the past few.

It doesn’t matter that the cacophony of construction pierces the air from next door. It’s a minor annoyance, no more. I turn my eyes to the horizon, where I see Buckley Field, Fitzsimmons, DIA (on a clear day), East High School, The Pinnacle, the industrial South Platte River valley, downtown, Sports Authority Field, Cheesman Park , and a long expanse of foothills and mountains. I see blue and green everywhere–they are the colors of restfulness and relaxation. The clouds play out their drama before my enthralled eyes and a tear may form. I can hardly wait for the next few minutes until, at last, my favorite time comes, as the sun sets and twilight begins. Soon, it is time to go inside and begin to wind down into sleep, knowing that my “good times” will surely begin again when the morning comes.

© 12 August 2013

About the Author

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn’t getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth. Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband’s home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.

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For a Good Time by Phillip Hoyle

I’m not easily manipulated by advertising. I can watch ads on TV, even enjoy their art, humor, and images, but I never buy their products. I can pour over magazine ads but end up only cutting them into pieces for collages rather than purchasing their wares. I knew this about myself for years, but I learned a valuable exception one night early in my coming out—during my first year living in Denver. I was at Charlie’s of Denver dancing with my friend Dianne. We’d go there once in awhile to practice our emerging bar-stool massage techniques, to drink some beers, and to dance. We were laughing and carrying on when I noticed a decent looking man standing by a table watching me. He smiled. I smiled. I went over to talk with him and invite him to dance with us. Before long he said to me, “Let’s go have sex.”

I responded to his direct message. Perhaps I was also attracted to his strong southern accent, his black hair, his darker skin (I assumed he might be Hispanic), his smile revealing clean, slightly irregular teeth, and his stature just a bit shorter than mine. He seemed my kind of guy although I really didn’t know I had a preferred type. He advertised no price tag attached to sex—just sex. We went to my place and figured out what to do together.

I realized that while I liked what I saw and otherwise sensed, and I enjoyed our simple negotiations, conversation, and other contortions, the good time I experienced really arose from my inner core. All my deepest pleasures originate from an introvert place and preference, although in this instance assisted by a shot of adrenalin, a combination of other hormones, and perhaps was bolstered by a bit of alcohol. They spoke from deep within.

Usually I am happy to be alone, but there are times I easily enough share myself more publically. For instance, there are things I enjoy doing with others, like the visit to the Denver Art Museum with my friend Dianne to see the Yves St. Laurent couture show. I probably would have missed it if she hadn’t encouraged me to take her. Dianne had modeled clothes in Paris in her late teens and twenties and did her first runway job for the designer whose clothing we were viewing as we walked through the rooms displaying his work. Her perspectives drew me deeper into the multitude of beautiful items on display and the world that had produced them. I liked that conjunction immensely.

Furthermore, I enjoy going on trips with Jim, like the trip to North Dakota (a place that requires a local guide for anyone to appreciate it at all). Jim showed me all the places he had lived and had loved way up there in the north, including the field where he sometimes saw moose sitting in the snow when as a child he walked to catch the school bus, the train station where he used to work for the Great Northern Railroad, and the statue of the world’s largest cow. His insistence on driving the whole way through Colorado, Nebraska, Iowa, South Dakota, North Dakota and Wyoming freed me to pay close attention to the landforms where many scenes from 19th century American history were played out and where for millennia great herds of bison were hunted by tribes in their annual cycles of hunt and harvest. And I met many of Jim and Ruth’s family members. Furthermore, I got to know both my partner and his mother in ways I would have perceived only slowly if we had not travelled together. I enjoyed the trip and the things I learned by experiencing it with these two who have become so important in my life.

For a good time: in its popular usage connotes a sexual element and is often a prostitute’s come on complete with phone number and perhaps prices. In my two examples there was something sexual, even if deeply sublimated. Dianne is one of the sexiest people I have ever known. And of course I was having sex with Jim on our North Dakota Odyssey.

And then there are my good times with a Writers group, an Artist Trading Card gathering, and weekly meetings of this Storytelling group. I enjoy seeing friends for coffee or lunch, having sex with a lover, going somewhere to dance (Indian dancing at demonstrations or powwows in my school years, social dances in junior high and high school, two-stepping or rock dancing with my wife, or techno dancing with a good friend in my gay days). I like day trips to the mountains for short walks or visiting a tourist trap, some combination of exercise, shopping, sightseeing, picture taking, and eating. And of course, lots of gab.

For a good time: pleasure can only be defined by the person seeking or experiencing it. For instance, three people share an activity. One simply bears it, another one finds it just okay, while the third declares it was a really good time, one of the best. The pleasure itself is due to personal emotions and feelings, not due to owning an art museum membership or being able to afford an occasional trip. For me, the good time arises from being somehow transformed by the viewings, travel, thoughts and feelings when my social activities become a scene in a story or the inspiration for a piece of artwork. Then I feel even more deep pleasure, my deepest satisfaction. And that’s a really good time!

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

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For a Good Time… by Ricky

For a good time, lobby the Boy Scouts of America to change their discriminatory policy of prohibiting openly gay/lesbian adults from becoming leaders. Once the change is made, (unless you are a pedophile) join a scout troop as an adult leader of some sort. The time you donate helping a scout troop or Cub Scout pack will either add years to your life or wear you out sooner. In either case, you will have a wonderful time being around cub or boy scouts and participating in their activities.

Inasmuch as the Boy Scouts of America have now changed their policy of discrimination of barring openly homosexual adults (who are not pedophiles) from being adult leaders in scout troops, to allowing individual units and sponsoring organizations to choose whatever policy they will follow, it is now appropriate to lend your individual and financial support to whichever unit that chooses to not discriminate.

It is also fitting that religious sponsors can also choose a policy for their membership to follow. 

I will not support any sponsor, district, or troop/pack individually or financially if their choice is to continue discrimination at the “local” level.

© 12 August 2013 / 19 July 2015

About the Author



I was born in June of 1948 in Los Angeles, living first in Lawndale and then in Redondo Beach. Just prior to turning 8 years old in 1956, I began living with my grandparents on their farm in Isanti County, Minnesota for two years during which time my parents divorced.

When united with my mother and stepfather two years later in 1958, I lived first at Emerald Bay and then at South Lake Tahoe, California, graduating from South Tahoe High School in 1966. After three tours of duty with the Air Force, I moved to Denver, Colorado where I lived with my wife and four children until her passing away from complications of breast cancer four days after the 9-11 terrorist attack.

I came out as a gay man in the summer of 2010. I find writing these memories to be therapeutic.

My story blog is, TheTahoeBoy.Blogspot.com.

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For a Good Time by Ron Zutz


For a good time, walk out the door. Feel the fear,
and stand up anyway. Inhale slowly, deeply. Take the first step. Despite
trembling arms, grab the door handle and twist. Walk out despite a tightening
chest.
For a good time, move toward the light. Step over
the bumps and around the cracks. Keep walking when balance wobbles. Move around
puddles. Move toward life.
For a good time, see the sun twinkling through
green leaves. Ignore palpitations. Feel breezes. Hear people laughing, and
ignore premonitions of doom.
For a good time, show up.

© 12 August 2013






About the Author



Ron Zutz was born in
New Jersey, lived in New England, and retired to Denver. The best parts of his
biography have yet to be written.



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For a Good Time by Pat Gourley

If I were to take the high road with this topic I suppose I would explore my options for a “good time” by discussing my friends and time spent with them sharing a movie or a meal I have prepared especially to accommodate their particular dietary idiosyncrasies. Or perhaps relate my anticipation for seeing a couple of Furthur shows next month at Red Rocks with 10,000 of my closet associates. Prowling a Farmer’s Market, taking in the latest vegetative creations at the Denver Botanic Gardens or curling up with my kitties, a good book and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s are also things that work for me when it comes to a good time.

I will dispense however with the “high road” for the remainder of this piece and look at the tried and true completion of the phrase which would be “for a good time and hopefully a happy ending” call 555-5555. In decades gone by this exhortation was often seen scrawled on public toilet stalls along with the requisite phone number. For the extremely bold the phrase might appear in a personal print ad, though the “good time” was often just implied as was the “happy ending”.

Throughout the 1970’s a “good time” for me involved heading out to the bathhouse. I do believe that as gay bathhouses evolved in that decade they were a truly unique space created by gay men. There certainly had for millennia been public bathes that often had a homosexual cruising element but the gay bathes as manifested in large American and European cities largely after Stonewall had no pretext or subterfuge about them. They were gay male space created for the express purpose of getting laid in a relatively safe place often catering to and facilitating a variety of gay male sexual fantasies.

The amenities were simple but plentiful including safe lockers, clean towels, private rooms, slings, suitable lengths of plastic douching hose with hookups right next to the toilets, orgy rooms, steam rooms, lots of hot water, reasonably priced poppers and buckets of free cheap lube, usually whipped up like cake batter in big batches by the employees. This lube was often a mix of baby oil and Crisco or some other vegetable shortening on sale that week at Safeway I expect. Johnson & Johnson was almost always the source of the baby oil. Condoms were certainly not readily available and if so their use was at best frowned on.

Though in hindsight the baths may have initially fueled the AIDS epidemic after that horse was out of the barn I always felt they were more a form of quarantine for the already infected than really significant vectors. Certainly before AIDS the tubs were I think overall very conducive elements to the building of the potent queer liberation movement of the post Stonewall era. I mean what could go wrong in these ultimate palaces of testosterone fueled gay male bonding where fucking with as many or as few men in a single visit as you could accommodate was easily facilitated, the ultimate male fantasy.

Some unfortunate drawbacks did exist and in some forms persist today. Many bathes were mob owned and often enforced very racist and ageist door policies though in their heyday there was a variety of establishments that accommodated nearly everyone.

The tubs still exist today but after a severe curtailing in the 1980’s due to the AIDS epidemic they have never fully recovered to their 1970’s glory. Perhaps though even more significant than fear of disease in their decline has been the Internet. In case one forgets for a moment the importance of this when you type “Internet” and neglect to capitalize the “I’ it spells checks to remind you to do so.

For myself personally as having been a child of the tubs decades ago and fortunate enough to have had a couple of relatively good long term relationships, I now am occasionally at a loss really as to where to go for a sexual good time. I do though rely on my left hand (I am right handed but go figure), a tube of Vaseline and my computer. And FYI the word Vaseline also insists on being capitalized on my Apple product.

Gay men though being the masters of the “hook-up” that we are have evolved quite well with the times. An example of this would be Grindr – spelled G-r-i-n-d-r – which is a geosocial networking application available for download from the Apple App Store and Google Play. This can best be described as making use of GPS and your computer, tablet or iPhone to find other men near by specifically for sexual hook ups. This can happen in an instant of course and eliminates the tediously time consuming efforts involved in the past for meeting up with partners at bars, parks, parties etc. and very little social chit-chat is required. Simply to initiate a “good time” text to xxxxxx.

The Grindr app provides an interface that displays photos of men arranged in order of proximity to your current location. Tapping on a photo of interest will provide you with a brief profile hopefully not a total pack of lies. Needless to say this award winning social networking tool has been a wild success all over the world. And thanks to Edward Snowden we now know that all of the personal information provided on this platform is and will be carefully stored for possible future retrieval at the large and ominous NSA facility nearing completion in neighboring Utah. The old vice squad of yesteryear must just be wetting their pants with jealously.

Again for me personally I must confess that Grindr is not an option I am willing to explore and not for any fear of the NSA though it is none of their fucking business and a violation of my 1st, 4th and 6th amendment rights but I digress. Rather it is difficult to teach an old queen new tricks or how to find new tricks. I am for the most part quite content with my computer and a couple dear old comfortable and reliable (and I use the phrase with the greatest of love and affection) fuck buddies. In a concession to the times though they are contacts on my iPhone and I call them with a simple touch most likely unable to actually dial their number form memory.

© August 2013

About
the Author  

I was born in La Porte Indiana in 1949, raised on a farm and schooled by Holy Cross nuns. The bulk of my adult life, some 40 plus years, was spent in Denver, Colorado as a nurse, gardener and gay/AIDS activist. I have currently returned to Denver after an extended sabbatical in San Francisco, California.