Learning to Suck From My Gay Mentor

I was browsing contemporary rock music at the record shop when I felt eyes on me. I looked up and scanned the store casually. I had been right. A man in the classical section was watching me. Or was he just staring off into space in my direction? I shrugged inwardly and turned my attention back to the records.
A few minutes later, I looked up again and sure enough he was still looking at me. Now he had a slight smile on his face and an ex-pression that invited further interaction. I ignored him and walked over to the jazz category.
Now I had my back to the man. I still felt like his eyes were burning into me.
After a few more minutes, I cast a glance over my shoulder. He was still staring and smiling wider now that he could survey my ass. I’d had enough. I turned around, gave him the finger and walked out of the store. His expression didn’t change a bit.
I visited a few more stores, then hopped a bus home. I found my thoughts turning back to that wordless encounter in the record shop. I was eighteen, not a child. I knew about homosexuality. I had just never experienced such a blatant intrusion of it into my heterosexual existence.
The man’s stare had been more than a little creepy. I guessed he was about fifty-five to sixty years old. What wholesome interaction could he expect to cultivate with me, a young man less than half his age?
I shuddered at the thought.
The thought came with unbidden images of the kind of interaction the older man might have been planning. I was surprised when I was not as repulsed by these thoughts as I might have expected.
When I stopped to think about it, it was not creepiness the...