But were there boots?

I was trudging out of Folsom Street East, completely exhausted after half a day in the sun drinking and the other half in the sun guarding the 11th Avenue gate, sharing a wealth of fun limericks with my fellow radioheads, when I spotted Joe. I was so tired that I could find no quick hiding place from which to yell, "We love you Joe!"

That, my friends, is pretty damn tired. I admit to being lazy, I am the Couch Stalker after all, but when the target is making himself into such an easy, public target, even the laziest stalker should take that handout. No, I was downright tired, barely able to lift my boots, and while this is no excuse, it will have to serve as my explanation. Gentle readers, I will not fail you next time.

I didn't even get a good look at his footgear. I'm going to give Joe the benefit of the doubt and assume he knows to wear boots to Folsom. The cargo shorts I can forgive, but flip-flops might have been too much. Some things are unforgiveable, even on Joe.

On My Knees

So I've decided that I will be stalking Robert, the organist/choirmaster at St. Mary the Virgin in Times Square. I should have realized he was sexy ages ago, but they hide the organist away in a tiny loft in the rear of the church, so despite many trips for Evensong, I'd not had a good look at him. Today, however, I found a good photo of him on the NYC Chapter of the American Guild of Organists web page.

YUMMY.

So watch it, Robert. We aim to get a good look at your pipes, at the very least.

Watch Their Watering Holes

When stalking reluctant prey, one of the best approaches is to scope out the places they frequent. To that end (okay, there were other ends, not the least of which were beer and hanging with Spiky Dave), I found myself at the NY Eagle this evening.

And what a blustery evening it was! More than once Spiky Dave and I were brought up cold from our steady walking pace by a sudden gust of wind. I'm afraid I was squinting for most of the evening with grit in my eye, but I wasn't worried--a few facial ticks and some excessive squinting in dark rooms can only reinforce the target's fear that his stalker is, in fact, quite mad.

This might also explain why I was somewhat startled when, while squinting through a very PC leather community conversation with Duce Dave and Lolita, the bearded face of Joe appeared, swimming through the crowd. All grit, not to mention decorum, completely lost, my eye went to saucers and I grabbed ahold of Spiky to whisper "THERE'S JOE!" fiercely in his ear. It is truly a blessing to know such relaxed souls as Spiky Dave, who doesn't seem to mind that I often grab him at odd times, and rarely explain my inappropriate outbursts.

Later, during a salmonesque shove through that same room (on my way to have a cig with Amazingly Beautiful Tattooed Shoulder Man), I had an even closer encounter. I was clearly fighting upstream against a flood of men, including the target himself! A wiggle to the left was all that was required to put myself in a tangental shove past him. And much to my joy, at the "which one of us is going to give way?" moment of question which all men in crowded bars know so well, we made eye contact. I pushed, and quietly but clearly enunciated, "Hi Joe!" He said, "Hello," and we slid across each other.

Such rapture! My cig with ABTSM was nearly silent. Direct contact with the target, and one on one flirty time with a huge chunk of sexy man who only 15 minutes ago had deigned to allow a complete stranger (me!) to lick his thick tattooed shoulder. I even got a little taste of pit.

A good night, indeed.

Joe will be mine

The subject of our first stalk is:

Joe.My.God.

Okay, so yeah, we're not the only ones stalking Joe. He's been nominated for "best blog" awards by several major online sources. Half of the gay world online reads him, and a lot of the straights, too.

And for good reason! His stories are amazing and amazingly well written. His political views are satisfyingly left, but the thinking kind of left, not the knee-jerk kind. His observations on NYC and Manhattan offer a rare perspective of honest insight tempered with humor and fondness for the city.

And he's hot. Oh, so hot.

Here and there Joe has even let slip an interest in leather. The odd photo of him all buffed up in a harness is enough to get any boy's heart racing. Yes, we know his circuit boy body days are a couple years past, but for boys like Joey and I, it really doesn't matter.

We slobber after him with a mix of daddy-lust, celebrity-awe, and that rare "if someone as smart as you sleeps with me then I can't be all that dumb" adoration. It's a deadly brew, at once intoxicating and motivating.

And, of course, we're not his type. Reading between the lines makes that much clear. A couple of recon missions by good friends has yielded proof. As near as we can tell, he likes them older, beefier, and hairier than either Joey or I can claim.

Yet somehow, this makes us want him more.

Joey has simply never been denied anything in his entire life. He doesn't whine and stamp his feet to get what he wants; he just keeps asking. He has worn down the resolve of granite statues with this technique. Christian is fond of a quieter, more insidious approach to stalking. This is sometimes referred to as the "ass glued to the couch" technique. It takes a bit longer, yes, but you'd be surprised how effective it can be!

Beware, Joe. Our two-pronged approach to your prong may be the most dangerous challenge you've faced in this city.

Greetings from your hosts

Welcome to Couch Stalker! Who are we and what is our blog? Well, the latter has no answer as of yet, but at least I can cover the former.

Joey:

Joey is a 21-year-old business college student. He lives with his parents in Westchester, because despite the geographical pressure, they are too wise to support his debauchery on a 24/7 basis, forcing him to come home occassionally to wash his clothes, and thus do his homework.

Joey avoids the dreaded "bridge and tunnel" label by spending every possible moment in Manhattan, so many moments, in fact, that he has fooled many into thinking he actually lives here. Many suspect that he sleeps in Grand Central at least two or three nights per week.

Those who are closer to Joey know that he is in fact a slut of historic proportions; he holds the unique honor of taking the post-sex shower in more bathrooms in this city than any other gay man in his age group.

Christian:

Christian is a 30-year-old legal secretary. He was born and raised in Kansas City, Kansas, spent most of his 20s in Topeka, Kansas, and relocated to NYC in August of 2004. He makes his home in Chelsea, where he got a terrific deal on an excellent apartment, yet he still teeters on the brink of financial ruin trying to pay for it.

Most New Yorkers don't guess that Christian is from the Midwest. He was more a fish out of water there than in the big city. Still, he has watched some of his smaller town values erode in the past year and a half, and he cringes inside a little every time he shoulders a tourist out of the way on a subway platform.

The importance of guilt in Christian's life cannot be underestimated. Of his four grandparents, three were devout Catholics, and one was a devout Pentecostal. Despite this, Christian's parents are not religious, and he grew to be a very happy agnostic. Because of that strange mix of formal and emotional, on those days when his past is closest to the surface, you'll find Christian in a high Anglo-Catholic church, crying during a pipe organ recital.


Joey and Christian share a love of leather. Broadly defined, leather is a sub-culture of kinky sex, fetishism, and the social community that surrounds the gay man's expression thereof. Leather has occassionally found mainstream expression in the American culture, such as with the Village People. While its roots go back decades to times of oppression and secrecy, the modern expression of leather is rather liberal and open. Instead of attempting to categorize Joey or Christian, let's just say that they are likely to talk a lot about alternative, and sometimes extreme, sexuality.

Oh, yeah, and we may stalk people from time to time. From the comfort of our couches, of course. And occassionally, when we're really worked up, we may even stalk a couch or two.

Joe.My.God.

So I met Joe (again) and he kept repeating my age back at me...but there's something undeniably attractive about a man when he's shocked/frightened.

Sadly, he eventually moved on, and I slept with someone else whose name escapes me.