Let's be things found in the home of an Eldergay - Part 2

Hi, it's R1 here!

I'm the Filipino houseboy. I am here illegally.

How did you two fabulous bitches find this so quickly?

Who cares...enjoy!

I’m the house mother will leave me in her will, despite having 2 siblings, because, you know, I “never married”.

I'm a glass jar of individually wrapped candies from 1978. You will never be able to unwrap any of these.

R5 are they butterscotch?

I'm the 9-and-a-half-inch cock that is still hard as a rock that all the young guys want to play with.

I am the land line and cable TV that will never be cut. Even if it costs me 4 times what the rest of you are paying. I want my 500 useless channels and tons of commercials.

I am Windows 95.

I am DOS

I am Basic

I am the stationary placed in the TV parlor for when I feel like being a lady. I have stationary letters in many tasteful pastel colors.

I'm the Architectural Digests from 1978.

[quote] I am the stationary placed in the TV parlor for when I feel like being a lady. I have stationary letters in many tasteful pastel colors.

No wonder it’s not moving.

I must be somewhere around here; maybe on a coffee table or framed on the wall on the stairs?

W&W for R14.

I am the giant printer / fax machine combo from 1995. No Boomer is every without a fax machine!

I'm the dusty Splash bar NYC chip that offers two drinks for the price of one that I've kept since my heyday of being cruised in 1995.

Mine are from Rawhide R18

Reminder, Part 2

Levi's Jean with a waist size of 32- which hasn't fit me since 1980 and NEVER will again.

I noticed that teenagers don't wear jeans anymore. Forty years ago almost ALL teenagers wore jeans, although my friend and I wore Levi's corduroys every day to school.

I'm the Will that hasn't been written yet. Seems so morbid.

Anybody want my stuff?

I'm the gin and tonic being made just before the afternoon "stories" start.

R18 Mine is a wooden nickle from a divinely trashy day laborer bar. The hot trade was like shooting fish in a barrel . Never walked out alone in my many years of patronage. Le Sigh .

I'm the assortment of La Croix waters to let everyone know I am a recovering addict in a non self righteous, low key way.

I am the small glass bottles of Perrier for the same purpose as r25, I have far more class and taste than that chemical shit he swigs.

I am tub Country Crock spreadable margarine. I leaned 40 years ago that butter was bad for you and so I haven't updated my knowledge to realize it's really the other way around. I also feel the same way about salt, eggs and avocados. All evil is what I was taught and I am sticking to it. 1970's food gurus pushing a health book on Dinah Shore can't be wrong.

I am the silver tray used for the calling cards our gentlemen used to announce their visit

I'm a silk Hermès scarf folded neatly in a drawer. I was the treat my Eldergay bought himself when he was promoted all those years ago. He was 41 then, and that was his last promotion. He never felt comfortable wearing me; it was as if the rest of his outlet-mall wardrobe couldn't live up to me. Nowadays he looks at me and touches me wistfully sometimes, but I never leave the drawer.

I am a vintage paperback copy of "The Celluloid Closet." I reside next to my good friend, "Hollywood Babylon."

I’m r31 just here to say r29 had me crying with laughter.

R31 There's a lot of sadness behind so many of the posts on DL.

R29 wow

I am "the stench".

I’m Mother’s vintage perfume bottles with the atomizer bulbs. The beloved fragrances of yesteryear still linger about the vanity like sweetbriars along the lane.

R29, that's so sad. You need to get dressed up, and take that scarf to dinner. Do it for your birthday or something special.

I'm the CD walkman with matching yellow headphones

I am videos my owner took 10 or 20 years ago on his last road trip he still talks about editing into a short movie some day. I dont know what his problem is, he's download the software to do it 3 or 4 times over the years but never gets past setting it up.

R38 it’s just smoke and mirrors—just like when he has his gin and tonic before his “afternoon stories”.

I'm the Nixon in '68 campaign buttons.

Got them off a former boyfriend (who of course I broke up with because of his politics) and hoping to sell them to make big megabucks.

I’m the canister of Senka.

A canister of what?

I’m the faded Polaroids, beer-stained and tear-stained with illegible captions on the back documenting what fun times were had in the 80s. Marvel at our distressed Levi 501s and teased hair! Be shocked at prevalence of cigarettes and is that a line of coke on the table?

Many pictured are now dead.

I'm one of the snapshots mentioned by R43. Those were the days!

I’m the former Thai houseboy now “life partner”. I love lording it over the Filipino houseboy Ferdinand while keeping my eye on him. I’ve replaced the blood pressure pills with sugar pills to speed things along.

Unknown to me Ferdy is being lined up to take my place and busy applying for family visas for his Mom and sis.

I’m the thick, rock hard… toenails.

A large absence of fucks.

R44 I'm the closeted SCOTUS on the left.

Yes, R29, take that scarf to a wonderful French Meal, then, post a Fat Whores Rejoice play by play, please.

Wizard of Oz commemorative plates hung on the wall. I e actually seen this.

The filled medicine cabinet.

Im the sobbing drunken mess sitting in my living room wailing along to "Empty chairs at empty tables" while spending yet another lonely night wondering what happened to my once full life.

I'm the bowl on the dresser in which Elle DeGay places his AA anniversary chips every year. There are 32 of them now. He got sober after playing "Bring Him Home" and "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" on repeat for a few months after seeing Les Mis.

He couldn't get over how convenient it was to repeat a song on a CD player, but eventually he decided he'd had it with the hangovers, both emotionally and from the vin rouge. He stopped drinking and playing that CD in 1987. No one has died in his life since 1992.

I am the EG’s cat. No one is a better friend to him than I. I routinely vomit on his carpet and long to go outside but one can only do so much without opposable thumbs.

I'm Mom's urn in the corner. He tries not to look at me.

I'm several boxes of Christmas decorations and lights. I've been accumulated over the years, back when my owner had a bigger house. My owner now lives in a one-bedroom condo and never puts up a Christmas tree (no space in the living room), so we boxes sit here in the linen closet, year after year after year.

I'm the album of happy smiling childhood photos. I'm up on the closet shelf next to the high school annuals filled with good wishes for a great future from his classmates.

He can't bear to look at us any more. But he can't bear to throw us out, either.

I’m mother’s good china, her everyday china and full set of sterling silver cutlery for 12. I’m stored in an armoire with Aunt Jane’s Lalique wine glasses and grandmother’s hand-embroidered linen and silk tablecloth from the East.

The thick layer of dust is testament to the 20 years I’ve spent untouched by human hands. TV dinners do not require any effort and dinner parties are a distant memory.

Cooking For Compliments- yes I have this in my house. My mother bought it ca. 1975 and that is the title of the cookbook.

Is it any good? Ca. 1975 doesn’t inspire confidence.

I'm the most valuable thing in the house: his Medicare card.

No wall-to-wall carpeting for the prosperous EG: wood floors covered with Oriental rugs instead.

R60- The recipes in the book don't seem like anything special, although I haven't made any of them. My favorite cookbooks are my mothers old set of Woman's Day Encyclopedia Of Cookery- Banana Cream Pie, Almond Torte-Fabulous , delicious and high calories.

We are the various bottles of cologne that remain on the bathroom counter since the last century. Halston, Farenheight, Brut.... don't have much smell anymore, just memories.

I'm the After Dinner Mints, made from toothpaste droppings in the sink, left to dry and cut into circles.

A dried up half used bottle of Astroglide with a 1997 expiration date. Alongside a tattered and stained centerfold of Jeff Stryker.

r64, that bottle of Fahrenheit will still reek, if you can bring yourself to open it.

My first boyfriend wore Fahrenheit; it smells like being in gay heat, 1989, to me. It's true, an almost empty bottle will retain the scent (or, reek, as R67 put it). Every once in awhile I open it, breathe it in, and sweaty, frantic frottage with Erasure on the stereo comes back to me for a moment.

I close it, and return to my 2021 life, where AIDS won't kill us, and my true love and I have the joy of celebrating our 5th legal wedding anniversary- being an Elder is a privilege, and we can laugh at ourselves, thank the gods.

Seems like an old bottle of Fahrenheit is like poppers for Eldergays!

Was it sold as Celsius outside the USA?

Bump!

I've reported both of these threads to Homeland Security as hate speech.

Not. Funny.

I'm a fridge magnet of the old fruit crate art, "GAY COCK." I was bought at a fun, kitschy store on 7th Ave South long long ago. That was when the West Village was fun, instead of an NYU student/tourist hellhole with every other store closed and for rent.

I'm a framed print of a J.C. Leyendecker illustration. My eldergay hopes I'll class up the place. He also hopes someday a trick will comment on the beautiful lines or the subtle homoeroticism and he'll have an opportunity to share some culture with the younger generation. This will never happen.

I'm the framed poster of Morrissey in his prime. Even though his politics have gone to complete shit, I still can't bear to take it down.

Hi, framed poster of Morrissey again. My eldergay worries that he may be challenged by a visitor over having a Morrissey poster, given his current politics. He's got a defense all ready to use, but he's never had to defend me. No one who comes to his house has ever recognized me.

Tucked at the bottom of my dresser draw is my membership card to the Burger King club that I received when I was 12 year old in April 1978. It entitled me to free items at Burger King. I'm a FAT WHORE now. 56 year old FAT WHORES aren't allowed to join the Burger King Club.

[quote] my dresser draw

Or learn proper spelling, apparently.

I'm the silence. He doesn't turn the TV or radio on anymore. The stereo kit, once his pride and joy, is just decorative now, a conversation piece. If he had anyone to converse with.

The phone never rings. Who would call? There's usually a knock at the door every two months when the meter reader comes. Covid has ended even that.

He used to watch movies and videos on his PC. But his hearing has gotten so bad he's stopped.

The only sound is the heavy breathing when he brings in bags the Walmart guy left at the door. One day that'll stop, too.

I’m the July 4th clambake on the beach!

Goddamn R79 . That was sad as fuck !

I'm the smell of his undiscovered corpse.

I'm fading. There won't be that much of me by the time the landlord comes by to see why the rent's unpaid.

Ugh. This thread isn't funny. It's mostly a sad downer.

I am the bitterness and regret that goes will with dry martini.

I am Vivian Vance!

Jesus, R79 and R82. "Let's Be" threads are supposed to be fun. Dark humor is fine, but come on. Why don't you start your own thread, call it "Let's Be Oppressive Thoughts of Doom and Existential Dread," and stop raining on our parade?

Oh, that’s rain?

Damn.

R78 is a sick individual.

R79 is a sick individual to come up with twisted shit like that.

No small number of people spend their last years precisely as set out at R79.

If you want to get upset about something, get upset about that.

How in the fuck would you know? No I don’t want an answer from you.

What a sad thread

The first one was funny until some EGs started posting frau shit like "I am the rich and fulfilling life full of joy and laughter"

But this is just depressing.

I’m the Reader’s Digest Large Print edition sitting in the mailbox.

My owner will be very happy to see me.

R92 is correct. There was an older gay man living in my building, died without any warning signs. Didnt discover his body for 3 weeks! Everyone on the same floor just ignored the bad smell and chalked it up to a dead rat in the wall.

I'm the pizza box on the floor while Elder Gay and his loyal hubby binge on Brian and Gabby sightings.

Finally! Something to get excited about.

I'm the pile of UNCUT magazines from ca. 1985 that my owner use to masturbate to EVERYDAY and now I sit dust covered and forgotten at the back of his bedroom closet.

I am the David White collection of pictures cut out of magazines and in a box under the bed. The bed is covered by mothers pink chenille faded bedspread

Some of you got very morbid on this thread.

[quote] I'm the pile of UNCUT magazines from ca. 1985 that my owner use to masturbate to EVERYDAY and now I sit dust covered and forgotten at the back of his bedroom closet.

That dust is actually eldergay cum.

I am the smell Mother exhibited in her last days... I don't think I am going to live long.

I am the bottle of Grecian Formula that stinks to high heaven. No only dose it provide the classic old man smell x10, the shoe black color is so natural looking people frequently comment how I look like Ronald Regan.

I am the vintage record changer and vintage stereo receiver that plays the albums in the record cabinet.

Oh, forget it. Most eldergays don't even have stuff like that these days.

I’m the Snuggie and pint of ice cream that serve as substitutes for the comfort and affection of another’s society.

I’m the friends in their 50s, 40s and even 30s that EG had over for his recent 60th birthday cocktail party He realized in his early 30s when his college friends started having kids that he needed to cultivate some younger friendships.

[quote] No only dose it provide the classic old man smell x10,

Come again.

R104 We're the guys who had to quietly curtail our friendship with the not-yet EG at our wives' insistence after we got married.

OOOh, good one r106

For those complaining about how sad or morbid this thread is (compared to the other one) it is also a fact of life and I like seeing the harder and sadder parts too. Makes me feel less alone in the ageing process.

I'm not a 40 year old bemoaning their faux EG status. I would kill to be 40, 50, and beyond, so what might seem pathetic to you guys is relatable to me.

[quote] in the ageing process.

Oh, dear.

I believe that (ageing) is the UK spelling. I’ve oh deared a few NIH titles with that spelling and gotten push back along those lines.

So, ElderLez, is this one of those “we’ll allow it” situations?

I’m still keeping an eye on him. *wink*

Fully support that plan R110.

Photos of Miss Lindsey Graham in the boudoir