Yesterday started with a simple-seeming goal: Find an area of Kew Gardens called (I think) Kew Hills. No joy. I could not navigate 78th Avenue from Queens Boulevard to whatever cross street I had in mind for this magical destination. I spotted it at random on ZolaNYC, a kind of StreetView alternative that is not as smooth a product as SV but I appreciate its alternative imagery and clarity. Navigating is clumsy and bookmarking is basically impossible, but you’re not bludgeoned with advertisements and houses are not blotted out at request of the property owners. That’s kind of a weird quality of SV. A property owner can request their house be blurred out of StreetView, and the decision to do so is permanent and cannot be undone, not even after the property is sold to another party who might actually desire to have their property seen on SV. Zola offers no such option, as far as I know, to have your home removed from its imagery.
Point being, I found Kew Hills by zooming in on a random area of Queens. I wrote down the intersection with a note “Nice place to wander.” I’m sure it will be that if I can ever actually find it. I don’t go big on maps or guidance. I just like to wander and saunter and find by chance, with limited direction. IN this case 78th Avenue did not continue as I expected. A big building got in the way, I ended up over on Union Turnpike thinking I’d get around that big building and return to 78th Avenue but somehow 78th Avenue ended up on the other side of Union Turnpike? I couldn’t understand that at the ground level but it was enough for to put away the dream of wandering Kew Hills and just take whatever bus came next. Beautiful houses on that stretch of UNion Turnpike, by the way, though noise from the Jackie Robinson must be a real bore for residents along that stretch of road. I also encountered a number of “private streets” which I felt unworthy of entering or exploring. I think the signs warning of these “private” streets mostly targeted vehicles and parking, which is only allowed if you live in the houses on these streets. I could probably have strambled through and been edified by the decision to do so. But I chose to heed the warning, in the spirit of “No Dogs Allowed” as I recall it from the Charlie Brown movies.
I don’t remember which bus got me back to Queens Boulevard and 71st Avenue, but it passed the office of the ear doctor I visited sometime last year to get a blob of earwax removed. It was tasty. The doctor was a pretty hardscrabble New Yorker, capable, a little gruff. His assistant put me through a battery of audiology tests which I found irritating. That was about a year ago.
I think the bus I took next was Q37 to South Ozone Park, and area I puttered about for maybe an hour. I finally made it to Atlantic Avenue in Queens, another stretch of road I found through ZolaNYC and found fascinating in an anywhere kind of way. One abandoned Verizon payphone turned up on that street, a pretty sorry specimen evidencing Verizon’s piss-poor job of cleaning up after itself when it gave up on payphones in 2010. With y fancy-seeming camera on a quiet Sunday morning turning to afternoon I was looked at suspiciously by locals. I had no real explanation for my presence there. I know nobody in this area, as far as I can determine. I just come to areas I don’t know to ride buses I’ve never been on. Yesterday that would have been the Q37 and the Q23, ending with the Q52SBS on Woodhaven Boulevard to Queens Center Mall where I gleefully peed in the 2nd floor restrooms. I then made a tour of the places where payphones used to be, recalling a couple of phones I’d forgotten in the bathrooms on the top floor. Just metal plates where the phones used to be. I also remembered seeing signage pointing to the payphones a year after they’d been removed. Those signs are gone now.
I considered taking an R train back to Astoria but troubles with the trains that day made me walk much of that distance back. I entered the Elmhurst Avenue station at 3pm on the Sunday, surprised to see the MTA time piece reporting it was already Monday, at 3am. That was momentarily disarming because it made me think I had skipped a day of work, or that my work schedule was somehow askew. But it was just an MTA time-shift glitch.
I had some fun with the Dom yesterday. She tied a shoestring around my cock with a water bottle tied to the other end. She wanted to watch me masturbate and see the way the bottle danced in response. I did as instructed and quickly came onto the floor. The bottle dropped when the shoestrings around my cock loosened. She said what she said after an earlier incident: “That’s a lot of cum there.” I concurred. “I cum buckets. It’s always been like that.” She asked how long (before us) since I’d had sex. I said 6 or 7 months. She said it had been a year for her. She commented again on the quantity of cum as I wiped it off the floor. She has not swallowed it yet and maybe the quantity concerns her? The last woman I knew, the retired NYPD from Staten Island, had no problem with swallowing all of it, nor did the sperm derm.
After that morning bit of fun we went our separate ways, I to wander parts of Queens unknown and she to take care of a sick friend’s young daughter. On Mother’s Day. I honestly do not think about her much when we are apart, and I suspect the same is true of her.
Incidentally, after we parted ways I passed an ex-girlfriend on the street. I said nothing, we both pretended to be blind to each other, which was impressive performance given there was absolutely no on eelse around. I saw her a week earlier, too, in a place that seemed out of character for her. She was with a dude, heading down 34th Avenue toward what I do not know. I guess Rainey Park is a destination but she never seemed like the park type, nor much of a walker. She still looks good, as long as she keeps her clothes on. I think she’s 50 now. So I’ve seen her twice in a week after not seeing her at all in probably 3 or 4 years. As I passed her yesterday I wanted to tell her I’ve been masturbating to her doppelganger on Chaturbate, a woman whose resemblence is uncanny but who breaks that spell whenever she speaks through her thick European accent. But the face, the body, it’s almost scary the resemblance. I should add that it is a much younger version of the woman I knew.
In fact I see my exes everywhere. A dark-haired cutie exiting the subway today evoked D. A chubby Chinese woman evoked S. I’ve been called a face whisperer, noting resemblances between people that few others would notice but they see the resemblance when I point it out.
