I've been working lots. It's just after 5 pm on a Saturday, and I've decided I've done enough for today. B&c is coming down to Bethesda in about forty-five minutes, and we're going to have dinner and catch a movie with my friend George. At least I think I'm calling him George. To be honest, it's tough to remember the fake names I give my friends so that I can mention them on the blog. I don't disguise them all that much, to be honest. I try to find another man's name that begins with the same two letters as the name of whichever friend I'm disguising at the moment. If I ever get a friend named Xavier, I'm going to have a problem.
Last night, b&c and I had tickets to see My Children! My Africa! at the Studio Theatre. For those of you who are as unfamiliar with the play as I was until last night, I'll say that it's one of the many Athol Fugard plays that deals with South Africa under Apartheid. The run's been extended at the Studio Theatre, and the theatre was very nearly full last night, so I guess it's very popular. And it was very well performed last night. The play itself is a bit preachy, which would have made a lot more sense when Apartheid was still around. It was very entertaining when more than one of the three characters were on stage together. There was, however, a lot of time spent in soliloquy, and I got a bit drowsy.
Before the play, we had dinner at Logan Tavern, which is about half a block from the Studio Theatre and just a few doors down from Halo, a gay bar. It's also across the street from Whole Foods, so the whole area is pretty much Gay Central. Logan Tavern is never my first choice of places to eat, but I was tired, so I didn't feel like doing battle with b&c's very strong sense of habit. But my chopped salad was decidedly unengaging, so I mostly listened to b&c talk (You might be surprised to hear this, given my prolix writing style, but I really don't talk very much most of the time. So much of what people say just seems obvious to me. I don't mean that to sound arrogant. I just mean that I often won't say something if I think that it must already have occurred to everyone. And I'm worse when I'm tired. I'm also worse when I'm looking at a salad where the boiled egg has a layer of green around the yolk. This indicates that it was cooked too long. Don't let this happen to you: use a timer.) and watched the boys pass by.
Perhaps it was the proximity to Halo, but I couldn't help noticing that the boys all look the same. They all look different, too, of course, but still they all look the same. Maybe it's because most of them were pretty young (twenties to early-thirties, I'd guess). I'm reminded of a PBS show I saw about chaos theory and something called "sensitivity to initial conditions." Things that are very similar right now will get more and more diverse as time goes on. If I took all the gay men over thirty-five who walked by and looked at them, there'd have been more variation than there was in all the gay men under thirty-five. Still, though, the gay men over thirty-five mostly looked alike, too. I reckon the diversity takes time. Who knows? By the time those guys are all 150 or so, maybe they'll buy their clothes in different stores. Maybe not.
I'm not sure why everyone wants to look alike. I saw one guy get out of a cab right in front of us and then head over to Halo. He was wearing brown cords and a polo-type shirt with horizontal stripes. It wasn't a good outfit for him, but he looked so much unlike everyone else who'd walked by, that I couldn't help flashing him a mental thumbs up. I don't know that he'll get much of that from the crowd in Halo, though. Generally, I prefer people who stand out to people who blend in, but I reckon that's why no one's ever called me a clone. And maybe it's why I never go to bars. That and the whole not liking to talk much thing.
I was nearing the end of my salad when our friend Christopher (See, I had to go and look up what phony name I gave him. Arrrgh.) came up to us (we were eating outdoors: it was a very nice night) and said hello. He was just back from a trip to Central Europe, so we chatted about that for a bit. He said that he was off to Titan (another gay bar, apparently) because "it's bear night." I wished him good luck. When he was gone, b&c wondered whether Christopher actually saw himself as a bear. I said, "Well, let's see. No facial hair, no body hair, and wrong build. I'm thinking he sees himself as a picnic basket."
At some point during dinner, b&c received a text message from his friend Kip. Kip, b&c, and I have played together twice before, and apparently Kip was asking whether we wanted to go for the hat trick. I told b&c to text him back and tell him it would have to be midnight. Kip really works the iPhone quickly because in about twenty seconds he had said that was fine with him. I was exhausted, so of course I said yes. He's a Filipino nurse, and you know what that means. And if you don't, well, smooth dark skin, small cock, need I say more?
It's not, however, an uncut cock. I knew this from experience, but after we had finished fooling around (don't worry, I'll get to the details eventually), Kip was talking about someone else who, he said, had an uncut cock "like yours" (i.e., mine). This was a big surprise to me since I'm circumcised. I explained my actual circumcisional status to Kip, and he was surprised, and then we started talking about circumcision in general and about the types of cuts. It's true that I have a more generous foreskin than most cut guys, but I do have a scar, and my parents told me that I was circumcised, so I'm pretty sure I'm really cut. "But, hey, I don't remember: I was a newborn" I told Kip, whereupon he proceeded to tell me about the wonders of Pagtutuli, the traditional method of circumcision in the Philippines.
I had heard of ritual circumcision of adolescents before, of course, but I had assumed it to be mainly an African custom. But Kip was twelve when someone stuck one end of a curved stick in the ground, slid the other end of the stick in between his prepuce and glans, and sliced off his foreskin with a straight razor.
I'm not one to get involved in the debates over circumcision, so while some people say there's some sort of lingering psychic pain associated with newborn foreskin removal, I don't know. I certainly have no conscious memory of any post-partum penile pain. Kip, not surprisingly, has a rather more vivid memory of the pain and the aftermath. Apparently, the razor used for the cutting is not routinely sterilized and infection is common. The amputees are given some sort of leaf to chew (I thought Kip said guava leaves, but I may have misunderstood, especially given that I was so busy cringing), and they apply the chewed leaves to their glans to assist with the healing process. But in most cases, the penises still swell up. The adolescents call them tomatoes. Or, more likely, the Tagalog word for tomatoes.
Anyway, I'm sure it's a very good thing that we didn't have that conversation until after we'd finished playing. B&c and I had gotten home from the play (Not at the same time, though. Since I'd been at work, he'd driven down to Bethesda, and we'd taken the Metro into town. Then we'd Metroed back to Bethesda and driven home separately. I stopped at the 7-11 in Aspen Hill [Aspen Hill is where most of the sniper attacks happened a few years ago. I moved there a few months later; sadly, rents hadn't fallen as a result.] to get a Diet Coke to help me wake up, and much of Aspen Hill was at the 7-11 buying alcohol. At least four hot young men holding cases of Corona were in line ahead of me. I know that some people say that liking a diverse environment because it makes it easier to find a good meal is somewhat perverse, so I suppose that liking a neighborhood because of the diversity of eye candy is considerably more perverse, but I really liked living in Aspen Hill, for a variety of reasons. And I don't have a problem being called a pervert, anyway.), and I'd jumped in the shower. B&c was in the other shower when his cell rang. I could see that it was Kip, so I picked it up. He told me he'd be there in ten minutes, and he said that he needed my phone number so he could call me when b&c was out of the country. Works for me.
I was lying on the bed in some soft black cotton boxers (I mostly only wear them for sex; I used to wear boxers whenever I went on a date, but I don't date anymore, obviously) when the doorbell rang and b&c went downstairs to let Kip in. He was all about the small talk, but I was just trying to grab him and get him on the bed. He stripped to his jockstrap and joined me, and I started to make out with him. He's not an avid kisser, usually, but he's got nice lips, and if you adopt a commanding attitude with him, he'll generally comply. In between lip locks, he said something about how b&c had told him that I was into leather, and I said, "Yeah, I'll tie you down if you want." He said that he did want, but I elected to interpret that as meaning at a later occasion. I didn't want to spend ten minutes getting out the equipment and rigging it all up. But I did grab his wrists and hold them down over his head and kiss him harder. He responded well to that.
B&c was busy sucking Kip's cock, which is what he mostly does when the two of them play separately. I decided that Kip's tiny nips needed a workout, so I proceeded to make them stand up and take notice. He responded well to that, too, and when I went back to kiss him, I got still more of a response. There was a while of lips to nips to lips and then b&c started to rim him, which turned the dial up yet another notch.
At some point, b&c got off the bed to -- well, I have no idea what he was doing -- and I pulled Kip on top of me so that my cock (which was very hard indeed) could push up against his nuts while I played more with his nipples and kissed him. B&c got back on the bed, so I started to play with his cock while I slapped Kip's ass a few times. Then b&c started to stroke Kip's cock, and Kip started to stroke mine. He got up on his knees, and I started to make out with b&c.
I started to finger Kip's (extremely clean) ass, and he really liked that. He lay down in between me and b&c, and b&c started to suck him again while I went for a second finger. He couldn't take it easily, so he got his poppers and took a hit. He turned onto his back, and I put two fingers back in him and started to kiss him some more. The poppers really did a job on his osculatory eagerness. He started shoving his tongue harder and harder at me. I was sucking on his tongue so hard that my lips were inside his teeth, which is kind of a trick since he's a little guy. I remember thinking that it would probably seem kind of unpleasant on later reflection, but at the time it was really hot, so I went with it.
I also went with a third finger, which meant another hit on the poppers for Kip. I think he would have liked me to fuck him, but I was all out of condoms, and I didn't feel like rooting through b&c's bed table for a rubber just then. I figure I can fuck him another time. Anyway, the three fingers, the kissing, and the poppers seemed to go well with b&c's blowjob, and pretty soon after that, Kip came. He's not a particularly selfless lover, so I knew that right after he'd shot, he'd be up and getting dressed, and he was. He did stick around for some chat about his new job, during which I dozed off while b&c continued to idly stroke my still very hard cock. And then we had that whole conversation about circumcision, which woke me right back up. But then he left, and I went right back to sleep. It was almost 2am, and I had to be at work Saturday morning. Taxes, you know.