Loving Men-Otters


In Life, we all play roles.

In the gay lexicon I’m what one would call a daddy.

I guess I’ve always been a daddy. Most daddy’s are alpha males. I’m not one of the arrogant, chest-thumping kind. On the contrary: I’m the groomed, quiet, and elegant varietal.

Think of me as a “meritage,” a blend of three or four different characteristics: wisdom, peace, patience, and passion. My role in a gay relationship would be to bring culture and elegance to the pair.

The “otter”, (a younger, lithe furry creature that swims naked on his back, legs at ease in the air, and pounding his flesh with outstretched paws) brings the sexual hunger.

A daddy hunts an otter: a daddy sets the traps: fame, power, money; but in my case poetry, aesthetics, dining, wine, and cigars, to ensnare the otter. I’m an excellent hunter. I use all my strong suits: my words, my intellect, my surroundings; the casual ease of open-collared shirts hinting at chest hair; the odor of delicately laced cologne mixing with the fragrance of my body and cigars; my innate ability to maintain conversation about the most mundane topics.

All to put the otter at ease: I want him to expose himself; to show me that soft spot of flesh just ahead of his erection; to watch his buttocks flex as he walks to the restroom to grab a towel to wipe up our passions.

These are the distinctions of love in our new millennia.