Occasionally, people ask why I write about my sex life all the time. The answer is simple: the rest of my life is boring. Don't believe me? Here's what I did this weekend.
We're in the middle of switching offices at work. That means I'll end up with a nicer office, but it also means that there's construction going on and that everyone had to have all of their crap in rented moving crates by about noon on Friday. I decided to cut out early, a bit after two.
A guy I'd massaged a couple of times before and who has his own table was free, so I drove down to Northeast DC and spent an hour or so rubbing him down. He's got a lot going on, so he was really tense. It took me half the time just to get his shoulders sorted out. He's one of the few guys I work on who doesn't go in for prostate massage, but we usually make out some while I'm working on his front, and his kissing is both unusual and wonderful. I'm guessing all the tension has also kept him from having much sex lately because when he came, he exceeded his past volume and distance by significant margins. He thanked me, we chatted a bit, and I left.
I'd been thinking about going home and maybe playing with a particular young man with whom I've played before, but I decided that I should probably procure a Father's Day present first. I wanted to get Dad a DVD, so I headed to the closest Costco, which was not so close by. I may not have taken the most direct route. I got Dad a set of the Indiana Jones movies, and I filled the tank up. The Costco I most commonly frequent doesn't sell gas, but the Beltsville Costco does, and it was $2.85 a gallon. Who'd have ever thought that would seem cheap, but it's gotten to the point where I'm thrilled to fill the tank for under $50, and on Friday it was under $45.
As it happens, about a quarter mile from the Beltsville Costco is an adult bookstore with video booths and glory holes in the back. When I was a newly minted gay, seven or eight years ago, I would sometimes go there and attempt to play. The problem was that I'm not good at whipping out my cock in public, and that's what most of the guys there wanted me to do. I used to occasionally suck cock there. It was gratifying because most of the guys there were married, and they'd cum really quickly, which is everything I ask from a guy whose cock I'm sucking. I used to also ask for a bit of warning so I could whip out the wad of tissue to catch the load, but then I learned how to anticipate. Anyway, I sat in the parking lot at Costco for a few minutes and thought about going to the bookstore and playing, and that was exciting, but then I realized that it would mean going beyond the intersection where I normally turn off for home and thus a couple of extra turns and a lot of traffic. I'm pretty sure that thinking about anonymous sex was a lot more fun than doing it would have been. Maybe I'll verify that again someday, but the odds are low. More likely I'll just get some glory hole porn. Everyone wins that way.
I had expected to be home not long after 4, but what with the trip to Costco and the traffic, it was past 6:30 when I got home. I was desultorily chatting with a bottom from Frederick who was hot for my cock but who wasn't going to be free until too late and a curious married guy who was pretty obviously too frightened to follow through when my phone rang (the software that allows me to transfer pictures from my cell to my computer also allows me to edit and transfer ringtones from my computer to my cell, so my new ringtone is an excerpt from "Sheep May Safely Graze": I love the Bach), and it was EFU who needed some money and who happened to be in the neighborhood. She's a canvasser for a local grassroots liberal advocacy group, so on any given evening, she could be anywhere. Anyway, I went and found her and gave her some money, and she told me I could pick her up from the home office at 10:30. We would then head up to Southeatern Pennsylvania, where my folks live during the summer. YFU had already gone up a day earlier.
I went home, put on some porn, and spent a half hour lambasting the misnomer, then I grabbed a shower, a bite, and some clothes for the weekend. Before long it was 10, and I was headed out to pick up EFU. She'd packed her stuff and brought it to work with her.
I hadn't had much sleep the three or four previous nights, so staying awake was a bit of a challenge. EFU stayed up to make sure I didn't fall asleep at the wheel, and I stopped three or four times, when the drowsiness threatened to overwhelm me in the mountains.
Anyway, we pulled into my parents' place around 1:45, and I was in bed by 2. I was planning to sleep until 10, but at 8, my cell rang. It was G., Friday's massage bud, letting me know that I'd left my watch at his place. He called it my "very nice watch." I'm kind of attached to it because it's both my only accessory and the only colorful thing I wear, but I got it on overstock for less than $30. Anyway, I told him that I'd arrange to come pick it up next week, and then I rolled out of bed and into the shower.
Breakfast followed. My parents always make too much food, but they make up for this by sending YFU down the hill to the local bakery where on Friday and Saturday mornings they fry their own doughnuts. I was stuffed before I was even awake.
Springs, PA is a tiny (no stoplights!) town in the middle of nowhere. It's just a few miles from Grantsville, MD, a slightly less tiny (several stoplights!) town that was the childhood home of my paternal grandfather. I still have a lot of relatives in the area. My parents bought their summer place there (their winter place is in Bradenton, FL) partly to be near some of the few relatives my mother can stand, but largely for the view.
The view was better last summer, when there was an apple tree where that shed is now. Still, it's a remarkably pretty area, and as is my wont when I'm there, I headed out for a walk after breakfast. YFU wanted to go down to the farmers' market, so I accompanied her to the bottom of the hill and across the highway.
After picking up a Diet Pepsi and leaving YFU at the market, I headed out for the rest of my walk.
Wildflowers are the things that I most like to photograph.
They're also the thing that I have the most trouble photographing. I never get enough depth of field. The wildflowers are pretty tame at this time of year, but I'll be back another couple of times during the summer, and in about a month, there will be over a hundred kinds of wildflower in bloom. Spectacular.
I always walk farther than I intend when I'm up at my folks' place. They live almost at the top of a steep hill, so the first steps are normally down, and then I feel like keeping on. The open road is an invitation.
The views here are meant to make up for the fact that you're thirty miles from the nearest Starbucks. I only frequent Starbucks during tax season, so for me, the views are free of charge.
The land here is largely farmland, much of it cultivated by the Amish. You can't swing a dead cat here without attracting the attention of a ruminant.
There are a lot of old houses out here. I love the paperboxes. When I was a kid, we had a paperbox. We got the Washington Star.
Really, once I start walking here, I just never want to stop. Maybe that's because there's nothing else to do, but I don't think so.
Eventually, though, I realize that I'm going to have to walk back as far as I walked out, and that most of that walk will be uphill, so I turn around.
The views are just as nice on the way back. It was a sunny day, but my flash went off on this picture. My flash goes off on almost every picture I take unless I remember to turn it off. I have to turn the flash off every time I turn the camera on. I have a feeling there's some sort of kickback from the battery makers to the camera manufacturer. The situation annoys me.
Sometimes, a car will pass. The drivers almost always wave, but without moving their hands off the steering wheel. It's a very low-energy wave, as if they were drag queens conserving their strength for the long Pride float ride. The drivers are mostly wearing feedcaps instead of tiaras, though.
I took a walk through the outdoor market on the way home. Everyone was packing up, including this nice looking nineteen-year-old. I would have gotten a better picture, but I am no good at stealth photography. Take my word for it, though, he's what guys are thinking about when they say "corn fed."
My folks recently got a new dog. They rescued him from the pound, and he's very sweet. His name is Buddy.
When EFU finally woke up, I decided to take the girls shopping. This typically involves a long drive and a limited selection. The girls appreciate the recycling and hunting aspects of shopping at Goodwill.
There were two men working at the Goodwill on Saturday. One was a tall, wiry, buzzed, gray-haired forty something who was ex-military. Hot, hot, hot. I tried to sneak a picture, but I failed. The other was ten years older and somehow managed to have both no ass and an alarming amount of preternaturally pale trouser cleavage. I didn't try to sneak a picture. I'm scarred for life, but there's no reason you should be. I hate shopping for other people's clothing, so I went next door to Ollie's.
Ollie's is a sort of salvaged goods store that reminds me of the Building 19s that I so loved when I lived in Boston. Most of the stuff is junk, but I did score some very inexpensive silicon spatulas. They usually have some books on tape at Ollie's, and sometimes I find one I like. I bought The Blind Assassin on one trip and listened to it on the way home and for the next few days. No luck this time. Ollie's also has a huge selection of For Dummies books, and I was tempted by one in particular, though I settled for a picture.
EFU didn't find much of what she wanted at the Goodwill, so I took her to a local clothing store, where she had much better luck. Everything was on sale, so the damage wasn't too bad, except for the bruises to my psyche caused by waiting for her to finish up in the dressing room. Fortunately, you cannot go into a rural strip mall without happening upon a good deal of eye candy. Unfortunately, my poor stealth photography skills and low-resolution cell phone camera follow me wherever I go. Use your imagination.
When we got back to my parents', my mother had made some hamburger patties, and my father wanted me to start the grill. When I grill at home, I use hardwood charcoal, and I never use lighter fluid, which is evil. My parents only had some briquets, but I took an old coffee can and punched holes in the bottom and crumpled up some newspaper to make a charcoal starter so that I wouldn't have to use the dreaded lighter fluid.
Apparently, I didn't punch enough holes, and the briquets were a couple of years old. So I dumped them out of the starter, made a pyramid, and soaked them with lighter fluid. People who complain about lighter fluid are pansies, anyway. I waited for the fluid to soak in, but the whole pile still went up with a giant whoosh when I put the match to it. I was fortunate not to be burned.
Mom wanted me to cook the burgers, so I did, and they were just right. She had also made potato salad. She kept complaining that she hadn't cooked the potatoes enough, but I told her that it was just al dente. My mother is given to harp on the flaws in her cooking. Occasionally, the flaws are real, but more often they are imagined. She's a terrific cook. We had chocolate pie for dessert.
After dinner, I sat in the porch swing for a while. It's very peaceful.
If you sit outside for any length of time, you'll see a buggy go by. If you're up early enough Sunday morning, you'll see the big family-sized carts go by, taking the big Amish families to church. They wave and smile, but they would not appreciate being photographed.
After dinner, we played dominoes for a while and then worked on a jigsaw puzzle. Before too long, everyone went to bed. I signed Dad's F-Day card and left it out for him, with the DVDs. He had turned on his Flamingo lamp, which I got him last Father's Day. He loves that lamp. Dad is very easy to please.
We had intended to go out for breakfast the next morning, but people slept too late. I would have made breakfast, but it was Father's Day, so I was forbidden. Mom made bacon, fried eggs, cheese grits, and biscuits. The biscuits were from a tube. That I should live to see this day. My grandmother would have been shocked. I guess it's a sign of age. Mom is in her seventies, after all.
After breakfast, I played some cards with EFU and my Dad, but then my parents started fighting. They've been married for fifty-six years, but I only remember them fighting for about forty years, so I can't be sure they were fighting before I was born. I suppose I could ask my older brother. Anyway, I'm used to it by now, but I don't like to encourage it by listening, so I went off to read some more of the novel I'd brought. There is plenty of time to read in the mountains, and I was glad that I'd selected a book that I didn't want to put down.
EFU had somehow got it into her head that F-Day was a week later than it is. This gives me an opportunity to tease her, and that's better than any present she could buy me. She knows that I'm not really upset, though, so I can tease her with only limited effectiveness, but that's all I want, anyway. YFU had made me a card that was very, very sweet, and at the farmers' market, she'd picked me out a garden cultivating tool. My kids really do rock.
After the gifting, I wanted to take another walk, and the girls came with me. As they know -- but do not share -- my propensity for open-ended walks, they insisted on going uphill from the house, on a loop that's about three-quarters of a mile in length. It goes by a graveyard. There are a lot of graveyards out there.
This walk has its own share of pleasant views of pastoral life.
Most of the houses are more suburban.
Still, there is no shortage of ruminants.
When you turn the last corner and begin heading down the hill to my parents' house, you get one of the best views of all. YFU thinks it would be a nice place to live, but EFU does not think the views make up for the small-mindedness and the preponderance of Republicans. I'm undecided. My parents would like to sell me the house someday, and I may buy it, but probably not before the county installs sewers, which is five or so years away.
Around 2, we packed our bags and headed out to lunch. The Hen House is one of EFU's favorite places to eat. It's about ten miles away from my folks' place, and it's on the way home. They offer a wide variety of seafood dishes. I had the pulled BBQ pork: I don't eat seafood in the mountains.
The Hen House serves huge portions. I ate half of my pork and gave the rest to my parents, who took it home with them. There was enough left for two ample sandwiches.
The drive home was uneventful. I dropped YFU at her mother's, and EFU and I went home. It was after 7. I watched some TV and went to bed.
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