Charlie

Yes, I fantasize about the things I could have done but didn't because at the time they seemed too scary. A wise escort once told me, "Some fantasies are better when they are left that way."

Yes, he was mentioned often on here when I first joined the site 20 years ago.

I sat next to Bruno one time on the ferry to Fire Island. He tried to look so hard to approach mainly because he was shy about the fact he didn't speak English very well.

I just read that Uber is testing a new program at PSP, in which drivers can set their own prices, so be alert. Apparently it is creating a lot of confusion today.

That's because the 10 is the only way out of Palm Springs, unless you go down to Palm Desert and take the 74 over the mountain to Hemet.

An escort I was friendly with in the old pre-Internet days and I sat down one day with the Advocate pink pages and went went through all the escort ads. He had had sex with more of the advertisers than I had. Unfortunately, he eventually fell in love with one of them who was gorgeous but crazy.

It seems sort of silly not to show his face in the RM ad when the body is covered in such distinctive tattoos.

Fucsovics is not my type, but I find his vascular arms fascinating. He has a face that Tom of Finland would have loved. It was interesting to watch the way he managed to beat Shapo with a defensive game that frustrated Shapo into trying for too many winners. I have seen a number of his matches, and he never seems to look winded. I am not attracted physically to Wawrinka, but I always root for him to win.

My spouse (again!) left his jacket with his wallet in it on a chair at the departure gate at PSP at the beginning of a trip to London, and didn't realize it until we got to LAX, where we were changing for the flight to Heathrow. He had his passport in his hand when he boarded at PSP, but that was all he had--no other ID, credit cards or money. As soon as we got to where we were staying in London, we called Amex, and they said, "No problem! Just come over to the office at Piccadilly Circus and we will give you a replacement." So we walked to the office, and within minutes he had a credit card and some cash. Needless to see, he is a loyal Amex member. The real nuisance was replacing all the ID. BTW, when we called from LAX, the airline said they found his jacket at the gate in PSP, and he could retrieve it when he got back, but when we checked on our return, no one could find it. However, none of the cards in it were ever used.

Tasteful desk.

The ad says he is bisexual, but one of his hashtags is #straight.

double bagel, as we say in tennis

I have read most of Edmund White's books, and identified with them easily because we were contemporaries in more ways than one.

Several years ago, my spouse took a trip to NYC alone, and in the hotel room he decided to hide his passport while he was there rather than carry it around with him. But when it was time to leave a few days later, he could not remember where it was hidden. (It was the first serious sign we had that he was developing Alzheimer's.) He traveled to DC to visit his brother, who contacted the State Dept for him; they said he would have to apply for a new passport. So as soon as he got home, he assembled all the documents he needed and sent them off with the substantial fee. The new passport--which he didn't actually need any time in the immediate future--arrived about a week later. That same day, I was about to store his emptied suitcase in the garage, when I accidentally dropped it, and I heard a strange "clunk" inside, so I opened it, and there was the passport: he had hidden it in the lining of the suitcase. Your caveat about not replacing something until you are sure it is truly gone is justified.

Years ago I bought a pair of socks with a zippered pocket in them, perfect for storing money and ID when one attended the kind of bar or club where one removed everything but one's jockstrap and shoes before circulating. (Do those places still exist?) Now I use them only when traveling and I want to hide something from potential pickpockets.

I can't make sense of these random quotes. Who is the writer/speaker? What does he or she think the players had an obligation to do before the wildfires occurred? How do Federer's and Nadal's donations "undermine a devotion to Tennis Australia"?

You would think that a "high class" escort with "high quality service" would have some high quality photos.

What I find hard to understand is that there is no indication in the "review" that the "reviewer" was a client or ever had had any kind of hiring relationship with the escort or masseur in question. I thought a "review" was only allowed for an actual meeting between an escort/masseur and a client.

Under the circumstances, it would seem to me to make sense to play the qualifying matches on the three indoor courts, which are not being used yet. Or are the main draw players using them as practice courts?

Strangely enough, thirty years ago I hired a gorgeous escort who called himself Paul Corrigan. He was in love with another escort, a true wacko who was locked up in an institution for the criminally insane, after murdering one of his clients. I often wondered about the name connection.

If you bring your paddles to Palm Springs, the best public pickleball courts are in Demuth Park.

I have played a couple of times, because some of my old tennis partners have "aged out" of tennis and find pickleball a suitable substitute. I do not, so I am not ready to leave the tennis court and go over to the dark side. One of the big controversies in Palm Springs recreational sports circles is the takeover and attempted takeover of public tennis courts by pickleball players, a battle that actually gets discussed in city council meetings.

It's a perfectly healthy body, but not what one would usually call an example of "muscle" or repeatedly claim as "muscular." Some might even think him "skinny."

The first time I was given poppers was in a threesome with two older guys ("older" meaning in their 30s). They apparently thought it would make me wildly sexual, but instead I thought I was having a heart attack and was going to die, and was so panicked that it killed the scene; they gently suggested that maybe I should leave and let the two of them get on with it. When I told my best friend about it afterwards, he revealed that he had used poppers when having sex, and it was no big deal: just use them when you need to relax your inhibitions, because the effect won't last long. So from then on, I did. The first time I was given hash, I completely lost track of who I was with and what we were doing, but when I came down my ass told me the answer. The first time I was given LSD, the provider asked me to tell him what I really wanted to do, and I told him I wanted to be a sex slut for a motorcycle gang; he thought that was pretty funny, but advised me against it. Instead we went for a lovely Sunday afternoon walk in Central Park, where we stopped in the public men's room. As I zipped up, I looked around at the other men there, giggled, and all of a sudden all of us were giggling: everyone was stoned on something! All of those first time experiences were in the 1960s. I haven't been stoned on anything in many years.

It sounds more like a hook-up ad than an escort ad.