Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Amen, Brother!

I wish I'd written this myself. From (where else?) the missed connections:

Our eyes met across a crowded room... - m4m - 32

Reply to: pers-386250323@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-31, 4:10PM EDT

I think it was Halo, or Cobalt, maybe BeBar... or was it Results? Safeway! It was Safeway... no wait, Whole Foods! The wine section... you had on a polo, maybe a baseball cap, moderately muscled, nice smile, blondish-brownish hair, holding a drink (hmm... back to Halo?) - anyway we for sure caught one anothers eye! I am about 5'11, maybe 6', brown hair, moderately muscled, was wearing a polo... does this sound familiar?

If so, do not email but for crying out loud just say "Hello!", "Howdy!", "Howz it hanging?" or "Whats up dude?" next time ya see me, or any guy you find attractive. Very good chance that if ya see this mysterious man at a gay bar he is gay! What the heck, there is a better than average chance that anyone fitting this description withen 10 miles of 14th and K St NW is gay!

Feel the burn! Take a chance! Go for it.

By the way, I've (mostly) given up my campaign of sending educational e-mails to the men who post a missed connection about a guy they met at a gay bar. Those who didn't ignore my attempts at enlightenment were downright rude in their replies. They went so far as to imply that my main motivation was to humiliate them rather than to help them out.

And then they told me to "get a life." Please, people. I have a life. In fact, I have too much life. I only have enough time for about 60% of my life. I don't have time to hang around in bars and not talk to people. For the record, I have nothing against hanging around in bars and not talking to people. Embrace your lameness! Just don't post a missed connection about it.

And (oh hell, I got myself started) while I'm on the subject, if you're going to post an mc celebrating your lameness, at least give the object of your affection enough information to have a ghost of a prayer of a chance at identifying you. Look at this shit:

Jr's Monday night, Birdhouse Bar T - m4m

Reply to: pers-385889862@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-31, 8:02AM EDT

Saw you upstairs at JR's and thought you were cute last night. Just wanted to say hello. I have no idea if you saw me or not.

Location: Dupont Circle

Leaving aside for the moment the total idiocy of wanting to say hello and not going up and, you know, saying it, can we assume that if there was a cute guy in JR's that probably more than one person looked at him? If you want the guy to contact you, you at least have to give him a clue. Like, "I was the Prada-wearing hunchback with four nipples," or maybe "I'm the guy who drugged you and had my name tattooed on your ass. Tell me how I spelled it so I'll know it's you." You know, something -- anything -- the guy might remember.


I don't normally watch a lot of TV, especially on Monday nights, but since I was still recovering from the weekend last night, I was flipping through the channels when I came upon two men having wild, angry sex. Or at least that was my first thought because one guy had the other guy down on the floor, and the other guy had his legs wrapped around the first guy's back, and they were going at it pretty hard. Then I realized they both still had their shorts on and that they were inside some sort of cage, and it eventually became apparent that I was watching World Extreme Cagefighting, a sport where very fit men with great abs and pronounced iliac furrows attempt to choke each other into submission. Like I said: angry sex with shorts on. How is it possible I didn't know about this? (For some reason, the WEC site doesn't have any good pictures of guys in what I call the extreme missionary position. They must not realize who their biggest potential audience is. I hate inadequate marketing research.)

I don't find the larger weight classes all that compelling, and the guys spend way too much time on their feet trying to kick and punch each other, but when you get a couple of welterweights down on the floor writhing and rolling, it's impossible for me to look away.

By the way, this is nothing like professional wrestling. I don't really approve of professional wrestling: I don't see why we should be encouraging bad actors to abuse steroids. The WEC guys are doing something called "mixed martial arts," and it's pretty clear that they're not acting. It's also pretty clear that a lot of them have been choked one or two times too many because the announcer always tries to get the winner to say a few words after the fight is over, and, well, they aren't especially articulate. But you don't want your angry sex fantasy men to be good talkers anyway, right?

B&c and I were out for our evening walk/swim (it's very humid lately) around sundown yesterday, when he mentioned that he'd been flipping through Manhunt and had seen a picture that looked like it was taken on our bed. I asked him whether the guy was tied down, and when he said he was, I said that it probably was our bed. I asked him to try to find the guy's profile again so that I could confirm, but he couldn't find it. I'm pretty sure I know who it was from the description, but it's possible that someone else is using the picture. I generally don't give out pics of a guy to other guys, but the pictures in question were likely on the blog a while back.

I was briefly hopeful that having pictures of our extremely plain bed and bedroom on the Internet would prompt b&c to want a nicer bed and maybe some better furniture, but no such luck. I just want a headboard: is that so wrong?

Actually, I'm not sure the bed I want is on the market, but in a perfect world, I'd have the space for it and the money to hire a carpenter to build it. It'd be made from 4x4s, with lots of places and hardware to make it easier to attach men to. Tying guys to our current bed is a real hassle, but b&c has no motivation to address that particular problem. Maybe he just needs to see more pictures.

Monday, July 30, 2007


I'm never having sex again.

This past weekend was the annual reunion for the descendants of my great grandfather. The highlight was getting to see my sister and her family. Her husband and her three sons are all pretty cool. At least when they're not destroying things.

All of my cousins (I have oodles) who are my age or a few years older already have grandchildren. On my father's side, they all get married at eighteen because they can't wait to have sex. (On my mother's side, they all get married at eighteen because they couldn't wait to have sex.) Birth control doesn't seem to be a priority. I'm not sure whether they all have three kids because at that point birth control becomes a priority or because they just stop having sex. I really don't want to know.

The kids and I stayed in a motel on Thursday night because I changed my pants just before we left home and forgot to transfer my second set of keys (the ones that include the key to my parents' house in Pennsylvania). I didn't realize this until we got there at 1:30. The house was dark, and I wasn't willing to ring the doorbell, so we went to the motel. The desk clerk told me there were a lot of people with my last name living in the area. I knew that already.

It was a rainy weekend, so there wasn't much to do at the reunion except cook, eat, and play cards. I was asked to make leek-potato soup for Friday night's dinner, so I made three gallons, thinking there would be leftovers, but it all got eaten Friday night. I saw one of my cousins fill up a quart bowl with my perfectly balanced soup and then dump in a huge handful of grated cheddar cheese. I considered pitching a fit and calling him a Philistine, but I opted for a deep sigh instead.

Culinarily, it was all downhill from there. I think I eat too much when I'm uncomfortable. The family reunion is one of the few places I go where most of the people don't know I'm gay. They are all God-fearing people, and I always feel like a fraud. I was stuffed for most of the weekend, almost entirely on food that I would otherwise never eat, let alone serve.

Everyone there is very nice, but it is another world. EFU feels the same way and feels oppressed by all the public display of religion. YFU likes playing with her cousins.

On Sunday afternoon, I got to hang out with just my folks, my kids, and my sister and her family: good times. Then Mom gave my sister some money to take EFU shopping. My sister cried when we said goodbye. They are headed back to Seattle today.

A tanker truck jackknifed on Route 70, and the drive home took over four hours. The girls handled it pretty well, but we were all pretty tired when we got home.

I don't think I handle nostalgia well: I have a stomach ache, and I feel like I'm eleven years old, so I'm never having sex again.

Definitely not before tomorrow, anyway.

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Miscellany 2

I'm out of town for a few days. I'm taking the kids to a family reunion in Pennsylvania. There is sure to be little to no eye candy there: I do not find members of my own family -- even in-laws -- attractive, and the other people in the area are only worth ogling if you're the sort who finds Amish men irresistible (subscription required).

Anyway, I'm post-dating a catch-all post. I noticed today that I was closing in on a hundred posts, and while I will likely eschew the standard "Hey, I've posted 100 posts" posts as being too meta, I did take the occasion to notice some posts that were still in draft. So I shoved them all in this here post for your mild amusement.

(By the way, if you're reading this post before its publication date -- and the universe doesn't collapse under the weight of the anomaly -- note that I also threw up another post just beneath it. I would hate for you to miss even one of my words. Because I'm just that vicious.)

1. Chatting

Sometimes I go on the old gay.com and specifically say that I'm only there to chat. Because people can't be bothered to read or believe the eight-word ("Here only to chat. This means you, douchebag." I may be paraphrasing.) bio line, they still start up a conversation that, apparently, is meant to lead to sex. I haven't edited these conversations except to change the gay.com handles so that the people can't be identified. Or as identified as anyone can be from his gay.com profile. They end at the point where I lost patience and/or interest and stopped chatting with the guy.

uvindex: hi
Teddy: Hello.
uvindex: whats up
Teddy: The temperature.
uvindex: how bout ur cock
Teddy: I do have one, yes.
uvindex: is it hard
Teddy: I've always thought it was pretty easy.

bdboy: Nice pic man
Teddy: Thanks.
bdboy: so what's goin on
Teddy: I haven't checked the news recently.
bdboy: lol, good come back
bdboy: what are you looking for?
Teddy: I didn't leave. How can I come back?
bdboy: Your on a role, like that in a person
Teddy: Ah, role play.
bdboy: you are good, but; can you show me just how good you are
Teddy: You want to watch me go to church? That is some kinky shit, dude.

Teddy: Hello.
PANCHO: into?
Teddy: More out of.
PANCHO: nmice
Teddy: No animals.

laxjock: hey dude
Teddy: Hello. How are you?
laxjock: chillin
laxjock: you
Teddy: Kinda warm here.
laxjock: cool
Teddy: You and I are obviously intemperate.
laxjock: yeah
Teddy: Nice torso, though.
laxjock: thaxks bro
laxjock: *thanks

2. A Picture for No Particular Reason*

I often take a walk at lunch time. Not during the summer: the summers here are beastly. And not during most of busy season because there just isn't time. But during the rest of the year, I like my afternoon constitutional. I always take the same route -- through a residential area very close to the office -- and I enjoy the walk so much that I don't even dwell on how incredibly expensive the very nice houses must be and how I probably won't ever be able to afford one. (Truth be told, if I had enough money to buy a nice four-bedroom house in Bethesda, I could buy a small farm in the middle of nowhere and have enough left over to retire on, and I'd take that option every time. But I digress.) This tree face always makes me smile. I like to think that it means that the pagans are experiencing a resurgence, but it was more likely put there by a non-practicing Christian with a laudable sense of whimsy.

*Please note that I did not say "a random picture." "Random" has a very specific meaning, and I do not approve of the great lengths many Internet folk seem to be going to to expand that meaning into places where it was never meant to go.

3. A Craigslist Ad

This was posted months ago. Sadly, I bet this guy got plenty of responses, though I doubt that any of the people responding were really who he was looking for. He evidently wanted a younger and hotter version of Dick Cheney.

I know this will sound very specific and arrogant, but I know what I want and I aim to find it. I am a very good looking, masculine, athletic young DC professional. 26, bi, white, 6'3", 190 lbs. athletic build, br/bl, masculine and very discreet. My fantasy is to get with a somewhat older, dominant, successful DC suit-and-tie powerful prof guy who is by all accounts straight but likes to have some hot man action on the side. Looking for a HOT married guy older than me, i.e. mid 30s to mid 40s. Like I said I am VERY discreet and very masculine and attractive. I am well educated (masters degree) and have a successful job in consulting. I am articulate, outgoing, considerate, friendly, and perfectly suited for a successful DC exec or politico. This does not mean, however, that I want anything from you other than a hook-up. I'm just turned on by the scenario. That means I am looking for a hot guy in the age range I described. You need to look like you walked out of a J Crew or Brooks Brothers catalogue; be very straight/masculine, and have an athletic body; have a confident, outgoing personality, and have a dominant edge in public and private. With all of the power players here in DC I KNOW there has to be a stable of guys who fit this profile. I'm looking for the hot guy who would NEVER think of doing this but has always had the urge and has always wished there was some discreet way to do it. Now is your chance. I'm serious here, and you should be too. Hit me back and let's talk. Later.

Friday, July 27, 2007


This post contains everything that's wrong with the generic personal weblog post. It's a story about people you don't know, and it's more interesting to me than to you. On the other hand, it's easier to read than, say, Finnegan's Wake, and if you're the kind of person who'd rather hear about the portions of my life when I'm not having sex, then, well, what kind of freak are you? (I kid.) Anyway, I've tried to compensate for the post's mundane nature by throwing in anonymous pictures of reasonably attractive men. Let's call it even, shall we?

Last night (Well, okay, it was Wednesday night, but it's just so much easier to write if we pretend that it was last night, so let's do that, ok? Thanks!) I journeyed into DC for my buddy J.'s birthday gathering. J. is my gay friend of longest standing (he doesn't appreciate being called my "oldest" gay friend), and he was turning 50 last night. (For the record, both he and his driver's license say that he was turning 49, but I figure it can't be that hard to bribe an MVA clerk, and God knows J. has plenty of incentive to lie about his age.) The plan was to have dinner at the Clyde's right next to the MCI center and then to migrate to the nearby bowling alley for a game or two.

Back when I was a baby gay, J. and I hung out a lot, and on many weekends when I didn't have the kids, I'd drive out to Annapolis, where he lived at the time, to catch a movie and/or have dinner with him. He was pretty much a baby gay himself. He'd had one pseudo-boyfriend, but he wasn't out to his family, co-workers, or most of his friends. That changed not long after I met him. While online, he met a guy from Kentucky, then he went out to Kentucky, then he had the guy visit him in Maryland, and -- less than a month after he'd started seeing the guy -- he agreed to move the guy from Kentucky to Maryland and in with him. This struck me as not the best idea, largely because a) J. still hadn't bothered to tell his parents that he was gay, and b) his mother came to his house twice or three times a week to deal with his laundry and make sure the house cleaners were doing a good job. It was difficult for me to see how he was going to explain away a young man (S2, his then-boyfriend, was about fifteen years his junior) sharing a bedroom and bathroom with him. Four or five times I urged him to either tell his parents or, at the very least, tell his sister and have his sister leak the information to his parents, but J. decided that it would be easiest (for him) to just let the shit hit the fan. And it did. That fan sprayed shit everywhere.

Anyway, as you might expect, having your bf's mother find you in the house and suddenly realize that a) her son was gay and b) he was shtupping you, was not the best way to start a relationship. It was a fairly rocky coupling from the get go. J. (because he can take responsibility for nothing) still blames me for his and S2's break up. Or at least he tells people that it was my fault. I'm pretty sure he doesn't really think that. In fact, they broke up several times, and the first time I talked to each of them separately and helped them mend things. After the second breakup/reunion, J. very specifically told me "Don't fix it again," so I didn't. S2 was a real piece of work, too. He had a severe case of OCD (by the way, if your bf has OCD and spends ninety minutes getting his hair just right, you might not want to muss it as soon as you see him; I tried explaining this concept to J., but he never quite got it.) and a bad shopping addiction. Which means that after he was done running his eight credit cards to their maximum, he had to spend thirty minutes rearranging them in his wallet. I never quite understand how people who have to wash their hands thirty times a day find time for sex, but, apparently, they had lots of it, and that's what the relationship was all about.

Anyway, my point, sort of, is that J. and I go way back. About the time that b&c and I got together, J. bought a very nice townhouse in Rehoboth. J. doesn't really care for b&c all that much (though he won't admit it), and I really don't like Rehoboth, so these days we rarely see each other, but we still have a lot of history, so it's always good to see him. He can be extremely annoying (he's a Republican, and out of nowhere he started defending the U.S. Attorney firings last night; in 2000, he traveled to Florida to protest after the election; he used to call me every night, and I would have to put the phone down and walk away when he started screaming at me), but he's the sort of friend you can count on.

Anyway, J.'s and my friend C. (not my current FWP C.) had called me with plans for the birthday dinner. He'd said our reservation was for 7:30 but that the restaurant thought they might be able to seat us earlier if we got there at 7. I rolled my eyes when I heard this because a) what are the odds that Clyde's can seat 8 people earlier and b) C. is the most consistently tardy person that I know. But I figured I'd do my part and get there at 7.

Since the MCI center is next to a Red Line Metro stop and my office is next to a Red Line Metro stop, it would have been ridiculous to go to DC by car (always painful) and try to park (always even more painful). As it happened, I needed to get J. a gift and a card, and Dupont Circle is a Red Line Metro stop between my office and the restaurant. I left the office a little bit after 5:30, took the subway to Dupont, browsed for a while in The Leather Rack, picked up some handcuffs and nipple clamps (I wanted to get J. a blindfold, but they were out of blindfolds. How is this even possible?), browsed for a while in Lambda Rising, picked up a card (You can't even buy a card specifically for 50, there. You can buy a card for 20, 30, and 40, and you can buy a card that says "49 again," but you can't buy a card for 50. I guess the very notion is too painful for a gay man to contemplate. Thank God this is the year I start getting younger; otherwise I'd have to worry about that in seven years.), picked up some light reading for myself, walked back to the Metro, took the train to Gallery Place, and walked up a couple of blocks to the restaurant, just in time to see J. arriving with his new boyfriend D. and his friend from college J2.

We got there just before 7, and the restaurant seated us promptly at 7:30. By then, six of us had arrived. C. arrived at 7:45, citing traffic. You have to admire his consistency.

I wasn't all that impressed with Clyde's. The service was inattentive and slow, the fried calimari was rubbery, and the shrimp I ordered looked like they had been frozen for too long. On the plus side, the shrimp came with fried green tomatoes and an edamame succotash, and the vegetables were kick ass. Besides, the company was good, and I long ago learned not to expect terrific food when I eat with J. He prefers the expensive over the innovative, and he steadfastly refuses any cuisine from Asia, Latin America, or Africa. Eastern Europe is out, too. He had a steak. Always the culinary pioneer, that one.

I was sitting between D. and C. I hadn't met D. before, but he was very nice, something I've not necessarily come to expect from J.'s boyfriends. He was also very quiet. I think he must be a sub. (J. likes to pretend that he's a dom, and, who knows, he may be better at it now. Back in the day, he used to call me before going on a date with a sub, and I'd tell him what to do. He'd typically be incredulous about my advice, but he'd follow it and then he'd call back afterwards to tell me that it had been spot on. Eventually, I just loaned him my copy of SM101. Unfortunately, his mother found it in with his porn, at which point he told her that I'd left it by mistake when I'd slept over one night. His mother still likes me, though. In part that's because I can be the kind of guy you take home to your mother. But mostly it's because she dislikes the rest of his gay friends, and I look good by comparison.) When J. opened the gifts, D. made a couple of remarks to me that let me know he was no stranger to either handcuffs or nipple clamps. In fact, though, I hadn't even known that D. was going to be there. I'm totally the guy that would give you a nudie birthday card and bondage toys in front of your friends, but I wouldn't knowingly give them to you in front of your boyfriend. That's just tacky.

Anyway, C. and I go way back, and I hadn't seen him in a while, either, so we had lots to catch up on. Someone mentioned "[C.]'s boyfriend," and I looked at him and said, "You have a boyfriend?" at which point C. took the sort of breath that precedes a long explanation and started to say, "Well...," so I cut him off and said, "Really, it's the sort of question that you ought to be able to answer with a yes or no." Then he said, "Well, from his point of view, I'm his boyfriend. From my point of view, I'm still interested in other people."

I was impressed. Not long after I first met C., he met a guy he always called "Bubba," and the two of them became partners. Mind you, C. lives in Northern Virginia (of course), and Bubba lived first in Alabama and then in Florida. The two of them saw each other about three times a year for a couple of days each time and typically had sex once on each of those occasions, but C. still said they had a commitment and remained faithful to Bubba. Bubba had lied to C. before they ever met, and while they were so-called partners, Bubba lost a lot of weight and got buff, but C. continued to believe that he and Bubba were monogamous and exclusive. After they'd been together (to the extent you can call it that) for over two years, Bubba decided to go back to law school in some location that was nowhere near either C.'s home or the home of his parents, and they finally broke up (to the extent you can call it that). In the past, every time I saw C., I told him that he needed to lose his fixation on having a boyfriend/partner and just hook up more. Over time, he came around to my way of thinking, but I never expected that he'd be able to pass up the opportunity to be anyone's boyfriend.

C. says that when the new guy (whose name and even initial escape me) first asked whether they could be exclusive, he'd been caught off guard and had said yes. But then he realized that next week, he'd be off to Fort Lauderdale and that there's a guy there he wants to fuck. So now he's got to go back and say no. If a guy asks you to be exclusive and you say no, it's awkward, sure. But if you say yes and then you have to say, "You know how I said 'yes'? I really meant 'not so much,'" then you've got a real problem. I was going to feel sorry for C., but then I realized a) he created the problem himself, and b) he agreed to be exclusive with a guy that he'd known for one week.

Did I mention that of all the guys at the table, only J2 and I have partners? With one exception (a happily and hornily single sixty year old), the rest of the guys there spend about 80% of their waking hours bemoaning the fact that they're single. Because of this, they're very much like lesbians, and if they're not renting a UHaul on the second date, they're not all that far behind. Which is a large part of why they're all single. I've tried to tell most of them that, but it's really the thing they least want to hear. Anyway, C. has now been going out (sort of) with his boyfriend/non-boyfriend for all of three weeks, so I reckon he's looking into having a pre-nup drawn up. Relationship implosion in five, four, three....

After dinner, there was dessert with a candle, and some of us sang "Happy Birthday," and we eventually ended up at the bowling alley.

I probably hadn't bowled in a couple of years, but who doesn't love bowling? Back when I was first out and dating, I used to go bowling fairly often because it's really the ideal activity for a first or second date. Everyone likes to bowl, but almost everyone sucks at it, and spending time having fun doing something that you're both awful at is a really good way to get to know someone. (And to make them comfortable with you so that they want you to fuck them, but we all know that sex really just isn't very important to me. Pardon me for a moment: I have to go file down my nose.) Pool does the same thing, but unless you have very similar levels of incompetence, it's better to stick to bowling. When you're bowling, if you screw up really badly, the other guy still gets to roll his own balls. In pool, if the other guy's better than you, you can seriously reduce his enjoyment through your own incompetence. I speak from experience here.

Anyway, eight gay men bowling badly on two lanes is more fun than ought to be legal, and we all had a pretty good time. Apparently, J. and J2 have been competing over bowling (and everything else) since they were in college, which was a long, long time ago, so they may have been having slightly less fun than the rest of us, but each of them beat the other once, so it worked out pretty well. I didn't get out of the alley until 11:30, but I caught a train immediately, so I was back to the office before midnight and home before 12:30.

I'm glad that I don't spend a lot more time hanging out with that crowd. They tend to talk about and relive the same very unimportant events over and over again. It's kind of like watching The Real World but without the really cute twenty-something boys who regularly remove their shirts. But since I only see them a couple of times a year, I haven't heard about recent events, so it's all news to me. And they're all decent guys. Besides, what's better than celebrating the birthday of a friend who's years older than you are?

By the way, I rolled 185 last night.

Yes, 84 in the first game and 101 in the second. At least I got better.

Thursday, July 26, 2007


That's right: same old, same old. Regular readers of The Neighbors Will Hear will recall that the only thing the staff here likes more than domestic animals is a nice picture of a domestic animal to take up space at the top of the post so that the NSFW pictures don't appear on the screen until you scroll down. I like for you to have fair warning. The subject matter of TNWH is almost always NSFW, but -- visually anyway -- many of my posts don't have anything that would get you in too much trouble if your boss stopped by, glanced at your screen, and said, "Hey, what's that your reading with all those run-on sentences? It's not more of that hot man-on-man sex talk you like so much is it? Management would really much prefer that you waste your time looking at pictures of cats and dogs."

While I'm not making sense (oh shut up), I'll just mention that the editorial policy here is that while we may show you the occasional bare bum (as long as it's tasty looking; tasteful we don't care about so much), we don't show cock. That's why the pictures later in this post have pink rectangles. The original pictures don't. By the way, the rectangles are on the small side because I took the pictures after the guy in question came. His cock is of a pretty average size, but it shrank somewhat after I separated him from one of his loads.

Do you ever feel like your sex life is in a bit of a rut? I suppose that in the universe of all sex acts, bondage is probably considered unusual, but how many times can you have guys come to your house, remove most of their clothing, put on the blindfold, and call for you to come restrain them, lead them upstairs and have your way with them before it becomes old hat? And I'm sure that readers get tired of seeing pictures of submissives tied to the bed. On the other hand, blindfolded and tied to the bed is a pretty good look for most guys. Take this one:

In person, he's entirely unprepossessing, maybe a little bit dumpy. But the blindfold and the pose make him younger and better. I guess that's why most submissives go for bondage: vanity. "No, no, don't take a picture of me now: I look much better when I'm naked, blindfolded and tied!"

Then again, maybe it's the instant hard-on they get when they're tied and spanked that their after. When S. called for me, he was already getting hard in his briefs, and when I walked him upstairs, threw him across the bed, bared his ass, and belted him a few times, he was rock hard. And he stayed that way until after he came, an hour or so later.

In between, I put him on his knees and fucked his face; tied his wrists to the bed, pulled his head over one end, and fucked his face; pinched, bit, and attached clamps to his nipples; forced him to make out with me (he'd told me in advanced that he loved being forced to kiss a guy, which sort of makes it not so much forcing, but whatever); sat at the other end of the bed and played with his nuts with my feet; put one, two, and then three fingers up his ass; shoved my thick purple dildo into him; and fed him to my giant snake, Nagini. Well, maybe not that last one, but he'd probably have liked it.

He didn't like everything, though. I really didn't think I was clamping or biting his nipples that hard, but after fifteen minutes or so of only moderate nipple abuse, he told me that I needed to stop. Technically, he hadn't told me beforehand that he had any trouble with nipple play, so I didn't really have to stop (and I really wasn't working them that hard: maybe a five or six on the ten-point nipple play scale), but I did anyway. In part because I really wasn't feeling all that into him. I was fine when I was fucking his face from any of several positions, but once he started to complain too much about his nipples, I didn't feel much like fucking him, especially after he whined about taking the dildo, which is less wide than my cock in any case. (I also think skipping lunch and having birthday cake just before I left the office didn't do my libido any favors, and I kind of felt ill for the rest of the evening.)

But I did have a great time keeping him on edge. He was very verbal when he got close to shooting, and he got close to shooting frequently. Each time I'd pull him back and then take him a little closer. Sometimes I kissed him while I squeezed his cock hard, and other times I'd chew on his nipple lightly while just running the tip of my index finger around his frenulum. When he finally came, he was shouting. He was a little bit hoarse afterwards, but I'm sure he recovered soon enough.

By the way, in the remembering-my-tricks category, in the last of a series of e-mails that he sent before coming over, right after I gave him directions and an address, he said that he thought we'd played before. He did look vaguely familiar, but a lot of guys look pretty similar when they're tied down, and I couldn't find him in the archives. I did talk to him briefly after the blindfold came off, but I still couldn't be sure. I really do need a system. I was thinking I should start signing my tricks with a Sharpie (over thirty colors!), but I'm not convinced that "permanent" really means permanent, so I reckon I'll keep looking.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Just Call Me Kinsey

Sometimes I chat with guys. Sometimes the guys are normal. Sometimes they're strange. Sometimes they start out normal and then get strange.

This guy was in that last category. You'll see what I mean (N.B.: I have removed some lines that were not interesting or relevant, but I have not edited for grammar or to make myself look more clever. It's a faithful representation of the chat, but the sics are left as an exercise to the reader.):

ssg: hi there
Teddy: Hello.
[Edited to exclude conversation where ssg attempts to chat in French, realizes my French is much better than his, and tells me that he’s a mathematician.]
ssg: cool :) when i talk with people i usually talk about ideas not the nitty gritty. i am writing a book you might be interested in
Teddy: You're writing a history of leather?
ssg: hehehe so you've got some fetishes eh? i do too :) i'm very into rope
Teddy: I do like to restrain boys from time to time.
ssg: cool
ssg: blindfolds rock
ssg: because anything you can't supply can be imagined :)
Teddy: Yes. You like to wear them?
ssg: i like to be blindfolded if the dominant gentleman wants to see me blindfolded... or...
Teddy: Everyone looks good in a blindfold.
ssg: if i'm being taken to a noose or electrocution, i prefer to be blindfolded at the start of the scene
ssg: keeps me from panicking
Teddy: I've never done scenes with nooses or electrocution. Interesting.
ssg: well i'm very submissive and some guys like watching that happen to a boy
Teddy: Submissives are so much fun.
ssg: some hangmen go years between volunteers and won't noose an unwilling victim
Teddy: How does a scene like that go?
ssg: well usually the other guy hsots
ssg: err hosts
ssg: i show up and he asks me if i'm sure i want to go through with it
ssg: i usually nod. i'm too scared to speak
ssg: i'm told to strip naked
ssg: and so i do
ssg: then i put my hands behind my back
ssg: and get bound up
ssg: sometimes cuffed
ssg: i'm doing this for his entertainment so i let him set the parameters
ssg: then i sometimes give him a blowjob. on my knees
ssg: then when its time, the blindfold comes
ssg: sometimes i am lead to a waiting noose, sometimes he puts one around my neck and uses it to lead me like a leash
ssg: i'm asked for last words
ssg: the rope is adjusted
ssg: and i'm usually hosted to my toes
ssg: errr
ssg: hoisted
ssg: a buddy in mine in california built his own gallows
ssg: that's extremely rare
ssg: i only know one other guy who did that
Teddy: Do you get hard talking about it?
ssg: very
ssg: its the ultimate act of submission
ssg: giving up one's neck for another's entertainment
Teddy: Do you get hard while it's going on?
ssg: free hanging, 30 secs is no problem for anyone. real executions are 20-60 mins. if the boys feet are on the floor, then things are quite prolonged. oh i get rock hard at the thought of execution. then the fear makes me limp at some point. i get hard again while being strangled.
ssg: blood pressure and all that
Teddy: How long do you typically stay in the noose?
ssg: until one of us shoots. i haven't passed out yet while being
hanged but lots of dominant men prefer that.
ssg: sometimes i'm in the noose but not swinging so your question is hard to answer exactly
Teddy: So you hang freely? It's not a problem because you don't drop from a distance so you don't break your neck?
ssg: i have yet to dangle freely from my neck... i've dangled free with a complex harness arangement that the guywith his own gallows has arranged. i'm usually hoisted to my toes. but hanging freely is safe if there is no drop as you so correclty pointed out
ssg: you sort of half-strangle when you are on your toes
ssg: its a hanging execution in slow motion
Teddy: How long does it usually take you to shoot if you're on your toes?
ssg: depends... i had a hands free orgasm on the rope once but i was 21 ;) usually its up to him. if he starts playing with my rod, pretty darn fast. 15 sec. if not, then i just squirm, gag, etc...
Teddy: Does the other guy typically wear an executioner's hood?
ssg: luckily i haven't met a dominant guy yet who wanted to watch me
die. i'd feel obligated to submit if that's what he really wanted. though i'd probably be limp throughout. oh yes. tha'ts so fucking hot
Teddy: Wow.
ssg: well he might go years or decades before he meets another sub
willing to die during the scene. it wouldn't be nice to disappoint him.
Teddy: Presumably, you wouldn't actually meet up with a guy who wanted that, though.
ssg: sometimes the wrong head makes the decisions :)
[Some talk where I shift the topic to his nascent academic career.]
Teddy: I'm sure you'll get tenure eventually. If not there, somewhere else.
ssg: i'm confident too :) i write a ton
ssg: i have standards, but that means i just have to avoid the degree factories
Teddy: That's cool.
ssg: and make sure no pics of me hanging from a noose or being shot by a paintball firing squad don't end up on youtube
Teddy: I think the paintball firing squad is relatively safe. Besides, you'd be blindfolded.
ssg: yes, another advantage of blindfolds
ssg: paintball hurts
Teddy: Do you like the pain?
ssg: but with red paint and being blown back by impact, looks hot
ssg: nope
ssg: but i do what i can to get others hard
Teddy: Yeah, sucking cock does that too, you know.

For the record, I have no interest in execution scenes. I think I may once have read a porno fiction piece about an execution scene in a leather magazine, but I wasn't aware that it was a real kink. Ssg says that he has "no shortage of executioners," though. It astounds me that there are people who eroticize capital punishment. From the safe distance of chatting about it with a person I don't really know who only plays at it, I find it fascinating. I'm sure that I couldn't ever play executioner, and watching it happen in person would likely make me ill. Of course, the notion of public hangings also makes me ill, but they used to be considered entertainment.

Ssg himself has mixed feelings. He says that he tries to do the hangman's scene only once a year "to reduce the risk of dying" and that he has one guy that he's done it with for the past few years. He said that he'd like to give it up entirely, but he can't. He also let me know that discussing it with me made him ejaculate and that afterwards he felt very embarrassed. I told him what I tell y'all: you can't help what turns you on. But I think if pretending to be executed turned me on, I'd probably at least try therapy. I did ask him to be careful.

And here's a chat with a more normal guy. It's not especially interesting, but it was going on concurrently with the one above. I'm such a multi-tasker, and, once again, sic throughout:

Teddy: Hi.
mnguy: howdy
Teddy: How's life?
mnguy: lifes passin by
mnguy: and urs?
Teddy: I sort of meant how is your life different from the last time I said hi and different from everyone else's.
Teddy: Life's good.
mnguy: lol
mnguy: glad ur answer was so much more succint
mnguy: lol
Teddy: “Succinct” is my middle name.
mnguy: sorry to hear that
Teddy: Yeah, my parents have a warped sense of humor.
mnguy: gotta love em
Teddy: They're otherwise fine people.
mnguy: so glad to hear it
Teddy: So, how's the dating/sex life?
mnguy: hmm......so so
mnguy: just let it happen pretty much
mnguy: if it chooses to
Teddy: Ah, a submissive. Very nice.
mnguy: not exactly
Teddy: Yes, I remember.
mnguy: i dont force my social life, is what im sayin
Teddy: I may have been teasing you, hot stuff.
mnguy: i know i know
Teddy: You should smile more.
mnguy: u should make me
Teddy: I'd be more likely to make you scream, though you would certainly be enjoying yourself.
mnguy: well an emotion is an emotion, either way
Teddy: Is that what I get for biting on your nipple?
mnguy: i missed that
Teddy: Well, I don't think I've ever actually bitten on your nipple, though I have thought about it.
mnguy: yeah its been a while
Teddy: Since I've thought about biting on your nipple? It's been mere moments.
mnguy: that i wouldnt know
Teddy: How's work and all that?
mnguy: im retired
Teddy: Is that recent?
mnguy: 3 mos
Teddy: How do you like retirement?
mnguy: quite enjoying it
Teddy: Moving to Florida soon?
mnguy: not quite yet
Teddy: Are you actively looking for a job, or are you planning to take a while?
mnguy: alreeady taken awhile...active now
Teddy: Good luck finding something quickly.
mnguy: thanks
Teddy: Have you considered a career as a sex worker? [Mnguy's last position was in management for a well-known chain of big box retailers.]
mnguy: yes
Teddy: You do seem like you'd be good at it.
mnguy: but i can only have sex with attractive ppl
mnguy: so i wouldnt make much money
Teddy: Ah, that is a problem.
Teddy: Maybe you should wear a blindfold.
mnguy: no way
Teddy: You are way too picky. Revenue opportunities are everywhere if you're willing to be a little flexible.
mnguy: yeah well...im not
mnguy: lol
Teddy: Oh well. There's always dentistry.

By the way, the title of this entry notwithstanding, I never wear bow ties.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Latin Rubs

It's a good thing that I had the post-midnight quickie on Friday/Saturday because my Saturday morning guy had to cancel on me. Through a truly bizarre combination of events, W., the uber-hot, older, marathon-running submissive spent Saturday morning in the hospital rather than with me. At least he wasn't in the hospital because of his own illness. Just before I got together with b&c, I was semi-dating this guy S. who called me to cancel from the hospital ER (interestingly, the same one that W. landed in), and when I talked to him a week later, he'd been admitted (to a different hospital, though) and was recovering from a heart attack. A few months later -- after he'd assured me that he wasn't going to keel over while being fucked -- we hooked up again, but then he decided he didn't want bypass surgery (he was 39), so instead he went back to London and then to India to meditate or something. He was Indian, so I guess it made some sense, at least to him. Eventually he came back to the U.S., but b&c and I were an item by then, so S. and I were just FWPs for a while. In fact, he was my second favorite FWP until he and my then-favorite FWP both came to our holiday party, met, left together, and became an item. A monogamous item. I still see them socially from time to time, but they've never invited me for a threeway. Ungrateful bastards.

Anyway, W. couldn't make it, and I was uncharacteristically disappointed. See, W.'s a bit on the inexperienced side, and in our e-mails prior to our scheduled meeting time, I'd been suggesting that he might want to explore bondage, and he'd been responding with enthusiasm. I'd really been looking forward to having him tied to the bed. I might have been downright depressed if I hadn't been able to run out at 9:30 and pick up two copies of Deathly Hallows from Costco. Still, the need to read Harry Potter and the need to have sex are really discrete phenomena, so I was a little bit bummed.

Fortunately, I had a few massages scheduled. One was with my buddy B., whom I massage (and write about) all the time, and whose massage was noteworthy only because I tried really hard to get him to cum, and I just could not bring him off. B.'s very much a never say die kind of guy on the table, though, and even though he was worked up so hard he was almost screaming, he wasn't going to stop me. But eventually, I'd gone all the way through the whole CD (three of the six Bach unaccompanied cello suites), and I knew it wasn't going to happen, so I moved on to other muscles and then stopped. B.'s only comment was that while he usually gets to the end of the massage feeling relaxed and tired, now he felt relaxed and energized. And then he took me to dinner. I had duck for the second night in a row. Yum.

The other two guys I had on the table were both Latin (yum), both 5'7 (double yum), both very fit, and both cute. And both a lot of fun to rub.

L.'s a thirty-five year old IT guy, originally from Ecuador. He was a little bit shy, and when he first got on the table, he said he would leave his briefs on until I was ready for his lower body. Cool. The briefs were kind of big and not particularly flattering, but I wasn't anywhere near even his lower back before he decided that he didn't need them. It was a good decision: he had a beautiful ass. I really would have liked to go right for it, but giving a good massage is important, so I gave a skilled and thorough dorsal massage before I stuck a finger in him. He was pretty tight, but he seemed to be enjoying it, so I gave him an extra-long prostate massage.

When I got him on his back, I saw a really cute, small, and uncut (but very perky) cock. I never go down on anyone while they're on the table, but he would have been pretty hot to suck, especially given that after I'd worked his arms, shoulders, pecs, thighs, abs, and nipples, he came pretty soon after I started to stroke him. I finished him off with more back work, then he got dressed, gave me a hug, and left. I regret not kissing him. He would likely have been a bit uncomfortable about that, but I'm pretty sure he would have gone along with it and then gotten more comfortable and excited. I'm not sure why I didn't. Even I hold back on occasion. Maybe it was because he was so shy and sweet.

A. (he says he's 58, but he could easily pass for 40) wasn't shy at all. He seemed eager to get naked, and even before he had his briefs off, I could tell he had a huge cock. Or at least huge for someone who's 5'7. I guess on a 6'2 guy, it would just have been a large cock. Anyway, when I had him lie on the table and started to work on him, he asked me why I wasn't naked, and I told him I could be later, if he liked. He said "yes, please."

A.'s massage was remarkably like L.'s (including the equally hot ass and what I did with it) right up to the point where I told him it was time to flip over on his back. He told me it was time for me to get naked, so while he was sitting up on the table, I grabbed him and started to make out with him. A. relies too much on his tongue, but he has really nice lips and is otherwise pretty good with the osculation. I pushed him down on his back (mostly to get some of the oil off him and onto the towel) kissed him again, and asked him if he wanted to head upstairs to the bedroom.

Once we were up there, I did get naked and jumped on top of him. He was very excited already from the prostate massage and his cock (cut) was rock hard, though interestingly hardly any longer than when it was soft. He must have to be careful about what he wears, but then again, he may like showing off. Anyway, we made out some more, and I went for the nipples, and then he went for my cock. I would have loved to rim him, but there was just too much massage oil on his ass, so I settled for a 69 with the addition of a finger up his ass. It didn't take long before he was very close to the edge, at which point he got on top of me, trapped my cock between his legs, kissed me, and came between our chests. He apologized for cumming so quickly and asked me whether I wanted to cum, but I was happy with the way things had turned out, so we cleaned up and went back to the massage table. I gave him a few more minutes on the table, but I think what he was really after was the back work and the sex. He got dressed, gave me a hug, and left. Door to door was less than an hour, and I got back to my book.

I got very nice thank you e-mails from both L. and A., and they both expressed a desire for a return appointment. Which they will be offered.

Monday, July 23, 2007

Suggestions, Anyone?

I have more to say about this weekend's activities, but right now I'm in a quandary. At some point during the weekend, I left my cell phone upstairs while I was downstairs either giving a massage or reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. When I went back upstairs and fetched it, I had six missed calls. Five were from YFU (who eventually called our land line, which made me realize I didn't have my cell phone) trying to figure out when I was going to drop her copy of HPatDH off at her mother's house so that she (YFU) could begin reading it. The sixth was from B. (too fucking many B.s!), a name that I didn't recognize, even though I had clearly programmed it into my cell phone.

This happens to me a lot, but usually the numbers never show up again, so every few months, I just go through and delete the names I don't recognize. I could tell from the sim number on B.'s entry that I had put the number in at least three months ago, so it had obviously been a while, but otherwise, I had no idea who he was.

I was going to just forget all about it, but he just called me again, and he's got that matter of fact, regular married guy, masculine sort of voice which indicates that he must have been at least some fun in bed. And the fact that he's calling me likely indicates that he had a good time, too.

So how does everyone else keep track of guys like this? And please don't suggest that I become less of a slut because a) I don't regard "slut" as a pejorative, and b) as if. (By the way, I tried going back in the archives, but I didn't find anyone that seemed to be him. But, like I said, too many B.s.)

Anyway, he's not free at a time when I'm free right now, so I told him to drop me an e-mail, and maybe he will. But either way, I need some sort of system. Hopefully something that doesn't involve getting a PDA, which I will a) lose, b) forget to recharge, c) never use or d) never use, forget to recharge, and then lose.

I suppose that insisting that everyone I hook up with get a distinctive tattoo is overkill? How about locking them all in the basement? Hey, I'd feed them.


Friday night, after my massage/romp with favorite FWP C., I was supposed to give another guy a massage, but he called at the last minute saying he was having trouble getting his car to start, so he was about to call AAA and then he'd call me back. I didn't hear from him for a while, so I called back, and he said AAA hadn't come, so we'd have to do it Saturday instead. I was pretty sure he was lying about the car trouble, but whatever. I considered going out to get a midnight copy of HP7, but that seemed too geeky even for me.

I was going to go to bed, but I opened up gay.com, and I saw T., and I figured I'd at least say hello.

I first met T. almost six years ago, when he was 18. He came over to my apartment, and we had some fun. He was a good kisser, but he'd never been fucked, so it was mostly making out and oral, but a good time was had by both. I saw him again maybe six months later when I was working very late one night. He came to my office in Kensington, and we made out on a blanket on the floor. He still hadn't been fucked, and he wanted to try, but when I went to replace my fingers with my cock, he backed out. No big deal.

Then he disappeared for a while, and we didn't hook up again. A few years later, he contacted me on gay.com, but I was never available when he was online, and he'd never follow up with plans to meet at a later time. A lot of guys want it when they want it but don't want to plan for it. This strikes me as no good way to manage your sex life, but, again, whatever.

Anyway, late Friday night/early Saturday morning, he said he was horny. I asked him to come over, but he said he didn't want to travel, and that he didn't want to make it a late night. I was a little tired, and I considered just forgetting about it, but he is a good kisser, so I told him I could clean up and be where he was staying (house sitting, he said) in twenty minutes.

I almost wouldn't have recognized T. In six years, his short, light brown hair with bleached highlights had been replaced with a head of long, dark brown curls. He'd gained a few pounds, which didn't look bad on him, and his chest had gone from smooth to furry. I grabbed him and kissed him, and then he took me upstairs to the bedroom.

He stripped and got on the bed, and I jumped on him. Lots of deep kissing, alternating with some fairly intense nipple work. Before long, he was going down on me (he's gotten MUCH better at sucking cock), and before much longer, I had my tongue buried in his ass (I'm probably not that much better at rimming, but I've always been very good). T. told me that he loves to rim, and I'd gone to extra effort (for me) to clean up for him, but the combination of my tongue up his ass and my cock down his throat seemed to drive the thought from his mind, and I was happy about that. He pretty quickly got the condom on me, lubed me up, and started to have a seat.

That gave me my first chance to take a breather and look around. Wow. I'd forgotten that young gay men have a much more active and out there sense of decorating than I do. The wall nearest to where I was lying was lined with large posters: Blondie (which only showed Debbie Harry), Janis, Evanescence, Reba, and Debbie Harry. On the opposite wall: a shrine to Elizabeth Taylor, including a large poster of her as Cleopatra.

Anyway, I didn't have too much time to think about the decor. T. has a nice, tight ass, and he was bouncing up and down on me fairly actively, so it seemed incumbent on me to meet him halfway by thrusting up. Occasionally, I'd play with his cock a bit, but he told me to stop so that he wouldn't cum too soon. After a while, I told him to be still, and I lowered him down into X position, apparently a new experience for him, and one which I suspect he will repeat frequently from now on, if the intensity of his reaction is a reasonable indication of how much he enjoyed it.

After a few minutes of X, I got on my knees, pushed his knees onto his chest, and slammed into him hard* while looking down at him and occasionally bending down to kiss him. A few more minutes of that, and he started to cum. I kept fucking him for a while, but he started to get to sensitive, so I lay back on the bed and jerked myself off to a really great ejaculation. Good volume, good distance. T. handed me a towel, and we chatted for a bit while I wiped up and then got dressed. He told me that he'd never been fucked like that before. I assume that he meant the X position, but it's hard to tell: you know kids and their pronoun reference these days.

On the way out, I noticed more Debbie Harry, more Liz, with a tiny bit of Barbra thrown in for good measure. At the door, T. kissed me goodbye and said that he'd see me again. I reckon he means in two years, but that's cool, too. The whole thing was thirty minutes -- about the right amount of time to spend sexing T -- door to door.

*I may have mentioned this before, but if you're going to fuck a guy and you get to choose the music, the very best choice is Janis' version of Big Mama Thornton's "Ball and Chain." It's what I was hearing in my head while we were going at it. I didn't see the point in mentiong it to T., though. The poster notwithstanding, I'm sure he would have thought I was talking about the Social Distortion song, and that would have been really depressing. Youth really is wasted on the young.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Seek and Ye Shall Find

Ah, the missed connections. Why can I not escape your pull? Why do I like staring at train wrecks?

Here, in fairly rapid succession are three ads which illuminate the full value of the missed connections section.

First, a query: a plea, really:

***PLEASE share a good missed connection story!*** - m4m - 28
Reply to: pers-378244755@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-20, 1:18PM EDT

we're all amused by reading them, but never get the results! Someone please share a short story about the results. If it's not interesting, please don't bother.

And don't flag any stories - at least not for today!

A response as helpful as the missed connections themselves:

RE: **PLEASE share a good missed connection story!*** - m4m - 28 - w4m - 24
Reply to: pers-378441056@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-20, 5:09PM EDT

I was caught unabashedly staring at a very goodlooking man on the metro one morning. He laughed at my obvious oogling. I posted an MC that day- and 15 minutes later he sent me an email! It really worked! I confirmed it was him (after getting a TON of emails from imposters).

Sadly, I think he either a) Had a girlfriend (social networking pics) or b) got scared off by my stalking. I did go a bit overboard (googled, myspaced, etc) and discovered all kinds of info about him, which I mentioned to him. Never heard back! OOps! But hey, I am an investigator, that is what I do to everyone!!! I REFUSE to believe he simply wasn't interested. That's bad for the ego. :)

But, I can attest to the possibility of a (somewhat) successful MC! Keep posting, people!

Keep posting indeed: stalkers are people, too.

Finally, the best response possible:

Reply to: pers-378308511@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-20, 2:29PM EDT

Well here it is...
I'm not going to give you all the details. As you read on you'll understand why. I was reading the "Missed Connections" section one day (yes, i tend to read them daily as they are really funny sh%t) and happened to come across a posting talking about a particular guy who frequents a certain bar and sings kareoke. The posting went on to say how HOTT this guy was but the "poster" knows that he is to old for him and that he would never give him the time of day. Reading the discription of the "HOTT GUY" he sounded like someone I would be attracted to. So joking one day with a friend I said we have to go to this bar to see this guy (the posting also gave his name). I went and yes I did see him and yes he was HOTT! I talked to him a little that night but nothing. The next week rolled around and my friend said "where are we going tonight? I told him we have to go back there because i had laid the ground work and needed to finsh the job...LOL So we did and needless to say I got what i wanted. :-)

So I dont know if this is what you consider a "Good" missed connection since it really wasnt my missed connection. I do want to give a BIG thank you to original poster. You made my night!!!

Kind of sums it up in a nutshell: you post a missed connection, the guy you like thinks you're crazy, and somebody else gets laid.

Fish Tales

A lot of us talk about the search for sex as a hunt, and it is, of course, but I had occasion yesterday to think about how it's also like fishing. I'm going to strain a comparison here, so bear with me.

Neighbor and favored FWP C. was due over for a drink and a romp, probably followed by dinner out. The first couple of times C. was over, there were others involved, but the last couple of times it had been just the two of us. Frankly, either way is good, but I was feeling like I should be a good host and arrange for a bottom for the two of us. I suppose one might also say that I could benefit from such an arrangement, but I can assure you that my thoughts were entirely selfless.

Anyway, at first I invited my buddy A. A. and C. hooked up the last time they were both here, and A. also likes having sex with me, so I figured he was the natural choice. Sadly, he already had other plans with friends, though he asked to be invited the next time we got together. I tried another guy who'd been going back and forth with me for a while. He was supposed to come and be tied and blindfolded, but I figured he might be up for two tops instead. He's a bit older than me, but so is C., and he's smooth, and he has a body that I like:

I sent him an email this afternoon, and I didn't hear back until I got home from the office. He was interested, but by the time I wrote back, he was probably already gone.

Anyway, it was time to see if there really are too many fish in the sea, so I set my lines on craigslist, and rarely have I seen such fast and furious response. But, of course, getting the initial response is only the first step. You still have to land the fish, and that can be pretty difficult. No matter how much information you put in the ad, the fish only see "2Tops4Bttm" and don't bother reading the stats, requirements, or even the location. You know: the one that got away. ("He was this big!")

So you get the guys who answer your ad and who look great

but who can't understand why two tops would want to make out with them when all they want is to have both holes filed.

Or the guys who answer your ad and who look great

And who are into all the things you're into, but then ask "Where's that" when you tell them where you are.

Or the guys who answer your ad and who look great

But who don't like the picture of your face and/or body half as much as they liked the picture of your cock.

Then, of course, there's the guy who answers your ad and looks pretty good

(I'm not real fond of mid-length hair on African American men. It always makes me think of Al Sharpton. Great ass, though. [The guy in the pic, I mean, not Al Sharpton. I have never really seen or even considered Mr. Sharpton's ass.]), but who is looking to "provide $ervice." At least our sex workers are polite. When I wrote back and said that I wasn't really looking for a commercial transaction, he very nicely wished me a good weekend.

And of course there's this guy

whose email address (and ass) I recognized as belonging to the guy down the street who comes to our holiday parties, but who -- I know for a fact -- has no interest in sex with me. I called him on it in the reply, but he said I had him confused with someone else. As if.

Then of course, there are all the guys who you have to throw back for one reason or another, and I'll spare you the pictures.

In the end, I thought I had a pretty good choice, an African American who was eager to make out and be plugged from both ends. (And who had short hair.) He gave me his number, but, sadly, he wasn't in when I called and didn't have voicemail or an answering machine. I called back twenty minutes later, and he did answer, but then he said he was "on my way out with my cousin to WalMart." Alas. He said he'd be back in about an hour, but when I called him back, I was slightly relieved that there was no answer.

Anyway, even though I got home without any fish, it was not an unpleasant way to spend the afternoon. And when C. arrived, he was highly amused at all the trouble I'd gone to. But since he hadn't known what I was up to (C. is up for anything, so I never need to ask for permission), he wasn't in the least disappointed, and since he wasn't disappointed, neither was I.

I'd never given C. a massage, but he's expressed interest before, and since I had the table set up, as soon as we'd made out for a bit and had half of our martinis, I told him to get on the table. So he did. At first he was all "why are you wearing your clothes still?" and then he kept trying to grab my cock through my underwear. It took a minute for me to get through to him that I was giving him a serious massage. I'm pretty sure that he thought that I mostly do massage to lure men to my bed. Like some siren with good hands. But pretty soon he relaxed. He didn't have much choice given how firmly I was working his shoulders.

The massage was pretty much normal. C. was telling me about his date last night. It was his third meeting with the guy and the first time he'd seen the guy naked. He still doesn't know whether the guy's a bottom or a top, and when I asked him whether he'd consider bottoming for the guy he said he would since the guy's cock wasn't all that big. I figured that I'd be doing them both a favor if I gave C. some prostate massage. He took a finger pretty well for more than five minutes before it began to overwhelm him.

When I had him on his back and had worked on his face, arms, chest, and legs and finally got around to more intense nipple and cock work, he -- naturally -- got pretty worked up. I'd been figuring that I'd finish him off, but he wasn't having any of that. When he got too close, he grabbed me and said we needed to get upstairs and get me naked.

So we did, and it was fierce. He was really excited from the massage. I started out very calm, but I responded to his energy pretty quickly, and after twenty minutes of mixed play, we each jerked ourself off to highly intense orgasms. I shot all over my chest, all the way up to my shoulders. C. isn't a big shooter, but it was obvious that it was a great cum for him. It's really not clear that we would have had any more fun with a third.

I jumped in the shower, he toweled off, and we both went over to our favorite local restaurant. I had the pato alla savilliana. Mmmmm, duck.

Friday, July 20, 2007


The first day that b&c is away is often an exercise in frustration. I've always got a lot of pent-up horndoggedness of the sort that doesn't get released when you fuck your partner, even if it's a really good fuck. Extreme horndoggedness generally makes me less effective at bringing my prey to ground (there's something very wrong with that metaphor, but I like it). Given that there are other play dates set up for the weekend, one would think that I could relax about Thursday night, but, not so much.

Anyway, I went with something a little farther out there than usual with a CL ad, and the response was, well, underwhelming. I had a very promising sub who'd thought he could make it but flaked (either for a legitimate reason or not, and, really, who cares which it is?). I was already set to do a massage around 10 pm, so I was thinking that maybe I'd just work late last night and leave a little early today (Friday), but I got on gay.com anyway, just in case. Pretty soon, I had a message from R., whom I hadn't seen in at least a year.

R. is a very cute, very small Vietnamese guy. He was a playmate of b&c's before I met him, but he really wanted to bottom, so b&c asked me to join them for a threeway. He'd warned me beforehand that R. didn't like to kiss, but I figured I could bring him around. And I did: when he knew he was going to get my cock up his ass, he was suddenly all about the kissing.

Unfortunately, R. is sometimes more trouble than he's worth. He lives twenty minutes away and doesn't have a car. That wouldn't be such a big deal except that sex with him is always quick. Like fifteen minutes. It's a wicked hot fifteen minutes, but still. In the past, I'd usually only fuck him when b&c was willing to pick him up and take him home. But he's cute, and he's smooth, and he has a tiny uncut dick, and, well, last night I was horny, and I was at the office, so it wasn't as much of a drive since where he lives isn't that far out of the way. So I told him I'd pick him up.

Except that he'd moved. Only about two miles or so and farther down the same main drag, and it's an area that I've driven by many times, but I decided to take a back way, and I somehow got lost, and a twenty minute drive turned into forty-five minutes. Fortunately, I get lost often enough that I've learned not to let it bother me. I mean, most streets go both ways, right? If you're going the wrong way, you just turn around and go the other way. Unless you're in a town you don't know at all, you're going to see something you recognize sooner or later.

(This reminds me of the time, almost twenty years ago, when I was newly married, and my brother-in-law was in the car with me in Boston. I missed an exit off of the highway, and the only way I was going to get back to where I need to be was through a very long loop that was going to take me twenty minutes. And my b-i-l looked at me and said, "This doesn't bother you at all, does it?" And I said, "Nope. We'll get there." But I digress.)

Anyway, eventually I got to where I needed to be, and R. got in the car, and we chatted and played with each other's thighs. It turned out that part of the reason I hadn't seen him in over a year was because he'd taken a vacation to Vietnam. For eight months. He evidently lives a less encumbered life than I do.

We got back to my place, and, as with every other bottom, I marched him up the stairs with my hands on his tuckus. He headed into the master bathroom, so I jumped in the other upstairs bathroom to wash up quickly. When I got back, he was lying on the bed. I climbed on top of him and began to kiss him. He was more into it than usual, but the boy still always fucks like he's late for a plane. I worked on his nipples a bit, and he liked that a lot, and he actually went down on me for maybe half a minute (thirty seconds longer than usual), but we were still less than ten minutes in when he was reaching for the lube and condom. He tried sitting on my cock, but it was a little thick for him to take (I reckon it had been a while since he'd been fucked), so he got on his back and got out his bottle of poppers. I put my cockhead inside him, and when he took a big hit on the poppers, I pushed all the way in. He screamed a little, but overall, he didn't seem to mind. I fucked him pretty hard, but, as usual, after about a minute of pumping, he started to cum.

He tried to push me out, but I wasn't having any of that, or at least I thought I wasn't. I fucked him for another two minutes, and then he really did start to yell, so I pulled out, whipped off the condom, stroked hard, kissed him, and -- a minute or so later -- shot all the way to my chin.

R. is usually all about the get dressed and get home after he cums, but last night he wanted to hang out in bed with me and watch the porn (vintage Cadinot) that was playing. I was spent, and I was really covered with cum, so I just fondled him idly for a bit. Eventually I got up and cleaned myself off and came back to the bed. I sucked on him for a while (tiny uncut cock: yum!) until he was hard again. When I got tired of that, I just held him, and after about three more Cadinot cumshots, he stroked himself off simultaneously with the much, much larger cock on the screen. It was kind of hot.

I felt kind of bad about having a 10:00 massage because R., uncharacteristically, would have liked to have dinner, and he mentioned a pho place nearby. But I couldn't, so I drove him home and made it back with enough time to set the table up and get the room ready for massage.

A. (a new guy) arrived just a bit after 10, having gotten lost in a way that was worthy even of me. I told him to get undressed an up on the table. He was a very smooth mixed-race guy (he called himself a blatino) with very, very full lips (that he didn't want kissed). I fired up the Bach and went for the standard massage.

I'm fascinated with the variety of bodies and muscles that end up on the table. A.'s muscles were less differentiated somehow and tighter overall without having knots in particular places, the way most guys do. He appreciated a very firm stroke, and I took my time and gave him the full treatment.

A. had a nice body (dark and smooth) and a really thick cock. He took the prostate massage pretty well, but I'm not sure it did much for him. He seemed to like the facial massage most, but he was a very passive, quiet client. He perked up a good bit when I worked on his nipples and the fronts of his thighs, but I worked on his cock for a long time, and although he stayed hard, he never looked like he was about to cum. He was too relaxed, and his balls never pulled up close to his body. Finally, he stopped me and apologized, saying he was often "cum-shy with strangers."

I worked on him a little more, and he left, apparently very relaxed and happy. But I was feeling agitated. I wasn't annoyed, I was just worked up. I guess that I need for the guy on the table to cum. It's a release for me as much as for him, even if I'm not spilling any seed. Weird.

Anyway, it was pretty late by the time he left, so I hopped on gay.com and found a likely candidate for phone sex. I guess I was really in the right mood for it: I came almost as hard as I had with R. and went to bed happy.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

Abstinence Is Really Less of a Virtue if No One Wants To Have Sex with You

I may have said, recently, that I wouldn't be posting any political and/or craigslist-relted posts for a while. Since I apparently lied, here's a gratuitous picture, as preemptive penance.

There are so many categories in craigslist! Who knew? In fact, you can even put ads up there if you want to sell something, like that hideous foldout sofa that wasn't fashionable thirty years ago when your partner bought it. Just a hypothetical example with no real world significance, of course.

Anyway, getting beyond the "men seeking men" and the "missed connections" brings you to categories like "misc romance." Right now, in the m4m subcategory of misc romance in the DC area, there's one ad. The picture above is not from that guy's ad. In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that the guy looks nothing like the picture above. Not that you should care about what he looks like when his ad is so very appealing:

Right-winger… - m4m - 50

Reply to: pers-374546127@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-07-15, 5:38PM EDT

Libertarian, specifically, but just about anything right of center will work. I can be friends - haven’t had much choice until moving here - but really not simpatico with liberal Democrats…and I don’t want one for a partner. And I definitely want a partner.

I don’t want to talk politics all the time. To do it right requires more time and motivation than I can come up with but the vast majority of my non-fiction reading has been from Libertarian sources. So I’m not a political junkie but one’s proximate home on the political spectrum general reflects a larger worldview.

I pretty much loathe gay culture. I thought this thing was supposed to be about masculinity. Not to mention the tired, herd mannerisms and outlook. The noisy gay culture may have moved tolerance along, but I’m not sure about that. It probably was going to happen anyway and sometimes I think it happened IN SPITE of gay shrieking.

I don’t want sex with strangers, I like to kiss and I want to sleep with my best friend, the guy I love.

I like architecture, especially civil engineering, day trips, gardens, romance movies and comedies (good ones, meaning the ones that work for me), dogs, the West in the summer and regular acting guys with sunny dispositions and easy smiles. I like to read (comes in handy when sloth beckons) and just spend time with my guy.

I’m positive but very healthy. I’m 50 but through some weird genetic injustice and years of working out, I’m holding up pretty well per the drooping skin issue. I’m looking for someone around my age…generally a positive outlook but not oblivious about the disquieting assaults on that outlook that life hurls at one and at others.

On the career front I’ve been a loser - by my standards. It took me a LONG time to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. But I’m in school and OK with my (extremely) modest station in life.

I don’t like email correspondence so if you would like to follow up, send me a couple of lines and a phone number.

Even though it isn’t particularly apparent here, I’m not entirely without a sense of humor.

So let's recap. Here's a fifty-year-old, unemployed or underemployed, lonely gay man who doesn't like other gay men (hence the loneliness, perhaps?). You couldn't take this guy to see the Pride parade because he'd spend all his time castigating the talent. Some fun. You know, I totally get the idea of being fed up with the scene. I don't do the scene, but I'm glad it's there for people who enjoy it. It would be kind of silly for me to think that my rights are somehow affected because there are guys enjoying the saliva pit at Blowoff.

But our Libertarian friend -- in addition to making your political orientation a criteria for his affection but refusing to discuss politics with you -- here clearly sees the world in stereotypes. Plus, you'd probably have to commit to him before he'd be willing to have sex, and it's a safe bet that he's a vanilla top who kisses like a cocker spaniel. But that's okay because he likes to kiss, so you'll be doing it all the time! (Good boy!) And, hey, if you've always wanted a guy to read Ayn Rand to you while you go down on him (for days!), here's your man. No need to thank me. I just hope you don't mind that you'll always have to pick up the check.

It should go without saying, but this tool lives in Northern Virginia.

By the way, I would like to go on record as saying that I have nothing against guys who are 50 (or considerably older), underemployed, positive, or vanilla. Libertarians, however, are another story. Also, I would like to go on record as saying that I have nothing (whatsoever) against the idea of making out with DurbanBud, though I would much prefer to do so in a private setting. (His partner can watch and/or join in.) Not that he's offered. Bitch.

This Is Not My Beautiful Wife

Do you ever find yourself in bed, with your partner, making out, going for his nipples, when suddenly he breaks away to say something like (or, indeed, this exact thing), "Did you hear that the IRS Commissioner resigned to head the Red Cross?"

If you were thrust through college at about the same time I was, it's at times like these when you hear the voice of David Byrne1 in your head:

And you may ask yourself
What is that beautiful house?
And you may ask yourself
Where does that highway go?
And you may ask yourself
Am I right? ...am I wrong?
And you may tell yourself
My god!...what have I done?

But it's probably better to laugh and tell your partner that he might want to work on his pillow talk. If you're lucky, a few minutes later, he'll finally figure out how to do to your neck what he recently learned how to do to your ears, and all conscious thought will be driven from your head2.

Anyway, I got nothing today, so here are some pics of some hot guys3. I have no shame. I've tried to group the more aggressively NSFW (i.e., the ones with bare bums) towards the bottom so that if you're reading this at the office, you still have time to turn back and return from the privacy of your own home.

Sorry about the formatting. Try to focus not so much on my crap html skills and more on the delectable torsos and backsides. Mmmmmm.

1I hear this in my head about twelve times a day. It could be my theme song. I'm probably not alone in that, though.

2The conscious thought always returns, eventually. Alas.

3These are guys that I find hot. Or at least I find hot the parts of them that you can see. I find most guys hot, though, so I've attempted to screen so that they'll also be guys that most readers find hot. If I've failed, well, suck it up.