Masked

The only place where I had ever found any real pleasure in these encounters was in Washington, during my law school years. At the juncture of Sixth and I Street, just around the corner from the federal and local courthouses of Judiciary Square, stood an abandoned synagogue….Between the synagogue and the building next door was a narrow alley that led to the parking lot and the long-forgotten gardens behind the temple. Every night, rain or shine, this hidden pocket of Washington filled with men just like me-some older, some even younger, but almost all of them wearing business suits and, on most of their left hands, proof that they’d made the same compromises I had. This was no gay bar with its Village People counterculture, no Times Square with its desperation and prostitution. We were the power brokers and backroom operatives and future leaders of America. We just happen to be gay. Well, not gay, exactly. In the abbreviated conversation that passed as dialogue between us, no one back behind the synagogue ever described himself that way to me. Long before the African American community coined the term to describe a world of men who mostly pass as straight but sneak sex with other men, we were on the down low-as men of all races have been for hundreds of years.
Excerpt from The Confession by James C. McGreevey

Autumn's Fall

You’re no spring chicken and that’s obvious but you’re still sexy.
The gray hair makes you look more than distinguished actually rather delicious. The slight wrinkles underneath your eyes indicate wisdom and I see the wonder. Your movements aren’t quick but the precision tells me that you’re experienced in all the good ways. The slimness in your thighs and the agility in your knees are so captivating. Be not dismayed because I see you and admire you even though you people don't notice often; I do. I want you for all these reasons and more. You’re no spring chicken and that obvious but you’re still sexy.
Inspired by the older gentlemen I saw this morning on the bus commute to work.