![[Home]](/graphics/2020-02_logo.png){kind=logo}
We lay on the sofa in the humid summer night; our bodies all wet from the passion we just made. We drank wine and looked at the stars and the lights . The balcony overlooked Victoria park and all the way out to Herring Cove. It was a perfect place. We had just met and danced all night. It felt like love at first sight but it was just unadultrated lust; he wanted me and I him. His long smooth body and blonde hair made me tingle as we danced so close that you would think we were one.
Music was loud and the air was hot; we did'nt care if we were alone or not. Shirtless torsos that stuck one to the other as lips meet and hands explore. Eyes stare deep into eyes that stare back. The night of dancing that never seemed to end I wonder and he wonders " has this night really just begun? ". Shirts folded thru belt loops; arms fold over arms and as we step down the stairs onto the sidewalk.
Never ask, only with my eyes; he looks at me with a look of comply. The door closes and a quick look, the roommate's not home. Alone, passion wells as it takes two to open the fridge door. Out to the balcony, for a moment to relax. Moments of small talk soon stop and eyes meet again.......
Summer never seemed to end. Passion was a passion.
Last Night - August 2004
The commons were quiet except for a few skateboarders and some modern age beatniks sitting on the steps of the pool house. As I walked, I thought of how things have changed. The only people for the most part that cruise anymore are the old diehards like myself; not that its cruising as much now as just going for a walk to all the familiar places; places that you have become accustomed to. I thought back to a time when on any night there were at least a few familiar faces and many others that were cruising about the triangle, the commons and the trees on the side of the Citadel Hill or top of the hill or the graveyard on Summer Street. Some of my best nights were the nights when you would just run into friends and we would have good old-fashioned "sewing circles"(as we called it). Sex was on your mind but when it came right down to it, conversations and horseplay filled that void of craving companionship if only for tonight. We would carry on sometimes until the sun was up full.
At the end of another sweaty night of dancing at The Turret, it was off to the Garden View Restaurant on Spring Garden Road at Dresden Row (affectionately known as "the gag and spew.") On one such occasion the old gag and spew was full and there was a waiting line. It just worked out that down one side the restaurant it was all straight boys (you could smell the testosterone) and down the other it was gay/lesbian (you could smell the perfume.) Donny was there with his boyfriend and they like the rest of us had party'd hardy at the club; Fred and myself and our gang were amongst the perfumed side. Donny had decided that this was a good time to hug/kiss/caress and who knows what else with his boyfriend at the table (at this date in time) this was not unheard of but the timing was a little off. The testosterone side of the room stood up, flared and roared to make a move and then the perfumed side rose and hissed and clawed back. It had to be seen to take in the full-bodied flavour of the moment. I guess both sides decided that it was a draw and I don't remember which side sat first but we did and the feast went on with just a few catcalls back and forth.
After the restaurant, it was off to the Triangle for some of us. There was the usual crowd of friends and strangers all looking for that elusive piece of nookie. A group of us were yakking away at the top of TheTriangle when someone noticed the trees waving furiously on the side of the hill (there was no wind that night.) After standing there for 20 minutes or so, Chris Shepherd sauntered across the street towards us from the area of that tree. I asked him what the hell was going on over there; he calmly stated with a "TEE HEE" that a hot number was standing under the tree and he wanted to get it on; not under the tree but up in it. Now you have to understand, Chris is 6'5" tall and $$$lbs. (B.I.G. - BIG.) Chris not being one to give up on a buffet and obliged like Hurricane Juan!!!
One night, it was Chris and I standing talking in the same place. I said to Chris that I am gonna have the next one around the corner. Chris saying "YEAH RIGHT!" Sure enough (about 2 minutes to be exact) this cuuuute blonde boy came (staggered a little) walking by us and as he did, I looked him right in the eyes and said: "WANNA DO IT?" There was no pause in the motion; I turned and we both went right down Dresden Row to my place on Morris Street. We both tore our clothes off and dove onto the bed. I was in midships when all of a sudden he said: "I'm too drunk" and crawled out from under me and as fast as the clothes came off, they were back on and he was out the door never to be seen again. This was the first time this had ever happened to me (this was the only time that this had happened to me.) I felt soooo (you know!); I got showered and dressed and back out again. Chris was still around and blurted out "that was quick!" I explained what had happened, he had a laugh on my behalf and we continued on with our pursuit of happiness and bliss.
The relationship between the gay community and the police was at best a standoff. We would stand off the road and they would stand off as far away as they could. Never around when one was needed, so it seemed. There were a few that were at least tolerant and would help as much as they dared at the time. I was told that all the rookies were put on the detail that covered The Triangle and Citadel Hill and other cruising areas not telling them what was going on there. One night this rookie (you could always tell the rookies) looked at a group of us and asked, "What are all you people doing here?" giggles were heard all around (the place was packed) more than I have ever seen since. The embarrassed rookie eventually turned back to his natural color and after some bantering back and forth he was on his merry way; I am sure the exit was not fast enough for him.
There are not as many trees along the side of the Citadel anymore. The stroll, the path that wound its way along almost halfway up the side of the hill across from Sackville Street to the top of Ahern Street and the crab apple tree. Dark or moonlit nights faded shadows of people strolling across the path searching every nook and crevice and around the military buildings at the bottom of the hill. It was an exciting place and dangerous place sometimes too as fag bashers could be lurking anywhere or screaming down from the roadside at the top of the hill. I could never figure out why, when we usually outnumbered them 10 to 1 (fag to bashers). The rushing of feet could be heard coming from out of the trees and down the slope, like a stampeded herd of cattle, to the security of the light on the street. Or into their cars to dash off as fast as they could, leaving a few all alone to fend for themselves. I have heard stories of fags against fag bashers, who would chase some of their sorry butts off of our cruising grounds to let us be. Must be a fairytale... wink.!
I sat on the picnic bench under the tree at my favorite spot and lit one more smoke before going home. The quiet of the night was peaceful; the smell of the horses in the barn and cat running and playing on the grass were at least, still the same.