april fooled
1 april

Los Angeles
So there I was, standing at the locked door of what used to be my playground. Like some nympho Scarlet O'Hara, I swore I wouldn't go hungry that night. On the way back to my car I formulated a plan, then a man pulled over to the side of the road and invited me in. He wanted to fool around right then and there but since we were far from the sanctuary of Warm Sands, and because I was quickly losing interest, I declined and asked him directions to the nearest sex club. He gave me an intersection.

Off I went, again confident that a sex club would stick out like a... well, it would just stick out, especially to a pro like myself. I parked, got out and searched. Nothing. Then I contemplated calling information, but didn't know the name of the place, considered driving to a gay bar and asking directions, fuck it, too time consuming, so I got back in the car, and let my divining rod take me down the road aways, and sure enough, bingo.

After a slow start I got with some choice men and had a great time, dragging myself out of there only a few minutes after my self-imposed curfew. I spent the rest of my last night in my LA house, and before going to sleep made a list of what needed to be done before I got on the plane.

2 April

I impressed myself at how much activity I crammed into that morning, though if I had thought about it I had crammed plenty of activities into short amounts of time, the previous night being a prime example. The key was to find a purpose, apply some sense of urgency, and focus.

Unlike the US and China, both the Hollywood and Harbor Freeways cooperated. So did the rental car shuttle, which was ready to take off when, running with my bags, I caught it at a light. The line at the check-in counter moved swiftly, and on the plane I had the seat next to me empty and my veggie meal was edible.

I landed that night in New York, called Pop Tart, but he wasn't home. Consequently, I needed to find another place to crash. But first I dialed all the New York numbers stored on my pager, for the possibility of getting some last minute work. One of the numbers belonged to a friend of mine Roberta, a writer and high end call girl, and as it was her night off from work and play, so she offered her place for an impromptu pyjama party.

After all the sun in California, New York felt bitterly cold, especially waiting forever for the shuttle to Grand Central Station. The man selling tickets felt the need to tell me I had just missed the bus. And then tell me about the time he got a hard-on telepathically from a woman sitting opposite him. And that he was going to join the Air Force but would refuse to be stationed in Korea because the monks went out to the airstrips and put curses on US servicemen. And something about being saved by the blood of Jesus. Bitterly cold. A for fucking ever wait.

But finally the bus arrived, and nearly an hour later, when we were just leaving the airport, I remembered why I hadn't used these for such a long time. But, I didn't want to spend the money on a cab, and didn't want to spend so much time underground in the subway, out of pager range, so I did my best to accept where I was and try to get a nap. At Grand Central I hopped in the first cab to Roberta's Upper East Side apartment.

She warned me earlier that she looked like hell, due to a facial mask, and at first I tried to pay no attention to it but in the middle of answering an advice question about her romantic life I just burst out laughing. Then Pop Tart paged me.

It was way after midnight now, and he claimed he forgot that I was staying with him but demanded I come over anyway right this instant. There was no way I was setting foot outside again that night unless it involved getting paid. I learned Pop Tart hadn't answered earlier because he had a victim trapped in his lair. When I declined his offer he immedialtely needed to go, seems the man hadn't left yet, and Pop Tart wanted some more.

The Manhattan clients who wanted to see me before I left for England were nowhere to be found, but I couldn't dwell on all the money I didn't make on this trip to the states, I'd have work when I got back to London. I had an ad in place there, and money would start coming in again.

The next morning I did some laundry at Roberta's, and spent the rest of the day with Pop Tart. That night we went out to the bar where he was reprimanded that 'some things are showing' and at one in the morning, we called it an early night. For once I was able to convince him to let me sleep and not keep me up in stitches laughing.

The next morning I bought the last of the money orders I needed and dashed to the train. Found a nice quiet spot in the last car and enjoyed a peaceful ride into New England. My mother met me at the station and we took the scenic route back. The snow had disappeared everywhere except the town she lived in, where there were still drifts three high.

That night I borrowed mom's car to get a last minute birthday gift for one of my brothers and to say my goodbyes to the rest of the family in the next town over, as I'd be leaving early (again!) in the morning for Boston, where I'd catch the last leg of my trip back to London.

Once in Boston I checked my luggage, then mailed off the rest of my bills, then, in a minor miracle lost- then found on the street- an important list of numbers, addresses and free ad websites, got another birthday card for a friend and mailed it, mailed back two separate sets of keys, one belonging to Will Clark, and spent the rest of the sunny day walking in my favorite parks.

It was warm enough in the afternoon to sit by the Charles River in Cambridge, leaning shirtless against an old tree by the bank in what was once a popular cruising ground. The area had since been declared a refuge and anyone caught trespassing would be fined. I had the whole place to myself.

I made it to the airport with time to spare, calm and ready for the long flight. On board again I had a window on one side, an empty seat on the other, and I even dozed a little. All in all a gentle trip. That is, until I got to Gatwick Airport.

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