Over seventies dating
Over seventies dating
He wore a tan jacket and an open-collared dress shirt that seemed a size small for his heavily muscled neck.
—I looked beyond my home to learn what I could about people’s private lives.” He did not have to look far, he said, steering the car toward the suburb of Aurora, where his motel was situated.As Foos drove us to the motel, he took the opportunity to sketch out the story of his life for me.He explained that he had met Donna in high school in a farming town called Ault, about sixty-five miles outside of Denver, and that the two had been married since 1960. I have seen most human emotions in all their humor and tragedy carried to completion.Since I was planning to be in Phoenix later in the month, I decided to send him a note, with my phone number, proposing that we meet during a stopover in Denver.His parents, hardworking German-Americans, had had a farm.
He described them as kindhearted people who would do anything for him—“except discuss sex.” Every morning, he said, his mother got dressed in her closet, and he never witnessed either of his parents exhibiting an interest in sex.
“It’ll allow me to be completely frank with you, and I’ll have no problem showing you around the motel.” It was a typed document stating that I would not identify him by name, or publicly associate his motel with whatever information he shared with me, until he had granted me a waiver. I had already decided that I would not write about Gerald Foos under these restrictions.
I had come to Denver merely to meet this man and to satisfy my curiosity about him.
The reason for purchasing this motel was to satisfy my voyeuristic tendencies and compelling interest in all phases of how people conduct their lives, both socially and sexually. Married couples traveling from state to state, either on business or vacation. Also, the opening line of my 1969 book about the , “The Kingdom and the Power,” was: “Most journalists are restless voyeurs who see the warts on the world, the imperfections in people and places.” As to whether my correspondent in Colorado was, in his own words, “a deranged voyeur”—a version of Hitchcock’s Norman Bates, or the murderous filmmaker in Michael Powell’s “Peeping Tom”—or instead a harmless, if odd, man of “unlimited curiosity,” or even a simple fabulist, I could know only if I accepted his invitation.
Homosexuality, of which I had little interest, but still watched to determine motivation and procedure. Sexually, I have witnessed, observed and studied the best first hand, unrehearsed, non-laboratory sex between couples, and most other conceivable sex deviations during these past 15 years.
To escape this tedium, he said, he began to undertake what he called “voyeuristic excursions” around Aurora after dark.