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Ed’s cock does not look so different from the one he wore when we were together. In 1974 or so, we hitchhiked to Cortes Island in Canada. We slept in an old turkey shed one night. I went inside myself and inside Ed’s tender flesh, I sank my face into it, held him with joyful reverence, the fresh an…

Ed seemed to take for granted that we had not loved each other passionately. In the park in 1979, he told me that Skip, my replacement, was the first person he ever loved. Ed was moved to tears by his own feelings. To my expression, he replied, “You loved me that way?” I was not sure I did. With Sk…

By 1978, our marriage was so open it no longer included me. We broke up in November. Was my reason Ed’s reason? Neither of us wanted to relinquish the bedroom, so Ed made a pallet on the floor. There we were, sharing our unconscious hours yet too angry to speak or touch, except once—as if we had ju…

On June 21, 1975, he found his first glory hole: “Hanging by my hands from the top of the stall, my legs rattled, I came hard in quick explosions. Bob, I collapsed inside from excitement.” Has anybody adequately described the sheer boredom of promiscuity? I did not have Ed’s patience, although I ad…

Life is an intolerable burden if you have no idea what to do with it. I was a writer, but not the writer I needed to be. For that I had to become a different person. I thought the answer was Ed and maybe it was. He and I belonged together: the pressure of a more coherent self would have been intole…