My family

I was just dreaming about riding a model train through the Sierra Nevadas when the heavy, discombobulated pings and bams jolted me out of sleep. Someone was fussing in the kitchen.

I looked over at the alarm clock, had to strain my neck. Why can’t alarm clocks be in the line of vision when you wake up? Eight o’clock, I never sleep in this late. So I dragged myself out of bed and looked in the mirror. A total train wreck. More gray in my head than red, all looked like straw going every which way. And the wrinkles on my face … every one of my fifty years staring right back at me and laughing. And the cellulite on the sides of my abdomen. I could spend a hundred hours a week at the gym, and the cottage cheese would still be there.

At least I still had a big penis. A good thing, since an older gay man needed a big one to get laid. The boys insisted on it. Hey, let’s be honest here – I’m writing in the first person, so I’m supposed to be honest.

So I put on my shorts and an East Hampton t-shirt and went out to the kitchen. They were all there. My father, my mother, my brother, his wife, their two kids – everyone bustling about the kitchen, doing something productive in making breakfast this morning after Christmas. Starting to plan the day. I think I’ll go to the gym this morning. We’re all bike riding in the afternoon and then we’ll have dinner with my sister-in-law’s family this evening.

Perhaps I can meet someone at the gym and get laid before lunch.