From The Ashes ...

What to Do, What to Do...

I'm faced with a dilemma.

This story starts a few days ago as I was fucking around reading some of the blogs I check regularly. Yes, I have some favorites I have bookmarked. I edit the list periodically depending on who I find interesting or fuckable or fabulous or outrageous. Many have fallen from favor with me as they reveal themselves to be charlatans or quite frankly boring. Remind me to publish a current list of blogs I read. So I'm clickin and reading and follow a link to an escort's diary. Now, I had been vaguely aware of Devon's diary since it was added to one of my favorite sites a while ago. (and I freely confess to reading Hoo Boy's site partly as a research/job necessity, partly cause the voyeur in me loves to read who's doing what with/to/in who(m).) I had read excerpts from the diary months ago but it didn't click with me then. This time, I was hooked. I wasn't too far into it when I became convinced that somehow, my little corner of 58th st was going to pop up here somewhere. You just know, ya know? At least I frequently do. So color me not surprised when a mere two or three pages into the damn thing I find this:

My London correspondent has been urging me since I started traveling to New York for work to visit The Townhouse, a bar where gentlemen of a certain age go to meet gentlemen of a significantly younger age. The other week while I was in New York a client and I decided to stop in there after dinner, but we were turned away. Not because we were wearing shorts on what was, after all, a warm summer evening, but because I was wearing a black sleeveless shirt.

"Could I at least use the restroom?" asked my short-sleeved client, and the doorman, who was very courteous about turning us away, let him in.

As I waited, this little tart in a much tighter, much slinker shirt -- but one with (very) short sleeve -- sashayed up, and was admitted. Well!

Well you know I couldn't resist reaching out and touching young Devon about this subject. You can follow the link to his diary where he posted the bulk of my response as well as my invitation to say hello and buy him a drink. (legendary? I don't think so but thanks) Lo and behold Sunday came and around 1am who pops up asking for me but the Dev-ster hisself. We had a drink and shot the breeze ( I babbled a bit). I was a little preoccupied as we were moving into the closing down portion of the evening (it takes two hours or so). But I found him to be very charming and open and able to talk about a variety of subjects, many of which I had already read about in his diary. He makes eye contact often which, I guess, in his line of work, is a skill you learn. I caught him yawning twice which, for my own ego, I will take to mean he was tired. I wasn't really looking for anything beyond a drink and a chat which was what I got. All in all an obviously smart, nice man.

Here's the funny part. My staff just got all a 'twitter after he left and started peppering me with questions. Who was that? He was cute, where'd you meet him? etc. You see, they rarely see their spinster Duchess, talking to someone closer to my age and they rarer still see me sitting down chatting with an eligable bachelorette. You'd think that with my job I would meet all kinds of men/boys/rentboys but nothing could be further from the truth. I suppose if I was a little more predatory and just wanted dick I could exploit my position a bit and score more fucking but honestly, whenever I do spy a guy I might be into, they're usually a bit younger than me and then you're always thinking is he working me or "working" me and my ego can't take the risk that a cute guy is talking to me only hoping I'll pay him for sex. I still hold out hope that I can meet a guy that really does want to see me naked. And you really don't want/need to get mixed up with the boys that like you for an hour anyway because you never know who would try to exploit the situation and you always want to be in the position of being able to toss said "taxi-dancer" out onto 58th st. if he gets out of line. Best not to mix fucking and managing. Anyhow, I shocked my staff completely by being totally honest about who Devon was and how he came to show up there. Further solidifying my staff's opinion that I'm just not right.

So here's my dilemma. As you've seen by now assuming you've followed the link to his site, Devon has graciously offered to pop a link to my little blog up on his blog. At first blush, the exhibitionist in me went "fuck, yeah!" Devon's site gets hits in the thousands. And being linked to Hoo Boy's site adds untold links. Part of me loves the idea of reaching that many people. And this is a public weblog. I'm linked already on NYC Bloggers and other gay blogsites. Over 650 people have at least visited me already and I've gotten 3 (count em, 3!) fan e-mails. But another part of me kicked in and went "Whoa, slow down there, Helen." This will take me public. Real public. And I have some intensely personal posts on my blog. About being HIV+. About the love affair that was totally one-sided. And while I have already decided to be a little more open about my HIV status (not that I was covering it up, but I was keeping it more private) the idea of potentially casting my guts onto the internet has me spooked. Me, of all people!. Who thinks nothing of sending out naked self portraits when asked. I don't know though, this is different. This is inviting thousands of people to lift up my skirt and have a look. This is taking a risk that people will dope out who is who in my anonymous blog and take it upon themselves to discuss that fact. Understand, that risk already exists in that I'm already on-line. But the small risk appeals to me. And the blog was always about giving me a forum to express myself in an honest way. And I've done that. I'm not embarassed, just scared. But this whole year has been about facing my fears hasn't it?