Jasper, the guy I tie to the bed and edge for between one and two hours once a year, e-mailed me on Monday to say that he'd just found out he had to do a presentation for work on Tuesday night, so we'd have to reschedule. I could moan about the inconstancy of corporate lawyers, but I wasn't particularly surprised or disappointed. I'll have him tied to the bed sooner or later, probably some time in February, and I still had some leftover mellowness from the two-and-a-half-hour romp with the older virgin from Monday. Anyway, there's no tale of bondage to report, so you're getting miscellany today.
I did, of course, try to get something else going last night, but a twenty-two-year-old bisexual submissive flaked on me, and my other modest efforts came to naught. Sometimes I feel a pang of something -- not guilt, but perhaps regret -- that I'm so driven to look for sex. The inner critic tells me that there's something more productive I could be doing with that time, that if I just had a nice half-hour wank, I'd still have plenty of the evening left to do whatever. The problem is the whatever. I suppose I could write a novel or spend more time on my voice or take up quilting (all serious options), or I could just get a Netflix subscription and queue. But then I remember that over the course of a year, I have about fifteen evenings that are really my own, and I still have at least one unviewed Almodovar film from the bunch of them that b&c got me for my last birthday, which was about 359days ago. When you have to stuff a year's worth of compulsion into fifteen evenings, well, the inner critic can suck it.
Anyway, I spent less time than usual in a fruitless search, so I still had time for some phone sex, a few chapters of the trashy-but-engaging novel I'm currently reading and about half of the DVD of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, all accompanied by Buffalo Bleu Kettle Chips.
I've decided that heaven is a comfortable bedroom, two very different but attractive men to play with, and a limitless supply of Kettle Chips in both the Salt and Freshly Ground Pepper and the Buffalo Bleu flavors.
Hell, of course, is having to choose.
I know I'm not the first person to notice this, but lately, I've run into a disturbing number of men who want to have sex with me but lose interest when I say that I won't fuck them bareback. These guys tend to fall into two broad categories: young guys and married submissives. I reckon the young guys are simply poorly informed and/or stupid. The married subs are harder to explain. One of them told me the other day that taking my cum was an essential element of submission for him. I told him that I didn't understand why taking it down his throat was any less submissive, but clearly he and I see the world very differently. You would think that married men would be the most careful about avoiding all manner of sexually transmitted unpleasantness (nothing outs a man to his wife faster than when she wakes up with a case of crabs), but I suspect that most of these guys fantasize about submission often but have actual sex (either inside or outside the marriage) very rarely. The married sub that I had planned to play with in Hartford -- before YFU decided to come along on the trip -- sent me an IM the other night. It turns out that he and his wife never have sex. He also said that they don't have any children. When I asked him why they stay married, he only said, "Good question." I'm pretty sure that he stays married so that he can avoid acknowledging that he's gay, but whatever, you know?
I've been diligent about posting daily lately because I soon won't have much or any time to post. I think it's silly when blogs go on hiatus, and my eyes roll clear out of my head and down Route 70 all the way to Kansas City whenever someone talks about "blogicide," but if posting becomes irregular between mid-February and mid-April, you'll understand that it's simply a matter of my job eating my brain. That's exactly how I picture my job, by the way: as a big, gruesome zombie that walks around saying, "Brains! Braaaaaains! How quickly can I write off these brains?"