On the Shore of Lake Ontario—September, 2014
I headed to the Niagara Wine Country the next day. I pitched camp, blew up the large air mattress and carefully unrolled my sleeping bag in what the manufacturers optimistically called a “three man tent.”
The moment I was done, I headed to the gay cruising park with a thick novel to read between blowjobs. But when I got there, there was a chain across the drive. Closed. You could still park across the street, under some trees, and walk in. I did. Only one dedicated dog walker was around—a middle aged woman who was not looking for a quick hook up in the brush. Gay men didn’t seem to want to make that much commitment—actually walk a couple hundred yards into their old stomping grounds.
The cliffs along Lake Ontario were eroding steeply—likely the reason for the closure. One huge tree had fallen into the lake below. The grass was no longer cut by the park service and was knee high this late in the summer. The paths into the secluded areas for play were still there among the trees away from the lake, but they also showed real signs of disuse.
I walked out and went to the local library instead. I chatted with James, the older man I had met in the park a few times over the years. He told me what I had guessed—gay men had given up on the space—and there was no new site to take its place. Occasionally, James had a fuck buddy meet him there, but he bemoaned the death of his only cruising spot.
Of course he and I met there twice. It would have been three times during my week in the area, but our signals were crossed the first time. I said I’d park and wait for him, thinking he’s bicycle past me in my car and then into the park. Nope. He went directly to the old entrance and I didn’t see him ride in.
We figured it out after another set of emails. The sex was honestly nothing that special—though I was happy to relieve the man of a load each time—a man who rarely had any other contacts and was so in need. And I did like his soft hands caressing my ears and the back of my head as I sucked him off.
And, also as before, he needed to talk.
It mostly made me want to pack up and get back to Toronto. And I did—for Cum Union.
Cumming next post…