My Gay Old Soulmate and I settle in to the company of older gay men, joined by younger companions. Why do I relax so readily in the sofa, unguarded? We are, in fact, just getting familiar with thse men. But though we come, in some respects, from divergent backgrounds, in others, we share a history.

The unfolding conversation confirms it. One man knows of the Rock River, up to its nude, gay, swimming holes. Another mentions a bath house, and we all remember the unfearful sex of the seventies. Then, a word or two turns us to more sober times, when the angel of death lived even more closely among us than it does today (or so we imagine). The musings and the stories–always the stories–continue.

This is more than aging veterans tiresomely repeating old battle tales.  Continue reading →