In memory of John White

I had a friend named John who was very old school 1970's gay, very backroom of the bar gay, very cruising behind the highway rest stop gay. And it was sort what I liked about him. He was honest about who he was and he had a heart like a whale. If he was your friend, if he loved you, you never forgot that someone in the world had your back. He gave me a place to stay, he fed me, he conspired with me. That was the problem.

He loved me and that was more than I could handle at that time in my life. I was on the verge of losing my job due to lay-offs. I was lost. I was miserable. And the last thing I needed was this old queen crushing on me. I started missing dinner dates, not returning calls. And then he had a heart attack so massive, that even though he was in the hospital, before the paddles hit his chest he was dead.

I know I didn't kill him. He lived on a diet of cigaretttes and beef. That killed him. But I abandoned him. This wasn't the first time either. I have thrown over most of my friends, the grandmother I loved and the one I hated. Let's not forget all the small betrayals I've committed for the sake of expediency. I have spent my life as one first rate bastard and I, like John, make no bones about it.

This is sort of the rub. A few nights after he died I was in the shower and I thought of him dying alone and then, and I don't believe in heaven, I wanted him to be there seeing me naked in the shower. He would have liked that. I pressed my face against the shower wall. I started crying and slowly I soaped up my cock and balls, stroking and balling, sweating and eventually spraying cum into my fist and against the shower wall. We all grieve in our own way. I make no bones about it.

So if there is a heaven John, I hope your there and I hope you saw.