In the spring of 2013, desperate to get out of Philadelphia, I sent out a lot of application portfolios, but being obviously over 40, with 13 years of temporary "visiting faculty" jobs, plus a resume-full of gay-themed research, made me less than desirable as a candidate. I only got three interviews: a women's college somewhere in eastern Pennsylvania, a Catholic college in Montana, and a public university on the Plains (I took the Plains).
My flight to Helena, Montana gave me a 2-hour layover in Denver.
I don't mind layovers. The Denver Airport has an artwalk with some of the most interesting public art in the U.S., plus a nice view of the mountains and a nice breakfast place.
Plus airports are great for physique watching: an endless variety of businessmen in suits, college boys in t-shirts and short pants, hot dads balancing their toddlers on their knees.
Helena Airport, on the other hand, is tiny, with a single lobby and a single restaurant, Captain Jack's Bistro and Bar. Pictures of cowboys, pillars that look like trees.
After my interview, they took me to the airport at 3:00 pm for my 5:00 flight, even though I had my boarding pass and was through security in about 30 seconds. Nothing to do but get on my laptop and look out at the dark clouds rumbling overhead and wonder if I was going to make it to Philadelphia.
Not a lot of beefcake to watch: a couple of high school athletes, a middle-aged cowboy with a nice basket. Otherwise all women, kids, or elderly people.
And a twink: tall, slim, with weird wavy hair, a bearded oval face, prominent eyebrows, and those big round earrings, wearing a white button-down shirt and red jeans with a nice bulge. Rather feminine, flaunting about with his carry-on. I noticed that it had a rainbow flag on it.
My first gay guy in Montana, and he's not closeted! Too bad that he's not my type.
Even though there were lots of empty seats, he plopped down next to me.
"Going to Denver? Yeah, I guess we're all going to Denver. I'm off to visit my sister in Tucson -- she just had a baby. I haven't seen her in almost a year. My name is Jacob."
"Congratulations," I said. "My name is Boomer."
He grabbed my arm. "Oh, I bet there's a story behind that."
"Three of them, in fact." I don't usually make conversation in airports -- there's little point -- you'll both be flying off in different directions in a few minutes. But -- the only gay person in Helena, Montana! "I'm going home to Philadelphia. I was here for a job interview."
"Oh, Boomer, I hope you get the job. I'd love to show you the sights! Did you get a chance to see Cruse Avenue?"
"Cruise Avenue? Is that the gay neighborhood?"
"No, silly!" He slapped my shoulder. "It's a great street that overlooks downtown and the mountains, so you can get a birds' eye view of everything! Oh, and I'd take you to the Holter Museum, and the 4J's -- that's our best casino, not like Las Vegas, but it's fun! And if you like dancing, they have country-western line dancing at the Rialto."
"Boys dancing together?"
Did this guy work for the Tourist Bureau? "I'm really more into classical music."
He grabbed my arm again. "Babe, you're in luck. My Daddy is one of the performers at the Montana Early Music Festival. That's why he's not going to Tucson with me --they're performing at St. Peter's tonight. That's the Episcopal Cathedral downtown."
Daddy? My ears perked up. Adults did not refer to their parents as "Daddy," so Jacob was outing himself as the bottom in a fetish relationship that was about control rather than BDSM. "So, how long have you and your...daddy been together?"
"About three years. I don't call him Daddy all the time, of course. I call him Mike on campus and to his ex-wife. She's not very accepting -- she thinks we're just roommates. But most people in Helena couldn't care less. It's live and let live up here." Suddenly there was a rumble of thunder, and it started to pour outside. The clouds were so dark they were almost black.
About fifteen minutes later, our flight was indeed cancelled, so I was stuck in Helena overnight. I could call the college and have them get me a hotel room, but whenever I've done that, I haven't gotten the job. Besides, Jacob was already calling his Daddy to arrange for me to spend the night.
I wondered what Daddy looked like: older, of course, and an anal top, but...a stern leather master? A cigar-chomping bear? A hard-drinking, tattoo-covered redneck?
Well, it wouldn't hurt to meet him, anyway.
I got Jacob's full name and number, and emailed them to Troy in New York -- just a precaution -- then followed him to his car, clinging against him under his umbrella.
We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant -- he grabbed my knee under the table while I ate my arroz con pollo with guacamole, and briefly held my hand.
Then we went to the Rialto, the country-western gay bar. Deserted at 6:00 pm on a rainy Thursday night -- but we managed to find a secluded corner for kissing.
"I'm going to be servicing two Daddies tonight," Jacob murmured, running his hand over my chest. "One for each end. Oh, I can't wait. I hope you're as hung as my Daddy is."
"How hung is he?" I asked.
"Well, let's just say we grow them big in Montana!
We got to the concert just as it was starting. Jacob ushered me into one of the first rows and pointed to the choir. "That's Mike," he whispered. "Isn't he hot?"
"He sure is!" I said, although I didn't know exactly which of the elderly, portly singers he was referring to.
I'm not a big fan of Renaissance music, but the concert was interesting, mostly through the incongruity of hearing it in Montana, looking at a row of middle-aged bears and wondering which was the "daddy" of the twink beside me. The husky, white haired baritone? The chubby tenor? The elderly, eye-glassed bass?
Afterwards Jacob led m up to the stage, past all of the middle-aged bears, to....another twink?
This Daddy-Boy relationship was obviously not based on age. Was it based on penis size?
Back at their house on the oddly-named Flowerree Street, Mike revealed a slim, firm, hairy chest and an uncut, average sized penis. He was mostly an anal top, but agreed to let me go down on him.
Then Jacob went down on me while Mike topped him.
In the morning we went back to the airport for our flight to Denver. They gave me their phone number, and said if I got the job, we would get together.
I didn't get the Montana job, but the Plains is only 900 miles away. I might drop in sometime
By the way, Jacob, the bottom. had a Mortadella+. Go figure.
And I still don't understand how he knew I was gay.
See also: 36 Hours of Cruising at Lambeth International Airport.