Dullsville

B&c has returned from his month on his back consulting trip to Amman, which means that my personal sex life is not so much worth writing about. B&c and I do have sex regularly, of course, and it's fine sex, but it's very predictable.

It is, frankly, difficult to have a partner who disappears at irregular intervals. When he's gone, I enjoy the sexual freedom, but I miss him. When he's home, I'm glad to have him around, but I can't have guys over, and to some extent I resent the fact that he has all day to play while I have to go to work. I recognize that he's earned the opportunity, but it's still a bummer. What I need (since getting b&c to take a job that has him travel out of town for one week out of every month is probably not a workable plan) is a fuckbuddy or two who can host on a regular basis, but a) they are not easy to find, and b) I don't feel much like making the effort.

Anyway, that's enough whinging out of me for today.

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Late last week, shortly before b&c's return, my buddy B. stopped by for one last massage before I put the table away. Of all the guys I've massaged, he's the easiest and most fun to work on: he's very tall and has a body that's fit but not too hard and where all of the muscles are easy to find and isolate. Plus, he loves the prostate massage, and he embraces sensations that would be too much for most guys. If I keep stroking him after he's ejaculated, for example, it's obvious that the sensations around his frenulum are extremely intense, but instead of pushing my hand away (as most men do), he just writhes and shouts. And smiles.

The massage was pretty much standard, except that instead of the Bach cello pieces, I played Nanci Griffith's Other Voices, Too. And I spent an extra long time on the prostate massage. I can't think of any other single activity that so well illustrates the flow of energy during massage. I can be almost perfectly still, with my left hand resting on the small of his back and my right index or middle finger moving just enough to trace the outline of his prostate, and I get an amazing amount of response from him. It really feels like I'm channeling energy out of the ether. I just love it, and so does he.

So far, each time I've massaged him, the response has been more intense. Perhaps to some extent, the increase is due to improvements in technique on my part. It may also be due to an increasing level of comfort between us. Mostly, though, I think we're just lucky. In any case, it's immensely satisfying to be able to provide so much pleasure to a friend by doing something that also leaves me calm and focused.

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It is, however, very difficult to remain calm and focused at work. The office move, which has been going on for about a month now, has landed me in my permanent location, which I like just fine. Most of the offices around me, however, are not finished, and neither are the common areas. In fact, my office is now in the middle of the forbidden zone, which means that most of my coworkers can't find me. This is a good thing. A better thing is that there are bunches of eminently fuckworthy construction workers in and around my office at all times of the day. It's a look but don't touch sort of situation, naturally, but who doesn't appreciate the occasional piece of eye candy? It helps make up for the sinus problems, which are legion.

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Fourth of July was decidedly low key around these parts. The girls were over, so I prepared a modest picnic, and we went over to the county fairgrounds to watch the fireworks. The weather was awful, and we went over too early, though, so we spent a couple of hours parked underneath a building. There were three motorcycle cops also there seeking shelter from the storm. Yummy.

Eventually the rain cleared, and we walked from where we were parked to the fairgrounds and enjoyed half an hour of fireworks. My only quibble is with the extremely loud music they were playing throughout the fireworks. I like The Stars and Stripes Forever, America the Beautiful, and The Battle Hymn of the Republic at least as much as the next guy, but to my mind, the appropriate accompaniment for fireworks is the oohs and aahs of excited children. Still, it was a lot of fun. Fireworks: what's not to like?

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I'm meeting up with a guy tonight, but I don't think it's for sex. Last week, out of nowhere, I got an e-mail from a guy who's on gay.com. It had been forwarded to my regular e-mail inbox:

hey:
liked your no-bullshit message. I'm 37, live near adams morgan, with a partner. My problem is i'm quirky, experimental, casual, say too much, intellectual, and a lover of all things beer. I'm looking for that someone who wants to hang out for a long relaxing coversation over a few beers, who wants to go for a long walk and sweat (walking is my therapy for life and the height of my level of exercise), for someone who can stomach a game or 2 of pool with someone like me who has the world's worst hand-eye coordination, someone who likes browsing through old books, someone who hates wearing underwear, someone who laughs a lot (but not too loud). I'm the guy who wants to go to the party, but never does because i hate the pomp-and-circumstance.

Anyway- you sounded cool.

Kind of weird, but decidedly intriguing. I checked out his profile, and I wrote him back to explain that while I don't share his personal animus towards underwear, I certainly like guys who don't wear any, and that since he and I were probably evenly matched when it comes to billiards, we should try to get together. So tonight it's beer and, I hope, billiards.

I wonder whether this has anything to do with the fact that I finally put a cock shot up on the old gay.com. Whatever: having a few drinks with a total stranger (in a public place, of course) can't be that bad. Que sera sera.