Manhattan's decaying industrial waterfront on the Upper West Side provided a resonant backdrop for photographing Dave shortly after we met, before life in New York City morphed him into David. Although it wasn't as busy as the notorious piers in Lower Manhattan, we both cruised there like Boy Scouts seeking merit badges in the demimonde.
Remnants of the railroad yard--including an abandoned YMCA--offered semi-private trysting places.
At 24, Dave had attitude and sexual confidence to spare.
We called these photos his "Hot Shots." When paying tribute to him on Instagram's AIDS Memorial, I used one. My sexy camel has been gone 30 years.
This photo reminds me of the night Paul first took us dancing at the Saint. A shaft of spot light illuminated Dave similarly as he stood on risers in the balcony. Years later, I encountered a Roman statue with the same expression. It inspired the title of my first blog, "Chasing Rapture."
Bulldozers had begun clearing the dangerous area, haltingly. Thanks to Mayor Bloomberg, it's now beautiful parkland and occasional sculpture garden.
Dave was WAY out of my league in terms of sex appeal. That probably contributed to my survival.
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