I’m Only 24 In Gay Years, And I Feel Like My Love Life Is Over

Finding a partner at 64 is next to impossible

This article occurred to me as I read another by Michael Horvich about losing his lover after 41 years and not wanting to be in another relationship. Horvich asks, “Why would I want another partner, life mate, lover, roommate?”

The gist of the article is that he doesn’t want to be in another relationship because he’s satiated. He got what he needed, loved, grieved, and now on his own, he likes it that way.

I’ve had three real relationships in my life. The first was a marriage to a woman. But, of course, we know how that ended. However, I got out of it what I wanted — two beautiful children.

I was 40 when I divorced her in 1998 and came out shortly after. All it took was having sex with a man. Having a lot of time to make up for, I became a real whore. I couldn’t get enough dick. Fortunately, younger men took me as a contemporary — not a 40-year-old man who some would have considered old.

After I came out, I had two short-lived mates in their twenties. However, young wasn’t working for me, and I knew I needed to find someone closer to my age.

In the long run, I am relationship oriented, but at that time I wanted to have sex with every man I met who I felt was attractive. So I had a bit of a split personality. It probably wasn’t the time to be in a relationship — yet. But I never did reconcile those feelings.

I was pretty aggressive when I was on the hunt. I met my first eight-year relationship at a travel-industry function. I had my eye on him all night, and as he walked away to go to the restrooms, I followed him. They were single-stall restrooms, so I knew I could make this happen. When he opened the door to leave, I pushed him back inside, threw him against a wall, and started making out with him. He didn’t push back.

We lived in our own places for about a year, after which he purchased a house. The intention was that I was going to move in with him at that time. It almost didn’t happen.

Market Days on Halsted Street is a big gay street fair in Chicago every August. Being young in my gay years, I wanted to go, but he said, “Been there, done that. You go on and have fun.” So I called up a couple of friends I knew were going that evening, and we met at one of the guys’ condos.

As I walked into my friend Steve’s (not his real name) condo, a stranger was walking out. “We just scored some ecstasy!” he proclaimed.

This was a new drug to me, but I made no hesitation in taking it, as I always have to try everything at least once.

Steve and his friends had their sights set first on a bar (Circuit, formerly The Vortex) to have a drink. Unfortunately, there was a relatively long wait to get in, and I started coming on strong. I became very touchy-feely, making some sort of contact with everyone in the line.

By the time it was our turn to walk in, I couldn’t even function. I couldn’t speak very well, and I couldn’t get my wallet out of my pocket to show my ID, so the management wouldn’t let me in.

Steve volunteered to take me back to his condo to chill for a while, which did register with me, as he was a handsome guy. Clothes started flying as we stepped inside and had mind-blowing sex. But the next thing I knew, the sun was coming up, and I was coming down.

“Fuck, I’ve got to get home.” Fortunately, I remembered where I had parked my car (I lost my car a lot during those years), got home, and crawled into bed, hoping my boyfriend would still be asleep.

Well, he wasn’t, and the first words out of his mouth were, “why are your underwear on backward?” That’s all it took. So I went home to my little apartment and pleaded with him for days. Finally, as a result, he let me back in, and we moved into the new house together.

I never knew what a coke addict he was until I moved in with him. Before that, I’d barely done coke because it was too expensive. But he always shared, and I ended up developing an addiction too. And it got worse — the day after a coke binge, I would get so depressed, and I had recently been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. So I went to an IOP program, and from there, I went to inpatient rehab twice.

I chose to leave the relationship after the second time. I’ve never done coke again. Just the thought of the aftermath is enough to stop me. And while I’ve never done ecstasy again, if it were around and the circumstances were right …

After three years of singledom and more whoring around, I decided to get serious about being in a relationship again. This time, I used match.com. “Try it, it works!” they said in commercials. It did! I thought I had met the person I’d be with for the rest of my life. And get this: he and I shared the exact same birthdate! He was just six hours older.

I thought that was a sign.

We didn’t immediately move in together, and since he was out of town every week, I thought I could still be a player Monday-Friday. But then he took an interest in my phone. Oh lord. I was out like a light. Like before, I made numerous attempts at reconciliation, but nothing worked. It had to be on him, and fortunately, three months later, I got the call that he’d be willing. Eventually, he invited me to live with him in his condo.

For the most part, those years were good. But he was vehemently opposed to getting married. I’m almost sure it was about his money. He had a lot. And he kept it under the table. “I put all my money into cash,” he used to say. He could have offered a prenuptial, which I would have signed. But instead, he always said he’d put me in his will, and if he went before me, I would assume ownership of the condo. He never did draw up a will.

Close to our eighth year, things began to sour, and we ended up in a physical altercation. A month later, he came home from work one day and announced that he was selling the condo and we were splitting up.

Despite the recent events, I was shocked. We had planned on retiring in New Mexico, and since nothing was keeping me from doing so, that’s where I went.

“Love Stinks” ~J. Geils Band

So now, I’ve been in Albuquerque for four years, and I’m no closer to having a boyfriend than I was when I first arrived. I’ve had a couple six-week flings, but there was no magic. So my prospects are looking slim.

I’m getting kind of tired of chasing men. I want them to chase me now. And chase they do — the ones in open relationships or those who are married and on the “DL.” There’s no future in that!

I guess it’s best just to be me and let the chips fall where they may. But there’s a lot to be said about living together and having two incomes, especially these days. It’s nice to have a male body at your beck and call. But I am now extremely picky and careful. I’m having a good time writing, and I’d probably fall behind if I were in a relationship.

I’ve loved a lot, and I’ve lost. So I’m not sure if playing the game is worth it again, either.

More from Arthur Keith in Prism & Pen:

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