Men Seeking Men

I picked up Dan Quayle. He was hitchhiking. He was at the corner of 17th and Market. You know, behind the gym. It was around midnight. He was wearing a grey V-neck sweater, tight jeans, and saddle shoes. I said, “hi.” He said, “hi.” I said, ”You know, you look like…“ And he said, “I know. Everybody says that. You wanna go somewhere?” He had a great smile. A sexy smile. He got in the car. We went to his hotel room (Stanford Court). He took off his sweater and offered me a beer. I said, “Thanks.” He bent down to kiss me. He knows how to use his toungue. Wow, does he know how to use his tounge. He said, “You don’t look like a fag.” I said, “Really? What’s a fag supposed to look like.” He said, “I don’t know. More squirrely. You wanna lay down on the bed.” I said, “Sure.” I was horny and he was hot. Seductive. We made out, kicked off our shoes, scissored our legs between each others, pressed crotches, grappled. He was all over me and it felt good. “You really know how to make love,” I said. “I’ve been with a lot of guys,” he said. Then he stood up and undid his pants. Wow. He was amazing. Perfect. He smiled and said, “You liek what you see?” I said, “Yeah.” That’s when he pulled the gun. “Too bad you can’t have it!” he screamed. He shot twice into the pillow next ot my head. “Get out of here queer!” he said. I scrambled to get my clothes and get out of there. He shot his gun a couple more times. Wood splintered above my head as I ran out the door. I smiled at the bellboy who was delivering a dinner down the hall. I got home and decided there must be a better way to meet men. A safer way. The next day I read in the Chronicle that our Vice President had made a speech at the Commonwealth Club promoting family values. (Phone) TeleClub Ext. 26636.

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