Older Gay Men...

So last summer, I met an older gay man in the streets while walking home one night. I spent the day with my old classmates at the beach, then left for home at around 10 pm. While walking, an older gentleman came up to me and asked if he had met me before. I said no, but he continued. "Are you sure? Which high school did you go to?" I was too naive at the time to realize that this was his conversation starter. He told me he was a primary school teacher in Brown's Town, and I tried my best to appear interested by asking him questions about his job, and the education system in general. He asked if I would like to sit somewhere and talk. Despite being really tired, the conversationalist in me said, "sure."

Things got awkward the moment we sat down, because he started to get a little personal. Not one to engage in conversation with random old-er guys, I wasn't sure if my present relationships, sexual history, and whereabouts in Jamaica, were standard talking points. He went on to reveal that he had seen me a week earlier, standing with a woman he guessed was my mother. Good guess. He had wanted to approach me then, but wasn't sure who the woman was. Since then, he had been keeping an eye out for me. Creepy? Yea, just a little bit.

It got creepier when he said to me, "I have a hard-on, would you like to touch it?" Then he proceeded to describe his penis to me, and what he would do to me if I ever went home with him. I was not amused. I told him it was time for me to go home, but he beckoned me to stay, because surely I had a hard-on too. How highly he thinks of himself. You might wonder why I never left if I truly found the situation uncomfortable. This was the first time a man hit on me, so it was a novel experience I tried to savour, once he established that he was gay and that he liked me. He kept calling me, "my pretty little boy," which I found annoying, but I obliged him, because I too had an agenda.

"So what is it like being gay in Jamaica?" Of course, I understand what this means for me, but one- I do not live here, and two- I have no plans to get a boyfriend and settle in Jamaica. He went on to tell me how difficult it is. He says there are gays around, but hooking up is hard for him. He lives with his mom close to Ocho Rios and needs some company every now and again. "I can give you money," he offered.

After what seemed like an hour, I was adamant that I needed to go home, and so we left our public meeting place. While walking to the bus stop I assured him that I would be fine, and that he could be on his way. We exchanged formalities, then I crossed the street away from him, and went to buy a drink at a gas station. Lo and behold, I stepped out of the store to see him standing at the door. "I was a bit worried about you. I want to make sure you get home safely." Oh dear me! "Can I have some of your drink?" His smile hinted at some misplaced sexual innuendo. He must be kidding, I thought. Am I supposed to be happy he is concerned about me? "No, I will not share my drink with you." Sir, I am fine. I do not need to be walked to the bus stop. He insisted, and again, I gave in.

We stood awkwardly at the bus stop, while I waited. A taxi came soon, and we said our awkward goodbyes. I wouldn't see him again until another ill-fated day in Ochi. There are two roughly parallel main streets in Ocho Rios. If someone is in town, there is a very high chance you will bump into them. So I'm walking down the street and I see this man bustling up in my direction. My mind starts to race, and I resolve not to acknowledge him. Let's be honest, he's creepy. Just when I though he had passed without seeing me, I heard someone shout out just behind me, "HI!" I turned to face him- ina di middle a Ochi- then he said, "yu don't memba mi?" Holy Fuck this is awkward, I thought. I told him I was in a hurry, and needed to be on my way. I managed to avoid his eyes the entire time. Whew!

Another day, about a month later, I walked into Island Grill with my sister, and saw this man standing at the cashier. "Sis, that is him!" I looked away from the cashier, praying that he doesn't approach me. When he left she says to me, "Hey, he was staring at you the entire time." We went upstairs to eat, and as I looked out the windows, would you believe I saw the man looking in our direction from the second floor of a building adjacent to ours!!! Thank heavens I was with someone, for surely he wouldn't resist the urge to strike up another conversation.

I know the day will come when we must meet again; Jamaica is a small country, and Ocho Rios is a small town. I think I know what I must do to hold him off next time though, speak in Patwa. There is no greater turn off than to be dismissed in Patwa. English is far too polite to serve my purpose with this stalker.

Ever been stalked before? What's your story...