More Sex

Major déja vu on Thursday night. There's this guy who lives not far from us, and he responded to my Yahoo profile (I've had that thing there forever: I was still single when I wrote it) a week or so ago. I read his profile, and it made him sound like he was in the LTR market, so I wrote him back and explained the situation and what I was and wasn't available for. And he wrote back saying that a boyfriend wasn't the only thing that he was looking for. He's a man of few words in his emails, but he managed to convey, without saying so, that he was looking for local friends and some HQT*. The HQT always comes first, chronologically, but I figured that, ultimately, friendship was more important to him. Whatever: I'm easy.

Anyway, after a refreshingly small number of emails, we'd agreed to meet at Starbucks at 9 pm, which meant that I had to push hard to get out of the office by 7:45 so that I could rush home and shower. I got to Starbucks maybe two minutes before 9, and he was sitting in the back, in one of a pair of overstuffed chairs. I waved, put in my drink order (grande skim decaf latte, my standard evening Starbucks order), then went back and sat down.

I think that a large part of the reason that I'm fairly successful at having a healthy amount of sex with a healthy number of men (though almost always one at a time) is that I find so many different kinds of men attractive. When I'm out with a friend, and he sees a guy and says, "Oh, he's cute," my response is typically, "Yes, he is. Of course, all men are cute -- until you get to know them." This is nothing more than dumb luck on my part. To a very large extent, you really can't help what you find attractive, and there are many very unfortunate gay men who have very specific tastes. This is not such a big deal if your very specific taste is, say, twinks, but if your very specific taste is something rarer (small-dicked black men; men over 6'6 with shaved heads; red-headed Catholic priests; amputees), then you can have a tough time finding gratification. That these specific preferences exist is something that you need to understand and accept. And maybe laugh at. I have, at various times, been rejected by men who were otherwise interested because I am too smooth, too hairy, too tall, too short, circumcised, uninked, unpierced, balding, and not bald enough. I have also been rejected for being an Aquarius, having the wrong Chinese Zodiac sign, eating meat, being a liberal, being only moderately opposed to the death penalty, being too dominant, not being dominant enough, not being a good dancer, and having handwriting that slants the wrong way. None of those rejections really trouble me (and I can entirely sympathize with rejecting someone for not being able to dance: I have turned guys down for having an ugly voice, though only a couple of times, and they had spectacularly ugly voices), and I have to think that the experience of being turned down for having handwriting that slants the wrong way is far more entertaining than the sex with that guy would have been. My real point is that there's really nothing on that list that would be a deal breaker for me. [Sometimes I tell people that I would summarily turn down a Republican, but a) that's a big lie because I've actually dated Republicans (always a mistake), b) there aren't that many gay Republicans to reject, and c) the appropriate way to deal with a Republican is not to refuse him sex but to bend him over and fuck him hard. Without lube.]

Anyway, my Thursday night guy had short, salt-and-pepper hair, and that's always something that I find attractive. He was otherwise attractive enough, but I find it fun to focus on one feature, so while we were having a very friendly, very easy conversation about our complicated lives, I was thinking about running my hands through his hair.

After 45 minutes of conversation, I stood up and said that we should probably be moving along. Starbucks closes at 10 (ah, the suburbs), and I knew that we both had to be up early the next morning.

That was when I remembered having almost the exact same conversation, in the exact same Starbucks, about four years ago with b&c, back when he was just some stranger from gay.com. Then we went back to his place, and I fucked him, and we became partners. Yes, I'm omitting some of the details. It took a few months to play out.

Back to Thursday. We walked out to the sidewalk, and he said that we should get together for dinner sometime soon, and I said, "You wanna have sex?" Then we had the thirty-second discussion, the upshots of which were that he was a vanilla top who loves to kiss. Oh well. One out of three will do, if it's the right one. (Also, he said that he was "mostly top," but from the way he said it, I could tell that he was probably qualifying based on one time, fifteen years ago, when he got really drunk and let some very cute bodybuilder with a tiny dick fuck him for twenty seconds. )

As it turned out, he was a talented and affectionate kisser with a decent amount of imagination, adequately responsive nipples, a cock that was easy to go down on, and an adequate willingness to reciprocate. We thrashed about for forty-five minutes (we both had to be up early) before shooting our loads, then he got dressed for bed, and I went in search of a cheeseburger.

I'm pretty sure we'll get together again. I project four or five more play dates before it settles into a FWOP** situation. Like I said: whatever, I'm easy.


*Horizontal quality time. That's my phrase, not his.

**Friends without privileges.