Bits and Bittes

The new bed is awesome. It's great for my back, and there's so much room. In the morning, I wake up and b&c is waaaaaay over there. Which is fine because he and I don't really do the overnight cuddling thing. He's good for half an hour of cuddling before and/or after and/or instead of sex, but then I'm ready to be left alone. It's slightly more of an effort to roll his way for morning sex, but it's hardly Hannibal crossing the Alps.


Actually, b&c is just about on my last nerve right now. I ought, if there were any justice in the world, to be on my way to Pennsylvania at this moment. I wanted to go for the whole weekend, but I had to sing this morning, so I said we'd leave right after church. Then he said that today was the last day for outdoor swimming at the pool, and it opens at noon, so we'd leave "at one." Then he got back from the pool, just after one, and he had to eat, and he hasn't packed. Right now he's cleaning or making himself coffee or something, and I have removed myself from the area so as not to bark at him. As it is, it'll be a whirlwind trip, just so he can see the house of my parents that I'm thinking of buying. I've half a mind to leave him behind.


And speaking of last nerve, what's with traveling half the year but still insisting on having full opera subscriptions. Everything has to be rescheduled for the relatively brief periods of time that he's in town. I don't really need to see La Traviata again. Honest. Violetta's just going to die again. No one every changes the endings. And then we end up having conversations about what's going to be reschedule to when, and it drives me nuts. Nuts. Nuts.


Speaking of nuts, I'm wondering whether I should get some nut trees for Pennsylvania. I've already decided to add some stone fruit (apricots and plums, most likely) to the existing apple trees. Apple trees calm me down. They make me think of pressing my own cider and sunshine and puppies and submissive bottoms and happiness. I feel better. And, who knows, maybe we'll get there by dark. As if. Enjoy your Labor Day, everyone.

Bedded Down

The chronology goes something like this.

Four years ago. TED moves into b&c's house.

B&c: And this is the bedroom.

TED: It looks familiar. Maybe because we've been sleeping together for a year. And that's the bed, right?

B&c: Right.

TED: It's adorable. Where's yours?



Three years ago. TED grows tired of backache, moves memory foam pad onto bed. B&c grumbles for a month or two, and one day TED comes home and the memory foam pad is on the floor.

B&c: I need a firmer bed!

TED: I need a softer bed. Besides, this bed sucks. There's no headboard, it sags in the middle, the frame's falling apart.

B&c: This mattress is only thirteen years old! It's fine!

TED: And it's too small for threeways. I'm always afraid someone's going to fall out.

B&c: If you were versatile, that wouldn't be a problem because you'd always be in the middle.



Two years ago.

B&c: Maybe we should get a king-sized bed.

TED: Brilliant! Why didn't I think of that?

B&c: This mattress is starting to sag, and we could use more space. Plus, it's too small for threeways.

TED: Not to mention that I can't tie tall men to it in a spread-eagle position.

B&c: I thought you weren't going to mention that.



One and a half years ago. B&c drags TED out bed shopping. They try one of those pick-your-number beds with dual supports, but it's kind of disappointing. TED whinges about back problems and notes that two extra-long twin beds pushed together are the same size as a king-sized bed and allow for customized firmness. B&c agrees to think about it but begins to travel a lot. TED puts two memory foam toppers on when b&c is away and doubles one up when b&c is home. Grumbling ensues.



Nine months ago. Uber-cheap bed frame finally gives way.

TED: Now we can get a new bed! My back hurts. That bed's sagging, and it's not big enough for us to sleep comfortably, and I can't tie tall men to it, and it's way too small for orgies. You should have seen me trying to get five guys on it when you were in Jordan bottoming for the men's soccer team. And all their coaches.

B&c: Some of those arguments are more compelling than others. We'll get a new bed when I'm not traveling so much.

TED: So, 2020?

B&c: You know, you're really not as funny as you think you are.

TED: The frame is broken!

B&c: It's just one leg that broke off. We can prop it up with something we never use, like some old books.

TED: Or your brain. No, wait. I need something bigger than a walnut.


Three days ago.

TED: Listen, I'm exhausted, and I need a decent night's sleep. EFU's out of the country for the semester, so I'm just going to sleep in her bed, with the memory foam toppers, until we get the king-sized bed. You're going back to Colombia in a week-and-a-half anyway.


Two days ago.

B&c: I bought a king-sized bed today. They're delivering it this week.



Who knew it was so easy?

Beginning

In the beginning, in the when before time.

Here is, here was, here will be Rahm, immortal, and he is light, and he was power, and he will be conflict, with a face as bright as the midday sun and legs as strong as the trunks of oak trees and a manhood as hard as granite and longer than time itself.


Here is, here was, here will be Sopht, infinite, and he is darkness, and he was wisdom, and he will be peace, with eyes as profound as the winter night and lips as soft as the clouds and buttocks as deep as the ocean and tighter than the embrace of an anaconda.

When the time is meet, it is the way of Rahm to leave his home and travel west along the path. And it is the way of Sopht to leave his home and travel east along the path. And it is the way of Rahm and Sopht to approach, each the other, on the path.


And Rahm said unto Sopht, "You must let me pass." And Sopht said unto Rahm, "I shall not move from this place." And when neither relents, Rahm says unto Sopht, "I will force you to let me pass," and Sopht replies unto Rahm, "I shall not be moved from this place."

And so Rahm will grapple with Sopht with all the great strength that is within him. And so Sopht will deflect Rahm's attacks and will not be moved. And so Rahm's anger beomes arousal. And so Sopht's determination becomes desire. And so their grappling became an embrace and so their lips met and their tongues clashed and the road itself trembled with their passion.


And so Rahm's firm mouth found Sopht's nipples and sucked and bit them until they were hard like the tops of high mountains and swollen like a river in a flood, and Sopht's delight was so great that his laughter could not be stifled. And so Sopht's cloud lips found Rahm's granite manhood and swallowed its impossible length, and Rahm's pleasure was so immense that his cries were like swift arrows. And so Rahm's long tongue parted Sopht's deep buttocks, and so Sopht cried out for Rahm's manhood, and so they were joined, and so Rahm's face shone into Sopht's eyes, and so Sopht's buttocks gripped Rahm's manhood, and so their ecstasy was so great that they were as dams that must need burst.


And so Rahm thrust his seed deep into Sopht's bowels, and so Sopht's seed shot forth and covered Rahm. And so Sopht sighed and slept, and so Rahm laughed and rubbed Sopht's seed into his bright skin and leapt to his feet and went along the way.

And so Rahm will pass. And so Sopht will not be moved. And it is ever thus.

But once.


Here is Sopht who has left his house to travel east along the path. And there is Rahm, as was and will be, walking west along the same path. And they meet. And Rahm says unto Sopht, "You must let me pass." And Sopht says unto Rahm, "You must let me pass." And great is Rahm's anger, and he says unto Sopht, "I will force you to let me pass." And great is Sopht's resolve, and he says unto Rahm, "I will force you to let me pass."

And Rahm runs with his strong legs and grasping arms at Sopht, and Sopht spreads his supple arms and dances on light feet at Rahm's approach. And Rahm hurls himself at Sopht, and Sopht twists, and Rahm is thrown. And as Rahm falls, the path shakes, and a pebble falls from the path into the void below.

And this pebble is the Earth.


Here is Rahm, who rises and shakes the dust from his feet, and the dust falls from the path into the void below.

And this dust is the land: the mountains, the hills, the fertile valleys, the barren deserts.

Here is Rahm, who again rushes at and into the outstretched arms of Sopht. And the supple arms embrace him. And Rahm pushes forward with his strong legs. And the light feet of Sopht dance around him. And Rahm and Sopht grapple, and long and fierce is their coupling, and their sweat comes together and falls from their bodies into the void below.

And this sweat is the salty sea.

And Sopht dances and dances and dances with Rahm, and Rahm's rage is spent, and Rahm is still, and Rahm gives a great sigh into the void.

And this sigh is the air: the wind and the clouds.


And Sopht lays his soft hand upon Rahm's bright cheek, and once again their lips and tongues find each other. And so great is Rahm's joy that his bright eyes fill with tears. And so great is Sopht's joy that his profound eyes fill with tears. And their tears mingle and fall into the void.

And these tears are the flowing waters: the rivers and the lakes.

And Rahm's mouth finds Sopht's manhood, and behold: it is as hard as granite and longer than time itself. And Rahm swallows its impossible length, and Sopht's pleasure is so immense that his cries fly out like swift birds. And Sopht's cloud lips find Rahm's nipples, as hard and round and smooth as river stones. And Sopht's soft lips close around them, and Sopht's quick tongue dances over them, and Rahm's delight is so great that his laughter will not be stifled.

And Sopht's deft hands grasp Rahm's firm buttocks, and Rahm writhes with delight. And Sopht's deft hands spread Rahm's firm buttocks, and Rahm quivers with hunger. And Sopht's wise tongue enters Rahm's firm buttocks, and Rahm sings with joy.

And still Rahm swallows Sopht's manhood deep into himself, and still Sopht's tongue plunges deep into Rahm's buttocks until they are as one. And Rahm cries out for Sopht's manhood, and Sopht's granite manhood penetrates Rahm's firm buttocks, and Rahm and Sopht shout to the heavens.


And Sopht moves in Rahm, and Rahm moves with Sopht, and Rahm's face shines into Sopht's eyes, and Sopht's eyes shine into Rahm's being, and their pleasure is so great that they are as dams that must need burst. But Sopht will not give up his seed.

And Sopht moves in Rahm, and Rahm moves with Sopht, and their passion is so great that they are as lightning. But still Sopht will not give up his seed.

And Sopht moves in Rahm, and Rahm moves with Sopht, and their lust is so great that they are as fires that will not be quenched. But still Sopht will not give up his seed.

And Sopht moves in Rahm, and Rahm moves with Sopht, and they are as a volcano that must needs erupt.

And now Sopht must give up his burning seed and thrusts it deep into Rahm's bowels. And now Rahm must give up his shining seed, and it flies across Sopht's body like a thousand sparks.

And so great is their ecstasy that Sopht's seed bursts forth, brilliant, from Rahm's bowels, and Rahm's luminous body spreads into the void.

And this body is the sky. And this seed is the Sun.

And so great is their ecstasy that Sopht's dark body spreads into the void, and Rahm's seed shines bright upon it.

And this body is the night. And this seed is the stars.

Kisses for Misses -- Plus a Special Political Appeal

Oh, readers, it has been long, too long, since I ventured into the sexual and emotional morass that is the craigslist missed connections section. I go back and forth on these ads. Mostly, I think that they're posted by wimps who, having passed up their chance to seize the day, deserve no pity. But sometimes, if I'm in a good mood perhaps, I think that they're posted by wimps who, having passed up their chance to seize the day, deserve a bit of sympathy, if not the cock, ass, or love they so desperately want but are unwilling to just go out and get. Not everyone, after all, has the balls to empty his balls, and that's probably as much the fault of a sexually repressive society as it is the fault of the nutless wonders who post the ads. Obviously, these men need to transcend the sexually repressive society so they can get some, but perhaps that's easier said than done. Anyway, the missed connections are still, sometimes, amusing or even (rarely) poetic, so let's have a look at a few recent selections from the DC area. I can assure you that the same level of pitifulness exists wherever there are missed connections ads. I've checked.

By the way, I'm going to let the sometimes egregious errors in spelling, grammar, and usage in some of these ads pass without further comment. Let's just pretend that they're a sign of the uncontrollable passion of the men writing the ads, rather than an indication of the impending collapse of Western civilization.


But before I get to the missed connections, I have to preempt this post for a political appeal. This next ad was in the casual encounters section, not the missed connections, but I had to show it to you. Any of you local top or versatile guys who want to get involved in some direct political action may want to respond.

MWM needs a Progressive Daddy to fuck the conservative right out of me - m4m - 45 (bored in my office)
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Reply to: pers-815156147@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-08-27, 11:18AM EDT

I have no idea why this fantasy appeals to me so much, but it does. I'm your regular, everyday office professional, married, suburban soccer dad, thoroughly Republican. Is there a progressive Daddy out there with the intellect and force of will to seduce and control me and turn me from whitebread conservative into his left-leaning stud princess?

I just imagine myself on all fours, moaning my thanks to him for showing me the error of my ways and opening my eyes to the truth as he takes me with authority. Then I'm on my back with my ankles on his shoulders screaming out my pledge to vote for Obama.

Too much? I'm serious, by the way.

We already had bottoms for Obama; now it looks like we can have tops for Obama, too. I'd volunteer to do my part, but he's in Northern Virginia, OF COURSE, and, while I fuck plenty of married guys, I draw the line at Republicans. Now, back to the missed connections.


I saw this one this morning, and I felt for the guy who posted it. He is likely even more a victim of sexual repression than the rest of us:

(((i m arabic))) - m4m - 41
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Reply to: pers-814979606@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-08-27, 8:19AM EDT

(((i m arabic looking for arabic guys for fun)))sent your phon number

There was a pretty quick response, but it's hard to tell whether it was exactly what the original poster had in mind:

((((arabic gay )))) - m4m - 42 (falls church)
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Reply to: pers-815002888@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-08-27, 8:55AM EDT

seeking for arabic only to put it in my ass

Hopefully the direct email responses were more à propos.


Creepy:

you are visiting from CA and I met you and your son - m4m - 27 (north of dupont)
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Reply to: pers-814551034@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-08-26, 8:47PM EDT

you probably have no interest in someone like me...but you were very attractive and the boy was adorable... I loved watching you be a dad and it brought out all my dad tendancies....would love to spend more time with you while you are in town.

--m.

Threeways with brothers could be hot or weird (sadly, I've never experienced one, so I can't judge), but a threeway with a father and son is never a good idea.


Here's one for the OMG file. I'm not sure, though, whether it's an OMG-awesome! or an OMG-unbelievable! You be the judge:

You: the cute cop who was nice to me after my DUI arrest Thursday - m4m - 29 (Arlington Co. Courthouse)
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Reply to: pers-811181451@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-08-24, 6:54PM EDT

I got arrested for a DUI Thursday night and you're the really nice and cute officer at the jail who asked me about maintenance tips and how I look younger than I am.

You're my age, white, reeeeally cute, and nice! I hope to run into you again, but not under the same circustances under which we crossed paths Thursday night.

Maybe you'll read this, and maybe you won't but you're a really nice guy for 2:00 a.m.

I've decided: awesome and unbelievable.


A more standard, and lame, entry:

Crew Club Monday night - m4m - 34 (Dupont)
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Reply to: pers-813651938@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-08-26, 11:19AM EDT

Met you at the Crew Club last night around 11pm. The place was pretty empty but you were just what I was looking for! Walked past you and into the steamroom. You followed me in and we messed around a bit before boing to my room. Totally hot time... would love to meet up again!

Can I just dictate a new rule for sex club etiquette? If you're a top, you bring a Sharpie. The marker caps have little clips on them, so you can wear one on your towel. If you're interested in a repeat performance, you write your cell phone number on the bottom's ass. (Or, I don't know, on his arm, if it's just oral.) If you don't write the number, it means you're not interested. If he doesn't call, it means he's not interested. If he can't figure out how to reverse what he sees in the mirror or ask someone else to read it for him, he's too dumb to fuck.


This one's pretty clearly an OMG-get a life!

open letter to dog walker in columbia heights - m4m - 34 (Columbia Heights)
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Reply to: pers-814842191@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-08-27, 1:03AM EDT

I see you from time to time walking your dog around Columbia Heights. We chatted briefly once and that smile got me thinking I'd post something here just in case you're single and 'family.' Never know.

So, when does the pooch get the cone off her head?

And then this one. I know there's a fine line between follow up and stalking, but, dude, you know where the guy lives!

Green Lantern - Thurs - John - We met - m4m - 47 (DC)
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Reply to: pers-813945310@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-08-26, 2:24PM EDT

Doubt if you look here, but taking a chance. We went back to your place, had great time; you're black, I'm white. Am sorry I left without taking your cell phone number. Would like to see you again.
M

This one's my favorite. He was so taken by the man he was talking to that he no longer remembers much of what the conversation was about. But I mostly like it for the language:

Rencontre samedi soir sur le toit de ton immeuble - m4m - 27 (Columbia Rd.)
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Reply to: pers-812045092@craigslist.org [?]
Date: 2008-08-25, 11:49AM EDT

on s'est rencontré sur le toit de ton immeuble ce weekend à la fête d'anniversaire de ton voisin. on a discuté un peu sur les élections américaines et je sais plus quoi d'autre. tu travailles au bureau Washingtonien de TF1. ton prénom commence par un P et se termine par un E. :-)

j'ai encore des indices, mais je préfère te les donner en vrai.

"J'ai encore des indices, mais je préfère te les donner en vrai." I will not be a complete man until I get the chance to use that sentence at least once.

Soft

Today's mouseover pictures carry an unintended irony. I created them before figuring out what I was going to write about. As it happens, I'm writing about a guy who didn't want any part of me -- especially my tongue -- anywhere near his asshole. If you're one of those poor, unfortunate souls who has a strong, visceral, and negative reaction to rimming, you may want to think twice before putting your cursor over the pictures.

I probably mentioned earlier that I had a lot of sex last week, and this guy (from Wednesday) wasn't the best, but a couple of details made him very memorable.

We'd been back and forth on email a number of times before he finally summoned the courage to follow through. He had, I suppose, wanted to make sure I was sufficiently dominant without being too dominant: that I would take control of the situation without violating his limits. Either that, or it just took a while for his need to build to the point where it overcame his reticence.

In any case, when he showed up at my door, I found him very attractive: shorter and compact, with thin legs but the torso of a linebacker. He had a very pretty blond buzz cut, and if his lips were a bit on the thin side, at least he was an able and eager kisser. I grabbed him straight away and we made out for a minute or so until I had both nipples in my hands. Then I broke away and pushed him up the stairs. He apologized for being wet, saying that he'd been watering the lawn before he came over and that the hose had leaked. Whatever, you know?

I didn't wait for him to take off his shoes before I pushed him down on the bed and climbed on top of him. I kissed him for a while longer, then started to suck his nipples through his t-shirt, and he said, "That feels good." He said that many times throughout the evening. He was very quiet and reserved, probably a single guy living alone in the suburbs without much of a social life or many aspirations towards getting one. But maybe not. It's really hard to judge people's sexual behavior from the everyday appearance, and it's equally difficult to judge people's everyday behavior from having sex with them. Maybe he was subdued because he was submissive. But I think it was simple shyness.

He did manage to kick his shoes off while I was kissing him and working his nipples, and I undressed him slowly as I worked. He had a small cock, and I understood that he didn't want much attention paid to it. I grabbed his hand and put it on my cock, and he lit up. I was really hard. He undid my jeans, and I wasn't wearing any underwear. I pushed his head down towards my crotch, and he went eagerly.

I'd noticed while we were making out that he had amazingly soft hair, and the softness was more remarkable still when I grabbed his head and shoved it up and down on my cock. He was a very skilled cocksucker: I was tempted to ask him whether he'd removed his dentures before he came over, but I figured I'd just go with the more standard patter. You know: "you like sucking that cock, don't you boy?" and that sort of thing. He would stop occasionally to smile and say, "I like it," before returning to the awesome blowjob. He had just the right combination of looseness and tightness, and I thought I might actually cum from the oral. I grabbed his head and shoved it up and down a lot more than I usually do, entirely because of his soft hair.

Every once in a while, I'd pull him to me and kiss him some more, and he'd tell me that he liked it. We alternated kissing and bj for a good long time before he asked me whether I could cum that way. I said, "Eventually, sure," and he went back to working on me. After another osculatory diversion, he asked me where I was going to cum, and I told him it would be all over his face. That made him happy.

We'd been going for longer than I'd anticipated, and I was pretty sure that I was missing or about to miss the beginning of Project Runway. And, as much as I was enjoying the head, I'd stopped thinking that I might cum that way. So I pulled him back up, kissed him at length, and jerked myself off until I was very close. Then I told him to get ready, and he jumped down so that his open mouth was right in front of my cock. It would have been difficult to miss his mouth, and I was too worked up to try, so I just started to shoot, and he took it all. It was a terrific and voluminous ejaculation. Then he stood up, with his mouth closed, and looked at me, and in a few seconds, it occurred to me. "Oh, the sink's right over there." When he'd finished spitting out and rinsing, he came back and said, "I thought you were going to cum on my face." "Yeah, I was, but your mouth kind of got in the way." "I don't mind. It was hot."

In this case, it's clear to me that he got exactly what he wanted: to feel my cum in his mouth and to pretend that I forced him to take it there. He emailed me the next day to say again how hot my cumming in his mouth had been. He didn't say much else, but he's not far away from me, so I reckon there's a good chance that I'll have another shot at soft hair and great head.

One More Post Where the Pictures Are Not Appropriate to the Words

So, a word to the wise: if your nineteen-year-old daughter is about to leave home for a semester in another country, it might not be the best time to see Mamma Mia because when Meryl Streep sings "Slipping Through My Fingers," you will cry like a small child. And feel like a fool, especially when you look around the theater and see that most of the women are crying. Not that such a thing has ever happened to me, you understand. I am so tough and masculine a personage that my lachrymal glands have atrophied from lack of use. A dom top has to be an unfeeling SOB: if a bottom ever complains that I'm fucking him too hard, I typically say, "What? Are you still here? I thought I was fucking my inflatable Ricky Martin." And then I spit on him, which shuts him up and makes him cum so that I can toss him out the door and get back to thinking about more important matters, like football, beer, and why I don't have an inflatable Ricky Martin. Seriously, how is that even possible?


Irony aside (as if!), having children is not for the timid. I was at my company's annual picnic last Friday afternoon, and there were kids all over the place. (My own children weren't present, of course. As it happens, they were in NYC on vacation with their mother and step-father, but even if they'd been home, I'm confident that they'd have found something better to do than to hang out with a bunch of accountants.) Everyone makes a big deal over the kids, and that's as it should be, but the bigness of the deal is inversely proportional to the age of the child, so the biggest deal is invariably made over the infants. There are sound evolutionary reasons why you should pay the most attention to the children who are the most helpless, but I have to tell you that babies, by and large, are high-maintenance drama queens. Fortunately, most parents -- myself included -- don't figure this out until it's too late and are, by then, entirely besotted with the little brats, so we tend to do a decent job of keeping them away from sharp objects and moving vehicles.


Children become much more interesting as they grow up, and if you're especially lucky, they will still want to hang out with you long after they should have figured out that you aren't nearly as interesting as they are. So while there may be no panic to equal what you feel when your four-year-old breaks free from you on vacation and moves into the path of a moving vehicle and you barely snatch her back as the vehicle screeches to a halt, the feeling doesn't compare to sitting next to the same child fifteen years later when she's driving your car and talking about her plans for when she's going to be thousands of miles away from you. The combination of love, joy, pride, and anticipated absence is so strong that it's physically painful. It's wise at such moments to look out the window: if she sees the pain in your eyes, she'll know exactly where it comes from, and she'll laugh at you. But she'll laugh sympathetically, and the sympathy will hurt more than anything else.


I know that a lot of people expect to have, and perhaps do have, their most intense emotional relationships with their partners, but I don't know how that's possible, and I have certainly never felt as much love for an adult as I have for my kids. Adults come to you more or less fully formed, and they love you back more or less equally, or you discard them. Children come to you as blank slates who soon love you unconditionally, but over time, you become a less and less important part of their worlds, so that while they still love you, hopefully a lot, the intensity with which you love them is entirely unrequited. The inequity is enhanced because while a child doesn't see a parent as a reflection of herself, a parent looks at a child as his own creation. Or at least I do. I may not be a very successful member of the capitalist system, but I see what terrific kids I have, and I figure that I must be a pretty good guy. I wouldn't want to have a similar investment in a significant other. You really can't count on a grown man not to disappoint you, but if you do a decent job raising your kids, they'll always be people you can be proud of.


EFU flew out early Sunday morning, and that was a big part of why it was a tough weekend. I spent much of Saturday taking her around to buy last-minute supplies and to hang out with her best friend. I said goodbye to her Saturday night. Her flight was very early, and her mother wanted to take her to the airport, and I had to rehearse something at church, so I wanted to get a reasonable amount of sleep. More importantly, I didn't trust myself not to become a wreck on the way to and at the airport. She was nervous not about leaving but about how well she'd get along with her host family, and while I thought her fears were unfounded (she gets along with just about everybody), she so rarely worries about anything that when she does worry, I worry more. As it was, I got somewhat anxious when b&c and I came out of a movie Sunday evening and I saw that she'd called but hadn't left a message. I checked out her flight information and found that her connecting flight out of Dallas had been delayed four hours, so I went through her information and called her host family. To call my Spanish rudimentary would be very generous, but after I'd said "Habla ingles?" and "mi hija" and "tarde quatro" (which probably means 4pm if it means anything at all) and -- with a sigh -- "no hablo espanol," the woman took pity on me and summoned her daughter, whom I informed of the situation. I was told not to worry. I was not really able to comply, but when I saw that the flight had finally landed and managed to reach EFU on her cellphone and tell her that I'd called her host family, and she'd thanked me, I felt better, even though EFU would certainly have been fine without my assistance.


The other reason why the weekend was difficult was that b&c returned from Haiti for a two-week home stay. It is good to have him around, of course, but it's difficult when he's away so much and then back briefly and then away again. It's hard to change gears from full-on slut to temporarily semi-exclusive partner. I'm not sure which I prefer, to be honest. It'd be nice to find a middle ground, but I don't think there's a middle ground so long as I have to work full time. There's a lot of bouncing back and forth between the two extremes. And they're both pleasant situations, but suddenly having to consider the needs of an adult at the moment when I'm missing a child is disorienting. Still, in the overall scheme of things, it's not really a big problem, and there's neither reason to whinge nor any benefit to be gained by whinging.

B&c's return is a useful reminder that life goes on, even when the kids are away. I still have another six years before YFU leaves the nest, but six years goes by in about the amount of time it takes to stop and tie your shoes. It's probably time for me to consider what the outlines of my life will be like when both of the kids are grown and have left home. I suppose that, for one thing, there will be more time to chase guys. It's not much of a consolation, but I'll have to take what I can get.


I'm sure there will be other opportunities -- longer vacations, for example -- that accompany the empty nest, and perhaps someday (not too soon, please), there will be grandchildren. I used to worry that I wasn't getting enough accomplished or experiencing enough things while I was still relatively young. But there's no accomplishment or experience to rival supporting your kids as they find their ways to adulthood. And one of the areas where there's a significant benefit to having a partner who's substantially older than I am is that I have a living example to show me that when I'm six, or sixteen, years older, I can still have the energy and opportunity to do almost anything (or anyone) I want.

Bridges in Flames

In the context of online hooking up, when a guy flakes once, sometimes it pays to give him a second chance. But more often it doesn't, and a third chance is almost never in order.

I break this rule occasionally, and it almost always comes back to bite me. I don't expect myself to be perfect, so I don't beat myself up too much for my own failings, but I try to avoid falling prey to them again. There were two cases on point from last night. I went over to Columbia to meet up with some friends and see, the gods help me, Mamma Mia and then have dinner. I determined rather quickly that I had better leave my critical mind at the door and enjoy the ride of the movie, so I have nothing to say about it, except to note that the juvenile male lead has very nice nipples. Dinner was much better than one might expect from a place called, I shit you not, "Champps." No, seriously, what is with that extra p?



Anyway, I had, I thought, two guys queued up for the late night session: I knew I'd be home in time to do both. One was the fifty-two-year-old virgin, and the other was a guy who's been answering my CL ads for some time but who's never quite followed through. He had reasonable excuses in the past, though, and it had been a while since his last flake, and -- most importantly -- he's local. So I gave him a chance. I gave him my cell number and told him to call me after 10. I'd told the 52YOV that I'd email him when I got home. I got home around 10:30, and there'd been no call from Mr. Reliable, so I emailed 52YOV, and he responded fairly quickly, but with an annoying "What do you remember about me?" I told him what I remembered, then I didn't hear for a while,. so I sent him an online message, and he said he was horny and then asked me to tell him about me. I was a bit taken aback: "Dude, I'm the first guy who fucked you. You don't remember?" He apologized and said he was just tired, but when I asked him if he was too tired to get fucked, he said no. Then he asked me what street I lived on, said he remembered the house (it's on the corner), and said he'd be over in twenty or thirty minutes. I said fine, and I emailed Mr. Reliable to remind him that I was home.

An hour later, I send 52YOV an email telling him that he's a douchebag, and an hour after that, I get an email back saying that he went to the wrong house and there was a strange car there and the person who answered the door wasn't me, and he thought my partner was home early, so he said he was at the wrong house and left. So now you can see my dilemma: should I be more annoyed that he stood me up or that he insulted my intelligence with that lame bullshit excuse? Enough is enough. I told him that I'd always been honest with him and that I understand the ambivalence of the inexperienced but that he was no longer a cute-but-shy inexperienced guy: he was now just an asshole. I told him never to contact me again. I mean, I can't spend the next three years cultivating this guy: I have better ways to squander my youth. (Oh shut up.)

This morning, I got an email from Mr. Reliable saying that he had fallen asleep. A quick search through the gmail confirms that I've seen this excuse before. It's decent, as excuses go, but if you've been looking forward to my cock as much as you say you have, and you've promised to call me after ten and then come over, maybe, I don't know, set an alarm or something? "I fell asleep" usually means "I went to bed." In his case, almost certainly alone, but still.

Anyway, the following email exchange ensued. From TED:

I've checked back through my records, and over the past year or so, we've had no fewer than five sets of email exchanges where you've said you were hot to be fucked, then we've set a time to play, and you've failed to follow through, always with some lame excuse. When you answered the ad this time, I didn't mention them because I thought maybe you'd gotten over whatever your problem is. But I've finally figured out that you're not shy or nervous about hooking up, you're simply a douchebag.

There's only one person who runs an ad from [my town] with a picture of my cock. In future, when you see such an ad, remember that it's me and that I have no interest in putting up with any more of your shit. Do not contact me again. Find someone else to stand up instead.

From Mr. Reliable:

MY AREN'T WE FUCKING RUDE.

From TED:

Yes, you are. Not showing up without calling or sending a message is, indeed, fucking rude, especially when it happens multiple times. I am heartened to see that you have some understanding of your rudeness, though I'm troubled to find that you do not understand the meaning of "Do not contact me again." I am equally troubled by your use of the royal we.

There was certainly some pique on my part last night, but it was greatly ameliorated by the appearance at my door of a semi-cute, half-Asian submissive, in the wee hours of the morning. He was screaming so loudly (if somewhat unconvincingly) about how much "[YOUR] HUGE COCK" hurt that I eventually pulled out of him, which earned me a "YOU'RE NOT STOPPING, ARE YOU?" So I didn't stop.

Anyway, I wasn't especially angry when I sent either kiss-off email. (Or maybe I wasn't angry after I sent them. There is something that's very therapeutic about telling someone off when they're clearly in the wrong.) I just wanted to make sure that if I make the same mistake again, at least it's with someone new and hot. I have standards to maintain, after all.