The first time after the first time...
At nearly forty years of age, I had had exactly one male conquest under my belt, the result of a business trip where a colleague and I got carried away sharing a king size bed in a hotel room. It was a delightful discovery, but he returned home with a far different attitude than I had. He seemed to have the attitude that he had just fulfilled a major accomplishment, which did not need to be repeated. I felt I had just tasted the wonderful nectar of the forbidden fruit, and could not wait to have another bite of the apple.

It became a frustrating effort to seek out potential playmates in my daily routine, however. I vacillated from thinking that every male that I encountered had a bulging crotch that wanted to get and give a blow job, to the opposite extremes of thinking that no man that I encountered would think of sex with another man. Especially not with me. My intellect told me that there was some point in between these extremes but I had not yet fine tuned my gaydar, the word that I had learned from enough “Will and Grace” to know that was the word to describe that ability to make contact.

I was probably trying much too hard to develop my gaydar, without knowing that luck has a lot more to do with it than I would have ever thought.

My desire for the next male contact was growing daily, fueled by some dental work that I was having done. Not that seeing my dentist for some dental repairs and filling replacements was sexual in any way, but I did have a string of early appointments for several consecutive mornings. Next door to the dentist’ office was a new office building under construction, and most of the construction crew was showing up for work each day just as I parked my car for my dental appointment. With my newfound appreciation for studying the male body, I realized that there were more than a few hunky construction workers that I would like to see naked, and often lingered in my car, appraising them as discreetly as I could, until I had to hurry inside. And when I came back to the car, I would spend more time ostensibly noting their progress, all with the hope that I would see some shirtless stud with spectacular muscles, or some hunk with a bulging crotch. I was doing my best to send mental signals to someone of them. Any of them. All of them? Was anyone picking up on my gaydar?

Lost in a haze of thought and admiration on the last morning appointment that was scheduled, I was virtually unaware of a person standing next to me until he made a comment which jarred me out of the reverie and fantasy that I was having with these well built and muscular men. With a quick overall glance, I decided maybe my fantasy was right there in person. It turned out to be the site contractor for the work, and we made small talk for several minutes. I did my best to show interest in the building while also doing my best to recover from embarrassment of what I was sure he must know, that I staring at the guys in an obvious bit of voyeuristic gazing.

He seemed to not notice