Frankly, I didn't think I'd ever meet him. I didn't think he'd cycle two hours in the blistering sun to see me, or that we'd need more than an afternoon to write each other off. Or that we'd fall so fast down the chute to Wonderland. Who knew? I certainly didn't.
Maybe I was a bit naive. Nod in unison if you will. Hence, it was on the bliss of such ignorance I'd purported that perhaps Mr. X's New Thing involved selling his Gigolo Wares on Sunset. In fact, before we met I refused to ring him on account of "how it may possibly distract your clients when your python thong starts blinking with lights & vibrating madly as you slide down the pole, after all where else would your phone go? I wouldn't want you injured in mid-gyration, or upsetting your generous gay clients." We laughed about it, even more so after we met as clearly, gay or straight, he wasn't cast from the Gigolo mode. Unless one had a thing for mountain climbing.