Kerley, James Francis Jim

Jim. His beauty was something I discovered in the early 1980s, as a massage client. He was strong, beautiful, vital; he lived in a loft space where he could work on his huge canvases of exploding colors. He radiated light through his vivid blue eyes and sexy smile and sweet aura. Light came from within him and around him as he tenderly made love to me. He taught me about the art of marketing in the sex trade. He taught me about the struggle to live a life of meaning in a very mixed up world. He taught me the fragility of life. He taught me how a beautiful life could be extinguished and forgotten. Jim adopted me, protected me, guided me, and loved me. After that one brief meeting, we never communicated again until a decade later -- no longer a boy, I was a lawyer and a man. And I had never forgotten that beautiful afternoon with him. I hesitated when I called - You don't remember me, but -- and he instantly replied, My god, I knew you would call me back. We were immediately reconnected, strangely so, and his generosity was boundless. He gave me his beautiful paintings to decorate my apartment; he would show up with second hand furniture that he just knew would be perfect in my place; he entrusted me with his beloved Gay Flag, one of the originals, he said. He told me stories of his struggle, but also of his conquests, his successes. He was part of the original Gay Rights Movement, Harvey Milk, and the explosion of gay sex for the sake of sex. Jim had a magnetic personality. He was a loving, compassionate man. Jim's loss was a tragedy. He was once the subject of a study of gay sex workers and I tracked down the interviewer for a copy of the transcript. It is a fascinating and haunting memory of a man consumed by the intimacy of bodily contact, sexual healing, and the power of beauty. We talked about driving across the southwest to visit Texas and return to his roots, but we never did. I look at his lovely painting on my wall and I miss him to this day.