A Perfect Day

Sometimes, I think when you open yourself up to the universe, the universe provides.

That’s one of those grandiose new age statements, I know, that tends to make eyes roll. Hell, I roll my eyes when my brother starts spouting off sentences like that and think to myself, spiritual nonsense. But if I can say that I genuinely believe anything, what I firmly hold true is this: the world, the universe, is full of opportunities. It’s always reaching out to give us what we need. And it’s our responsibility to be open to those opportunities, and to take them when they come along. Because if we don’t, and if we keep refusing what’s offered, eventually the bounty will cease.

I’m saying this because yesterday was, in a way, a perfect day, simply because I kept my eyes and mind open.

I had something planned for last night—I was going to head into the city to see Brini Maxwell, whom I love. (If you know who Brini Maxwell is, more credit to you. If you don’t, well, I just feel sorry for you.) My original intent had been simply to go about my business around the house all day, then head into Manhattan just in time to catch Ms. Maxwell’s event.

Instead, I woke up yesterday morning and thought to myself, why not just make today an adventure? The weather was supposed to be glorious. I could take a day off, pretty easily. The universe seemed to be calling to me. So why hole up in my home all day and emerge only late? I showered, hopped on the train, and headed into the city.

My goal for the day was to have no plans (save for the event in the evening). I could very easily have over-scheduled and over-planned my time, and given my normal tendencies, I probably would have. Instead, I just determined from moment to moment what I’d do. I grabbed lunch at a favorite spot because it appealed to me. I explored some new places, and spent some time at a couple of old favorites. I wandered. I talked to strangers, just because they said something to me.

In the mid-afternoon, I found myself sitting on a bench in Central Park, reading a book and watching people. It was one of those days in which everyone was in the park. Tourists. Locals. News people looking for a story about the first good weather of spring. Vendors were hawking their photos and magnets, and portrait artists were trying to convince young couples into sitting down for a charcoal sketch. A saxophone player was performing for a crowd, a distance away.

So I was sitting there, people-watching and reading, listening to the sax and inhaling the occasional scents of food that would waft my way, when a guy walked by, his bicycle wheels clicking as he rolled it along at his side. He was a really hot guy. One of those tall, big men who doesn’t have to do anything to attract attention—but since he was wearing one one of those muscle T-shirts of his own creation that not only has the sleeves ripped out, but was open on both sides all the way to the waist. Since he had a worked-out body, defined and ripped, that was bulging out both sides of that shirt, everyone was looking at him. I was looking at him. I kept looking at his big nipples, poking out from under the distressed fabric, and thinking how badly I wanted to chomp on them.

Then he looked back at me. And smiled. And nodded.

There would’ve been a time in my life I would’ve averted my eyes and pretended I hadn’t been looking. But I’m not that person any more, and I was feeling as if I was where I was supposed to be at that moment, so I nodded back. And smiled. And said, “Hey.”

And the next thing I knew, the guy had veered his bike over, leaned it against the fence, and was sitting next to me with his arms up and resting atop the bench’s top slat. One of them was, in effect, around me.

We talked. At first it was about sex—I found out he was a submissive bottom. He found out I’m an intense top. We compared what sex sites we were on, and found them very, very compatible. He told me a nickname that his friends had for him—“the devil’s hole.” I told him that a couple of my fuckbuddies said I had a demon’s dick, so that it seems a pretty good, if not fated, match.

If this were a porn story, I’d be marching the two of us off to some cheap room or restroom or to his place to fuck. But this story didn’t end like that. His place was in a different borough; my place was 25 miles away. We didn’t find some deserted corner of the park to fuck. We just talked. He talked about his job and his hobbies, and we talked about men on the sex sites. I talked about my work and my enthusiasms. For two solid hours we sat there on that park bench, in the dappled mixture of sun and shade, and just had intelligent, honest conversation. His arm was around me most of the time, and I could tell as people walked by that they thought we were a couple. Men and women alike stared at him with open admiration, and at me with envy. He didn’t even seem to notice.

Finally I had to get to my train. In a very gentlemanly way, he and his bike walked with me to Columbus Circle, where we parted with a hug and a kiss, and a sense on my part that I’d gained not only a potential fuck partner, but a very real new friend as well. And even if it goes nowhere? Those two hours were fucking perfect. The sun, the happiness of Central Park in spring, the depth of conversation with what had to be the hottest guy in the park . . . absolutely perfect. And it’s all because I opened myself up to the universe and asked it to provide.

So my advice to you, on this May day, is to stop denying the natural abundance of the world around you. Open yourself up this weekend. Do something unexpected and pluck some sweet fruit from the world’s natural bounty.

Not only do you genuinely deserve it—and you really do—but you owe it to yourselves.